Words and the unworded
There’s a place inside of me I miss. A place where wonder pulses like a heartbeat - now quick with in-loveness for everything - a word, a sight, a sound, a person - now slowing with the lull of the crickets outside, or the fans that make these summer nights bearable. It’s a place that’s full with beyond-mere-survival, or rather, that knows survival as integrally related with music and contemplation, good books, deep thoughts, conversations with friends. It’s where words and the unworded stuff of experience mingle, tickling each other with the joy and utter frustration of remaining mostly, but never altogether, “other” from each other. The place from which my writing springs.
I’m in it tonight, though, miraculously. My body creaks and groans still with this pregnancy, a wooden ship made better for the wiry frame of a single captain and few supplies than for barrel upon barrel of rations: blood, fluid, tissue, fat. And this not even mentioning my second passenger. I love her already, and know it a privilege to navigate her passage.
But I creak. I groan. I bail water (four? five times a night?). And rarely get to that part of the ship I so treasure.
But.
Here I am tonight. I have no idea when I’ll return again, and even less what tomorrow’s winds or seas might bring (fortune? pirates? peace?). But for now, I’ll light a candle. Dip pen in ink. Open a scroll. Try to forget the fatigue that makes my heart beat strangely, the stomach that doesn’t want to hold my meager offerings.
The sun sinks well below the western sky. The pines that guard this strip of dwellings blacken. I hear crickets, fans, a distant plane’s propeller. The click of N’s keyboard.
Past place and surroundings, I hear groanings of people I love - strong people whose strength is pressed to breaking with sufferings they don’t deserve. I hold them in the Light of this flickering wick, this quickening heart. I pray the womb of this Ship, this Mother that’s bigger than all of us, this Sea that we all of us sail, will give them safe passage. Will take them through their night. Will birth them and rebirth them as the tender, beautiful, honest, beloved creatures I know them to be.
And I hear joy. The paradox of it! Joy and suffering both on this Ship. And my own little vessel. Just now joy’s un-words resist being worded, though. Fair enough.
I try to move on, but the winds upstairs have shifted and I need to check my sails. More stores must be unpacked. A belly needs filling.
I give my candle an earnest stare, my quill, my surroundings. Be well, dear room. I love you.
September 6th, 2007 at 3:32 pm
I have missed your words, Kristin. And after reading this beautiful, mournful, joyful, life-affirming piece, I realize again how lyrical your soul’s wonderings are. The image of the ship, bailing water, navigating the passage of your passenger - exquisite. I pray that the rest of your pregnancy journey is rife with moments like this one: prayerful, gently lived, deeply appreciated. May you also find safe passage through all that lies ahead for you, coming back into the light of love and peace and safety often. Travel well, dear sojourner.
September 6th, 2007 at 4:26 pm
wow! beautiful words, and i feel your longing to write. yet joy in waiting.
September 9th, 2007 at 3:38 pm
hopefully pirates. peace is fleeting, and fortune is fickle, but pirates are adventurous! and if you befriend them, they might show you how to properly wield a cutlass. and we all know that cutlass-wielding is a good skill to have in this crazy life.
sail on!
September 11th, 2007 at 8:29 am
Gail, your words mean so much. Thank you. Atticus, yes - I’m reminded of your post some weeks back that was filled with a similar longing. If you lived closer, I’d love to chat with you about where your longing is taking you. And Hadashi. Pirates, huh? Maybe you could be my co-adventurer in this one; on my own I feel way too tired to navigate pirate friendships. But the cutlass bit does make it tempting…
September 17th, 2007 at 3:42 am
kristin, i enjoy the poetry and thoughfulness of your words. they have a life of their own and an ability to take me to familiar but yet untraveled places. perhaps our (dave’s and my) wanderings will allow us cross paths again sometime soon. blessings and strength for the journey.
September 18th, 2007 at 8:39 pm
Congratulations, Kristin. I haven’t visited for a long time because I thought you had stopped blogging. I’m delighted that you will be a momma again. I am nominating you for a Reflective Blogger and if you’ve got time, you can pass it on to five others. On the other hand, you may be far too busy to “play meme games” right now. Just know I appreciate you.
September 19th, 2007 at 8:33 pm
Heidi, thank you. It’s a treat to hear your voice here. I would love for our paths to cross sometime soon.
Fran, thank you for the honor! I appreciate you so much, too, and enjoy keeping up with your thoughts via bloglines. I’ll go check out your post to learn more about this meme.
September 27th, 2007 at 9:58 pm
Oh, Kristin, I am flooded with love and longing reading this entry. Thank you for traveling so deeply and gorgeously into your life that you have returned to me, in this moment, my own.
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