Saturday, December 16, 2006

Then Comes the Daylight

It happens at night, when the world is quieter. That’s when I can be alone. It’s me and my keyboard, me and my thoughts, me and the music that plays in my head with each word that I’m thinking, with each feeling that floats.

Each feeling expresses itself intermixes, interweaves rhythmically, piece by piece, part by part, as a syllable.

Syllables are parts of feeling,s in the same way they are parts of words, in the same way are parts of music. The syllables of feelings, little bits of meaning, don’t really separate out alone. They work together to build things, to fill things, to add lush and lovely detail to what would have been merely a seven-year-old’s sentiments -- flat like folks once saw the world -- turning those sentiments into emotions worth sharing, worth keeping forever inside a heart.

Syllables, notes of music and . . . shades of color from the natural world, all of them mixing, like so many sweet and subtle flavors in one giant wonderful milk shake with bits of dark chocolate. A fabulous drink sitting right next to my favorite cookies, waiting to share, waiting to be consumed, but always there, always ready.

Syllables, notes, and shades of color . . . to express everything. They make me brave, vulnerable, and creative.

My thoughts are a giant canvas. My heart is an artful painter. I am a magical creature of the night. Watch me be. Watch how easily I can say what I feel and know.

Then comes the daylight. Enter the words, songs, and sunrise. They deliver themselves to me differently. They come to visit me whole. I’m a different kind of brave, vulnerable, and creative. My thoughts are an open page. My heart is an insightful writer. I am a creative thinker of the day. See me help. See how easily I can I feel and know what other people need. I can offer them ways to go. . . .

It happens at night when the world is quieter, you’ll meet a whimsical, wonderer. Then comes the daylight and you’ll meet the someone who, looking back at the bright, yellow light of the sun, remembers, who knows the wonder of wandering through little bits of meaning, music, and shades of color.

I love the wholeness of the daylight.

I stand in awe of the magical, mysteries of the night.
−me strauss Letting me be

2 comments:

Trée said...

Liz, we must persist in finding you a publisher. Without looking like I'm just trying to get some more cookies and tea, this post, like all the others, is just at a higher level of wordsmithing than most of what I could buy today in my local bookshop.

That first paragraph. Maybe it's just me, but I felt that was me, I felt you had crawled in my head and pulled forth a little piece of me and put it on your blog. Can you tell I like this entry? :-D

ME Strauss said...

Tree,
I answered this yesterday. I'm not sure what happened to my words. I so value what you said. . . . thank you.

I'd like publisher who took the both of us :)