Love, Loss, and the Light of Words

The Gift of Words

Points of Light, Writing isn’t hard, at least not for me. When people compliment my writing, my heart feels the humility these compliments deserve. I always feel respectful high regard for the intentionality behind these compliments which feel very much like the milk of human kindness. Then, for what’s probably a brief second, maybe less, I wonder if anyone understands how writing is easy for me. As that thought fades, I’m left happy that someone read a piece that I had written, and I wonder that as they read my words if they felt the love I wanted and hoped they’d feel.

My Love Affair with Writing

I often say that life isn’t simple, nor is it simply understood. So it is with my writing. Something else I often say is that when I’ve not written for an extended amount of time, “I’ve not been faithful to the lady I love.” I say this knowing writing is like someone I can confide in and depend upon, and while writing isn’t hard for me, I regret the times I fail to work at writing.

In March of 2020, I described this very thing like this… “Seems if I were honest, I'd tell the world writing is the love of my life. She's the one I always hold close to my breast and defend to the death..."

The Dark and Ugly World

Still, I'm not always so faithful to this lady of mine. Sometimes I think I miss her beautiful smile and bright eyes that share with me the brilliance of the sun, moon, and stars. Then I miss her soft skin and gentle body she calmly and patiently pushes against me - while at the same time she knowingly and lovingly soothes me with her soft caresses to my brow, efficiently eliminating all my worries. It's true that in her I know beauty exists in a dark and ugly world.

Sting and the Fields of Gold

I wrote to you about her after hearing Sting share his story "Fields of Gold," and I told you this: "I acquiesced to the realization that what he held in his heart, he held because beauty happened to him in the realm of warm flesh and blood. For me, I'll always hold beauty in my mind, in the realm of words—a narrative of a tiny two-paragraph story—and I felt contentment in this acquiescence.

"Somehow, somewhere in my story, my mind can experience a lesser form of his: 'See the west wind movelike a lover so upon the fields of barley. Feel her body rise when you kiss her mouth among the fields of gold.' My story will read another way, with other words of less clarity and beauty, but the story will tell something just as nice. Just as my friend will feel the warm sun in some jealous sky somewhere as he presses against and feels the warmth of someone, in the stories I write, my mind can reveal to me this same feeling, over and over again, even as many years pass."

Love, Loss, and the Dance of Words

To move, to journey through time with purpose, is to truly breathe, to truly live. But fear, the shadow that clings to desire, can steal that breath, that momentum, turning confident strides into hesitant shuffles. What fuels this fear? It is the yearning for love, for closeness, for connection—and the terrifying prospect of their loss. This is the gravity that binds us to fear, the weight of potential loss.

But words stay with me until they don't. And when they're gone, fear creeps in. It starts as a search, a yearning. A feeling, a deep thought, a flood of emotion. But where can I find solace? In the pause. Pause. Pause. In my heart.

Embrace it. Singing, touching with tenderness, being kind. One word, then two, more follow. Poetry, with its inherent beauty, speaks warmth, calling me, beckoning me to join in. I longed for you, words. For all the colors and the places your abundance takes me. Stay with me, I want you and your voice where it's written—each and every letter so dear to my heart. Welcome back!

A Journey in Words

Writing means so much to me. In a world that's crazy, messy, and tumultuous, writing always gives me peace and tranquility. But, I don't always write. And when I don't, I find myself lonely and miserable, struggling to breathe, and pushing through time and space becomes too hard.

Then, when I finally come back to it, putting letters, words, sentences, and paragraphs together into something that shines light, pops of color, and reads beautifully, then I can finally breathe easy. I can smile, I can be happy, and I can't wait to use my feet to push myself through time and space.

Let's talk about pushing myself through time and space. I'm on a journey—ha, that's exactly what the time and space thing means. Of this journey, I once wrote this...

The Most Precious Substance

"When a man finds a woman's love, he's discovered the most precious substance in the universe. A life lived is hopefully full of emotion. Emotions bring us to so many places, and as we arrive at these destinations, we can cry, laugh, hate, love, and feel whatever our destination asks us to feel. At no better destination does anyone wish to arrive than in love, and upon arrival, a man wishes more than anything to find that most precious substance just mentioned.

Still, when he arrives at this place called love, life continues to demand his undivided attention and can cause the beauty of love to appear faded and dull. A life lived always seeks to live in love's destination, but life doesn't make navigating this place easy. In this struggle to navigate, he can only hope to stay in love. And so, a life lived through love goes as it has always gone. But about that word "so"—it's an okay word because a life lived in love is worth a struggle; anyone who's ever lived there will tell you so."

The Colors of Love

Living in this place, when a man discovers he loves this woman in return, he knows he's found love's true destination. For him, the light found in their love has given him every color he ever hoped to have, and with these colors, he finds nothing but ultimate beauty in this place he'd previously felt to be only as real as the city of El Dorado. While he'd sighed before, he's never sighed with true contentment. He's grateful for this sound, this sound he makes as he experiences this truly contented sigh. Then, simply as a matter of logic and fact, time and space make their presence known as life unfolds.

So while living in love, life throws many challenges his way. While love fills his heart with warm light, he's also given the chance to experience the full spectrum of emotions that life offers. Best of all, he shares this journey—the light, the colors, the highs and lows—with her. Together, they choose to focus on the bright, happy colors, and their hearts overflow with joy.

However, as time passes, the challenges of life inevitably take their toll, and the vibrant light of love begins to dim. Navigating the complexities of their relationship becomes more difficult as he grapples with darker emotions and a sense of growing distance between them.

Love's Trials

So now, as life demands more of his attention and loyalty, and the once-bright flame of love flickers, he truly understands the depth of her unwavering devotion. He is loved, but increasingly, he acts in spite of that love. The bitterness of life leads him to seek solace in drink rather than in her continued affection. Yet, no matter how lost he gets, she welcomes him home, her love providing warmth and shelter from the storm.

Time and hardship wear on him, and he grows louder, more aggressive, even hostile. In the very place where her heart has always thrived, she begins to feel unsafe, doubt creeping in. His gratitude, though sincere, can't silence the whispers of uncertainty. As the light of love dims within him, he turns colder, rejecting the warmth she so freely offers. He takes her love, not with tenderness, but with a desperate need.

Yet, life is a funny thing. Even as he succumbs to darkness, he knows deep down that her love is the most precious gift he's ever received. In his darkest moments, a flicker of shame remains, and lying beside her, stealing her light, he still finds the strength to gently caress her cheek. She feels the ember of his love still glowing, and they share a sigh filled with a mix of hope and uncertainty.

The Heart's Compass

It's interesting, this thing we all do because we must do it - live life. A life lived isn't simple, nor is it simply understood. So it is with whether I write or whether I don't. You see, my writing doesn't happen in a vacuum. The letters, words, sentences, and paragraphs I write don't just appear out of the ether - that place wholly outside my skin. They come from a deep, real, and meaningful searching of my heart to find out what is really real, true, and needful in my ever-evolving journey. So when I say, as I have in the past, that I've not been faithful to my writing, I'm actually saying I've avoided my heart.

The Colors of My Heart

All the light I find for my writing illuminates a spectrum of colors I'm eager to share. But when I weave those marvelous and wonderful colors into something beautiful, where does that beauty truly originate? I'm writing this with tears in my eyes – it comes from the heart of Tod (with only one "d"), it comes from me! As someone once said, "I'm cute, I'm cute. She said I'm cute!"

For a life lived mostly in darkness, void of light, colors, and beauty, it would be easier to claim the compliments and encouragement I receive for my writing stem from some ethereal source. But the truth, a newfound realization for me, is this confession: all that light, all that color, all that beauty I ever wrote about flowed from the depths of my heart.

Wrestling with the Darkness

So what about not writing? Am I merely avoiding typing out letters to form words, sentences, and paragraphs into a beautiful story because I don't want to tell it? Ha, I already told you life isn't that simple! In fact, that's not it at all. The truth is, not writing means my heart's feeling cold and dark. Beyond that, it means I've failed—out of fear—to look at and write about whatever's made my heart fall into a slough of despondency.

I know there are times when I wrestle to pull my heart out of this dreaded bog, but the more I wrestle and fight, the deeper I sink. These are the things, the stuff, the issues that dim and eventually snuff out the glorious light my heart desires. Lately, I've given in to the darkness, letting it overtake and engulf me. The things, the stuff, the issues, I just don't want to face in the dark. I want to keep it all to myself; the meanness of darkness isn't something I want to share, at least not until there's a silver lining, a life lesson learned.

The funny thing is, I've just found the beginning of that silver lining. Light, in tiny slivers, is piercing the veil of darkness. As I look around, faint colors are returning, adding much-needed variation to everything that was distorted and hard to understand. Like, this bog isn't so deep or hard to move through after all. Beauty seems possible again. I'm writing, and I think I've already mentioned I love writing. Holding her close to my breast is something that gives me nothing but rich dividends.

Love and Peace

Tod w/ only one d