What is the most powerful way to make an impact in the world? Words? Actions? A picture? Hive is all about words and images and how they convey a theme. How long does it take you to write a post? What is the best approach to blogging. Efficiently. Succinctly. And photos? How much time do you spend with your camera? How do you choose the most powerful image to match your title and reflect the entire post? How do you know it will grip your readers and leave a lasting impression? Does writing consume you or are you able to throw together a post that makes the same impact of a more dedicated author?
This post has taken me hours to write. Two days worth of hours in fact. And a box of tissues. If I had doodled on paper I could've filled a library. Writing. Re-writing. Thinking. Overthinking. Writing again. And even as I continue scratching together words. Deleting. Starting over. I am not satisfied. Sometimes a post comes together in a griping manner. The words and pictures merging together like a tapestry. Other times - and this is one - each word is fragile. Each sentence as delicate as the wings of a butterfly. Just as you think you've captured it, it flutters away.
Life is like writing. It can be all consuming and captivating. And suddenly it can flit away. Yesterday that reality hit me with bittersweet force. I was in one room of the farmhouse and my husband in the other. We were each having very different conversations. As we put down our separate phones and sought each other out I was overjoyed, Farmer Buckaroo was devastated. "They are pregnant" I sang out while our children danced around my feet. And then I noticed his shocked face. "Jaco just died".
How bizarre that as one life begins so another ends. Our friend died suddenly of a massive heart attack. The shockwaves are reverberating through our community. Having lost my first husband to cancer my heart grieves for his wife and children who have to come to grips with their loss. The burden is increased as another friend, who was widowed three months ago, just spent the weekend with us. She too has had to walk that cruel path of the fight against cancer.
Life is our most precious commodity. Living is like writing. Some have a natural affect on people, with barely any effort. Others need to work really hard at it. Having walked this almost unbearable journey I have no answers. I have no words. What I do have is silence. I would never wish to repeat the journey but I am prepared to sit quietly beside those beginning, with trembling steps and aching hearts, the path through the valley of the shadow of death. It is very, very painful to keep living when a part of you has died. You can never be the same again. Time does not heal the hurt. Time merely shows you how to cope with the loss. And in time the beauty of life and hope, like the gold lacquer of kintsukuroi, piece together the brokeness.
Image from Wabi Sabi on imgur.com