Voice and Heart

 

When I was a little girl, I was painfully shy. It seemed I couldn’t work my voice and heart together. My tongue often felt stranded, hidden behind a fearful, ardent inability to verbally express myself fully. Thoughts and ideas seethed within me, often fueled by the books and poetry I read avidly for hours every day. I felt as a ship exists in fog, my real self there, but hidden.

I slowly began to realize that what you think and what you say is often not the same thing. Once when I was three years old, and seeing the ocean for the first time, I stood by the edge of the water and said to my mother, “What a lot of wetness!” She laughed, and I said, “Why are words too small sometimes?” I don’t remember this, but the sentiment behind it has often defined me.

When I have words to name the inscrutable; when the unknown appears known in words, these are the times when I feel my most seraphic, authentic self.