Uncapped

May 2023 Note to Self

My fine-tipped pen is uncapped and will remain so for the foreseeable future, for I dropped the cap somewhere in our garden which is rampant with grasses, thick with flowers, some of them, (some would say many of them,) weeds. I can stop to peer into the wild thicket, or I can continue to write. At risk of seeming wasteful I say, why waste time searching for a stopper?

Aren’t we all uncapped pens on this Earth? And don’t so many of us dry up before we’ve dared scribble a word? Such reckless timidity. Do we believe we have nothing to say? Or are we waiting for someone to introduce us? Thinking that will be our cue, to walk on stage and begin being brilliant. There is no introduction. Brilliance is not a requirement. This ground is our stage. This breath our cue. So do it. Sing. Dance. Doodle. Write. Whistle. Cook. Paint. Make a mess. Make a face you’ve never made before. Walk. Wander. Prowl across the skin of your days like a hungry animal. Stalk wonder. Don’t wait uncapped and uninspired. Spill your ink.

The hand to seize is your own. Pull yourself onto the dance floor. It’s your home. Let yourself move the way you want to. Notice how it feels and what happens next. And do not forget to lose your appetite for other people’s admiration. Don’t drink from phantom springs. Applause is a racket we were trained to be pleased by. I no longer remember why. But if your hand-clapping pleases me, I will be persuaded to turn more tricks for your treats. The sand does not stop slipping through the hourglass, and I will have forgotten what I truly want. Chasing a bubble and when it bursts, chasing another. How frantic life feels when it is outward facing!

Let anonymity be my blessing. Let me be fed by the feast of my own life. Let my heart be homespun and full of praise. Today I want to be the bowl that life pours into, not the person who lifts the pitcher and believes she does the pouring. My voice, but one voice among billions. Does this makes me lonely?

Only when I am not listening.