Sunday, March 13, 2011

day 5: manifesto

i am a writer. writing is what i do. it's what i have always done. i wrote before i knew how to write, and i will continue to do so long after i forget how. i write what i think, what i feel, what i do, what i see, what i hear, what i sense. i write what i know and what i don't know. i write the scent of spring flowers and the furry feel of moss under my hand. i write as i speak. i write as i dream. i write awake and i write asleep. i write through pain, through joy, through confusion. i write through the past and the future. i write to see. i write to hear. i write to remember. i write through war into peace and back. i write even, or maybe especially, when i don't write. i write in books, i write in pads, i write on napkins, on old envelopes, on the backs of election lists, on scraps of paper, on toilet tissues, on shopping lists, on leaves, on the bark of trees. and if i have none of these to write on, i will write on the inside edge of my heart, i will write in the creases of my liver. i will write on my skin. i will write on yours too if you let me. i will write on the clouds in the sky and the shells in the sand. and as i write, the world's breath becomes my breath, flowing through my arm, ink off my pen.

and this is the only thing that god has ever asked of me. the only thing, in return for the bounty of life. just this. to sit down. every day. pick up a pen. and write. because i am a writer. because she has made me so.

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