A brief, piece of introspection describing writing as personal therapy.
Comfort and warmth flow like the river of life from the heart of my counselor, guide, mentor and friend – the empty page and the gift of words. I find sweet release in the power of words and the healing balm of endless creativity. There is no tormentor, judge or critic who can steal this, my final joy, from me. I write, read, edit – and am complete, restored to wholeness in the process of gifted imagination and the creation of life from nothingness.
What sadness can intrude, what madness interrupt, how can chaos destroy this simplicity, this love of my mind and soul? Suns explode, stars fall, mountains erupt, oceans heave, people cry, death stalks life – and the word moves on through space, unaffected by time and tides.
The heavy price of certain introspection and personal revelation is the very power from which I draw sustenance and strength. Let sadness attempt harmless intrusion, madness try to interfere, let chaos wail its strength against my fluid soul – they merely provide a more intense flame from which I forge my weapons of survival. The more I am wounded, the more this gift flourishes and grows. It is the cycle of life, the power of therapy, the comfort of my Mentor and Friend – the healing balm of the Empty Page and The Gift of Words.