I haven’t tap danced in a while.
Words seem to be in short supply for me these days. The few that find their way to expression are frustrating in their inadequacy (these ones that you now read not discounting) – all of them hollow vessels devoid of true meaning. There is a time for verbose disclosure as there is also time for muted reflection. For me now, the hour hand points at the latter. And it seems to linger there. I am in a state of wordlessness. Gagged by I’m not sure what. Writing this post is hard labor…
Strangely, the exercise of writing that has once meaningfully charted my reflective meanderings, precipitated ideas that floated in my mind and heart, recorded my ambivalence about certain matters, and coaxed the inner child to play with words, now seems unreliable, even hostile. I feel betrayed by my written words. If and when they come, either they are unfaithful to the meanings they have been dispensed to express, or they are wanting in truth, appropriateness, or impact.
I may not be in good writing form nowadays, but I have surely gotten voracious with my intake of words. I am now juggling three books: Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose (bought with a National Book Store gift certificate); Elisabeth Elliot’s Shadow of the Almighty (biography of husband Jim – a Christian martyr; this copy salvaged from the dusty boxes at the office); and Stephen Lawhead’s The Paradise War (lauded by friends as delightfully Tolkienish; borrowed copy – from whom, I am not sure).
I am a painfully slow reader. And I intend to keep it that way for now 😉