Our world is full of complexities and relationships that we neither expect nor can fully understand. We are each a participant in a myriad of interactions, some we can see, some we can’t. Through the length of this existence, we are constantly experiencing, constantly learning, and constantly trying to apply that learning.
Often times, we do this unconsciously as we move about the particulars of our lives. But sometimes, through serendipity or through practice, we are able to look at the world consciously. We get to marvel at the intricate dance that is done as all beings coexist. For brief moments, we register the magic of the everyday that is going on around us, a magic that is dependent on the actions of each of us in order to manifest in just this way.
Writing is, for me, a practice that enhances my ability to witness life’s magic. It presents me with a forum in which to examine my existence and how that existence interacts with the world of people. With words I can watch myself and puzzle about my motivations, my influences, my actions. I get to try things on. I see what it is like to be brave or shy, to be cynical or optimistic, to be bright or craggy. It gives me a chance to laugh at myself and my constant attempts to understand.
I imagine other worlds where other things are the order of the day, where people do fly, where animals do talk, where love exists in profusion and people are nice to each other. I can describe a world where peace and tolerance are the essence of human nature. I can use word exercises to explore how such a nature could evolve. In this I may, perhaps, glimpse a pathway to follow to make it so.
Writing is a way of exploring, of reporting, of thinking on paper, of escaping, sometimes of playing with imaginary friends. It is also a way in which I might touch people’s lives and thoughts and, if I am very, very lucky, to influence those lives in the tiniest of ways.
My brain will never understand the complexities of the world and I’m quite sure, now, that I don’t want it to. To have a mind that can encompass the entirety of our existence is to have a mind that is so full of activity that it cannot take a breath, cannot take a moment to play simple games, to juggle or to listen to the song of a bird, to write a silly poem just because the words sound good together.
Instead, I look forward to a day when I can merely exist within the complexity, comfortable in the knowing that my part helps to form the world. I believe that writing can get me there.