I've done it time and again, written out my intentions, and almost as if by magic, those intentions manifest. Of course, the reason my words hold such power is because I back up each and every one with deliberate action. When I'm too sick or scared or hurt to speak and/or act, the nothingness that follows creates a vacuum. Actions propel words, and the intentions they carry, forward. Without corresponding action, words are meaningless. I suppose that makes me a time-traveler of sorts. Words, and the act of writing them, allow me to be present--like now--but also, to change my future, as well as my past.
Have you ever wanted to erase something? Maybe something you said, or did? Or, perhaps even a person...a person who caused you pain? While I can't erase pain, I can replace it with joy. I can't take away memories, but I can create new ones. It's funny how new words don't exactly replace the old, but morph those collections of letters and syllables and sounds into something unexpected. In a good way. The memory of the person who broke you? It morphs, too. It's as if everything you thought you knew suddenly changes. As do you. When that happens, your mind, body and spirit form a holy trinity. You become whole again. Complete.
The truth you once questioned, you now know to be real beyond the shadow of a doubt. The missing pieces are no longer missing then. Because, your words transmuted what was missing into something that should be missed. Any void left behind was overshadowed by the gleam and glow of golden grammar, punctuating your life like the Sun punctuates the sky.
Writers are the witnesses of this world. We painstakingly collect data, record material, and translate human behavior into palatable ideas. We do that for ourselves as well. My words shape not only my future, but also my past. Those who disappeared get no such privilege. Invisible tongues cannot form words in non-existent mouths. Nor can invisible fingers caress a keyboard or pick up a pen.
It's interesting to think of those self-made ghosts, haunting a past that no longer exists. In limbo. Wandering aimlessly. Aimless because they have no voice. Which also means, they have no choice. How frustrating it must be. To see me erase your world one syllable at a time. The cosmic irony is that my voice was given to me by those who marginalized my words. Words that were twisted into confused shapes by minds that have none. How wonderful then, that today, my words are heard around the world in at least nine languages and 114 countries, territories, and islands. That translates to more than two-million living, breathing people. People who share my light when we connect through the written word.
The more light we create through words, the less darkness there is for the ghosts of this world to haunt....
The past cannot h(a)unt a writer like me. Nothing can. For, it is within the power of my pen to expose evil. Not to live as a victim. But, to overcome it. Be empowered. Empowered enough to obliterate any and all of the pain and difficulty I have recorded. Erase the negatives. And, write in positives on the blank pages left behind. Positives I not only speak and write, but live.