I have not seen many words yet. I’ve been awake for 25 minutes, and I’m quietly sidestepping the way information can come to me. I have left my smart phone face down. I have logged into only this blog site, not even reading yesterday’s comments. I haven’t picked up a book or scanned the county newspaper on my coffee table.
This is my time – when the light is just slanting over the mountains and the dryer runs an early tumble behind the wall before me – a time when I come slumber-filled and clumsy to the page. Fresh and fumbling.
I am working to detach some, to let “platform” (oh, how I have come to loathe that word) float and “likes” wait. I am stepping back for this entire month from all the numbers that intrude on my words. No analytics or SEO stats. No subscribe updates or those tiny unsubscribes that wiggle into my soul like poison daggers. Just words and the people on the other side of their screens who lay their whorled fingers against mine through a weaving of zeroes and ones.
It’s almost like we press our palms into each other when we write – a thin sheet of wavy glass between us. I am trying to focus on the way your hand feels (almost) against mine instead of whether your palm engulfs my entire hand or your pinky can bend down over mine. Comparison is only fun if it ends in hand holding.
Here on these webs of numbers that make words, too often comparison ends in fists and upthrust middle fingers and tears.
So I am here, in this quiet farm morning, a puppy snuffling in her sleep behind me, removing my fingers from those webs a little. I’m here to soak in the wordlessness of wood poppies and the stumble of the wren hiding in the cabinet on my back porch. I’m here to let Lia Purpura’s essays slide down my throat like honey and to hear Sherman Alexie talk of men and nakedness and gyms with all his ballsy glory.
I’m here in this quiet to listen and to press not only my hand against the glass but my cheek, my ear . . . the vibrations of all that is holy wavering through.
What might you need to detach from to find your words fresh and fumbling again?