Who are we but a bunch of words? Letters strung together, broken up in efforts to make sense of a message we try to convey.
We exist first on paper ( or on a computer screen), and may find no life after that, unless a person puts the words together, receives the “gift” of the sender, and becomes “imprinted” with an idea, theory or image. Which may or may not have been the actual intent of the writer. The message depends on the make-up of the perceiver. Emotion and state of mind help create the channel through which words flow. Someone angry might read something different than one who’s happy. All things, including words, serve at the pleasure of one’s moment of “being.”
Make any sense to you? I can’t tell you the technical, biological or neurological process I go through when I read an article. I “open” myself to words, allowing my interest to grow more and more as I “absorb” the meaning meant for me, the observer. If I like the theme, I”ll continue reading, in hopes of either finding further enjoyment, inspiration or knowledge. Possibly all three. If I am staying with a theme only halfheartedly, I might “drop out,” end my reading and move on, investing my time elsewhere.
Good writing might keep my interest. Someone carving out a new model to see the world will keep me going as they use the writing craft to create suspense, friction and possibly even spell-binding phrases to draw me deeper into the realm of imagination as I completely forget that I am there — reading words about something — and not in the reality the writer and I secretly agreed to explore.A reality of the mind, which can be just as substantial as the computer box on the floor generating the power to our machines.
Why do we write? Why do we read another writer’s words? To communicate and understand, of course. To relate to someone, even if the someone is just ourselves. How often do we write something just to get it out of our system? To pour it out on “paper” so we can see it in the light of day and not keep it imprisoned in the dark corners we’re often too afraid to let anyone see, to admit to ever having such thoughts or feelings in the first place?
And it doesn’t have be anything “bad.” It could be the joy and/or love that swells from that well of goodness and “Godliness” that we can tap into and share with others if we were simply become unafraid of ridicule of ostracization. We can choose which part of ourselves to “let out and play” in full view of an unknown viewer. We have all these emotions within, and stories to tell using each and everyone of those little rascals inside. The good and the bad. More importantly, what we perceive as good or bad.
We just have to be honest . . . and completely open on both ends. The giving and the receiving. Now, get back inside, oh thoughts of mine. You’ve strut your stuff enough for one day.