Thursday, May 9, 2013

Moments in Retrospect



“We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.” ~ Anaïs Nin

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Twilight is a carefree affair playing with the pups in bottom soaked jeans after it rains, with the fragrance of lilac and crabapple blossoms wafting heavy in the air. A patchwork of sprinkles begin to dot the dust covered stones in the driveway. I raise my face to a spatter of wet drops flowing down my neck in gentle rivulets beneath damp clothes. Simple pleasures. Pleasures, which unbidden are catalogued and filed away as I unconsciously map out current writing projects in progress or search future ideas where I can apply this tidbit of euphoria.

All these experiences and emotions accrue into a veritable tableau of memories. How many books are derived from this storehouse? How many stories do we reap in a lifetime unsolicited? Not enough. Too many things rob us of inhibited outtakes in our short human lifespan – Age, time, stress, even our human culpability of making things far more complicated than need be is guilty of this thief. The list goes on. Photographs are taken, occasions are videotaped; censure be damned, we hoard whatever we can of time in little discretionary pockets of remembered moments. Is it enough? What was going through our minds, how did we react, did we even caredo we even know? All veritable questions left unanswered in small visual glimpses left in mementos.

Words somehow escape the pariah of time. They don’t fade or aggrandize, they echo truths even we don’t account for in the telling. Each word is woven together into a tapestry blending all five senses into one garment. With words, a smile isn’t the only hint of happiness in a photo, it’s the blush of a kiss, the warm summer sun on skin or the smell of a cook-out brought to life. Grief is poured solid like concrete shoes that won’t allow us to escape emotional overtures sealed with droplets of tears. Each catalogued moment is etched across a page and stained with our humanity. And still I can’t file away enough or live enough for all the books my life encompasses. In the words of Brandon Sanderson, “Novels aren’t just happy escapes; they are slivers of people’s souls, nailed to the pages, dripping ink from veins of wood pulp.” This, this is why I write, to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect. ~ Indigo

Picture From Here

9 comments:

  1. I love this phrase: "They echo truths even we don’t account for in the telling." How many times I have written something thinking I am saying one thing only to realize I've communicated something else? This is a thoughtful and though provoking blog post.

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    1. Thank you Liza! I've gone down that path many times with writing myself. I love the sudden turns a story will take. Sometimes I feel more like the reader than the writer. (Hugs) Indigo

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  2. to taste life twice...i am all about that....even if the second is just an echo at times...couple really cool phrases in this...and i like that quote you end with...

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  3. Inhibited. That's the word for me. Mostly. Always. You're so right. It's a thief, and I just leave the door wide open and say "welcome". Really gonna try and be less so. Hope you are well friend.

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  4. Beautiful. Your words are such a gift, Indigo. I drank them up as I was reading them like a cup of cold water on a hot summer day. :)

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  5. I especially love this line: Grief is poured solid like concrete shoes that won’t allow us to escape emotional overtures sealed with droplets of tears.

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  6. Thanks everyone for your kind responses to my writing. You above all inspire me to keep writing one word in front of the other. (Hugs) Indy

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Thank you for giving my silence a voice, my muse your words, and taking the time to discover my prose.