There’s an endless flow of words running through my head. I write them down, but more come to fill the well that I think gets emptied. The words started coming when I was little. Since then, they’ve always been there day after day.
At times they bother me, because they won’t leave me alone until I write them down. But once I write them down, they’re out of me – so they leave me alone, and I’m at peace for a while. But, more words come. Again, I write them down and am at peace. I type and write until tired – pause to see if any more are there and then smile – because of the silence that has finally returned.
I’m grateful for the words that flow. It’s all just a bit much at times. Writing provides an outlet for the ideas that flash through my mind…a way to emit the essence of the thoughts that flow. I write down the words and share them with the world. It will be up to other people to decide what they want to do with them.
In the movie, Finding Forrester, the main character (an author) wrote the words that came to his mind every day. They flooded his brain, his heart, and his body, until they filled his entire being. In the movie, his prize-winning book was an overflowing of those thoughts – in an effort to appease the words that besieged him day in and day out.
His words continued to flow to the point that he locked himself in an apartment – away from humanity and typed day and night. The banging of the keys would cease long enough for him to read, watch a little TV, or go out on occasion. I wonder if he ever thought, “I walk the streets at nighttime to see what people have done, what they leave behind, WHAT they are. I need to walk in daytime if I want to know WHO they are.”
Likewise, are there streets that you walk in aimless wonder?
Forrester also locked himself away because he couldn’t deal with the way people treated each other. He thought he could protect himself if he could hide from the rest of the world, but that didn’t hold true. Even with years “away” from the outside world, he was still captured by the persona of a young man who was struggling to become a writer – to share his own ever-persistent thoughts about the world around him.
Why is it that words and thoughts plague some of us and leave others alone? Or is it that ALL of us are bothered by them, but some just choose to ignore them completely? Is that what happens?
Does it happen to you? Let me know.
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[…adapted from Marty’s book An Agreement with Life]