I can feel it building, that ache, that longing, the sense of something firm but gentle pushing against the inside of my ribs. The feeling that comes when I haven’t written in a while.

Maletsunyane Falls, Lesotho by Sergei Korotkov (c) Leksele

I love this sensation – not the guilt that comes with it – but the pressure that rises when there is something I need to say, something I need to put into words. It’s the longing to create, I suppose.

I wonder if God felt this when the universe, the universes pushed against the inside of God’s being. Did God feel this urge? Am I seeking to be like the One for whom I am made?

For too many days now, I have filled my hours with messages and meetings, with time and obligation. For too many days, I have passed a glance over what needs to be said and left it sitting there, unspoken.

Now, as always happens, I am at the edge of a high promontory across from a massive waterfall, and my only choice is to dive in, head first, to the tumbling fury of water below. I crave this moment – perhaps that’s why I allow it to build up so often – when I must give and plummet with the full speed of mass and gravity back into what makes me whole and alive.

The cold wash of water on me. Over me. The seconds (or days) where it seems I will not be able to breath again, and then the breaking through to the surface, which is really the place under the water of words where I can breath submerged.

This is why I write – because in that underwater, submerged place, life is muffled, and I move with the utter grace of language.

To get there I must dive, so dive I will and feel the tender creature behind my ribs break free as I scream into the silent water and breath again.