I need to take some time to actually write on this blog. I have all these words that tumble around in my brain almost nonstop.. that is until I sit down to actually write and then the silence suddenly is all I hear. It is not a peaceful, resting, quiet silence. No this is the heavy silence that lets you know there really is something there, you just can't hear it or see it right now. This silence is an eerie that leaves you feeling very unsettled. You will find yourself rubbing your arms briskly and wishing you had worn your sweater.
Of course once I close the laptop or put down my pen/pencil and paper my mind will be instantly filled with the noise once again. There are times I feel like the incessant noise in my mind will not let up and if I don't get what is there out it will drive me insane. Sometimes I wonder how I am not already there. It is so jumbled and there are so many many voices to the past that need sorted. There are ideas, pictures or music that pulse through me and fill me with raw emotion. I want to be able to share what I see or hear in my mind but I don't know how. I have tried to explain to others some of the things but they make no sense to someone who can not see, hear, or feel it the way I am. I feel like the brilliance gets lost and becomes nothing. I become nothing.
I know this happens to other people and I am not alone in this. There are so many people who want to bring to life what it is they see, feel, hear and struggle. There are those who want to just get the noise out of their heads, make it stop, make it go away. There are those who wonder what peace and quiet really feels like as I do. Every so often I am lucky and for a little while I will actually get to have something that make some sense not only to me but they have arranged themselves in such a way that I can coax them out of my head and into something that I can share with the world. Those times are both the best and the worst. I feel exalted that I was able to bring something to life. I feel terrified it will be so picked apart and critiqued that there will be nothing of the art or the dream left in it. I dread how the world will tear it down and try to make it into nothing, or into something that fits a predetermined mold only as if there is no room for anything or anyone different.