All posts tagged: words

I’ve Been Irresponsible

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There is a vitality, a life-force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique and, if you block it, it will never exist through any medium and will be lost… the world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is, nor how valuable, nor how it compares with other expressions… it is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. – Martha Graham in a letter to Agnes De Mille This quote hit me like a slap on the face (thanks, Jess!). I realized that, during the last two years, I’ve been completely irresponsible for my voice, which likes to express itself best through writing. I have a lot to share with the world –I aim to be of service through the written word– and yet I’ve been keeping it hidden, allowing it to go silent under the weight of a myriad excuses …

A Reckless Abandonment of Self

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There’s a song lyric by my favorite Argentine band, Soda Stereo, that I love above all others: “El silencio no es tiempo perdido” – “Silence is not time wasted.” There are many times when words are not necessary, neither written nor spoken. It’s a hard lesson to learn for those of us who love words and who also love letting our tongues run loose. For me, the greater lesson I constantly struggle to grasp is to not fall prey to extremes. I don’t like it when things are black or white; there are too many shades of gray in between. However, if I happen to be in the process of teaching myself to keep my mouth shut, to listen to another instead of interrupting them with my unsolicited ideas and opinions, I will most likely end up defaulting to the other side of the spectrum: I won’t speak up when it is correct and healthy for me to do so. Anger is an emotion that I used to never keep inside, but I have started …

One Day, You

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For a writer, there’s nothing worse than choking on the very words you’ve been desperately trying to cough out, and then, at the final moment, realizing you’ve drained them of their necessary air. For a writer, there’s nothing worse than knowing you have a deep ocean inside of you, from which words struggle to swim up, and up, and up, against strong currents imposed by you and no one else, only to watch them drown before reaching the surface. For a writer, you’re quite the trained killer. Who feels it but me? Who hears it but me? Who perceives it but me? Who bears it but me? I’ve been trying to spit something out for weeks. I’ve tried both languages. I’ve listened to music to inspire my thoughts and feelings (oh, these feelings!). I’ve tried to revive memories that still sting and sizzle as they make contact with my reality… And yet… And yet. Could it be? With so much to say? Really? Is this how it has to be? Just imagine: it’s all because …