A writer writes. 2

I told a client to remember to write. I told her, “I don’t belive in writer’s block. When it’s impossible, that’s when its necessary to put the pen to the page; if you are a writer.  When you can’t that’s when you need to do it most.”

What I do belive in is being blocked by not writing. I belive we teach what we need to know. I belive when I listen to the universe I talk less. I belive when I am silent too long the innerverse complexifies to a point its hard to think though the cacophony. Can a mind wander down so many paths and not try to make connections between the threads, contextualize the intense emotions, sing the song brewing in you? A writer I belive becomes ill if she succumbs to silence. A malaise settles in, spreads quickly, and steals clarity and crispness.

Like many times before I have remembered what I teach like I just discovered it. I am here to heal myself.

I am here on a Sunday morning to pray and praise. I am here. Alive. Breath in my body, mind racing, filled with intention and standing in the land of the living. I give thanks.

Death has been circling. My sister battling cancer. My clients mom died suddenly after a prolonged series of illnesses. A man another sister was having an affair with died. A cast member had a young family member die while we were in production.

Yet life is abundant. Another cast member is pregnant. My 5 yr. old grandson is in residence. We welcomed three babies into our extended family last year.

Things come. Things go. The constant is change.

This year I celebrated 10 years at the theater they built for me. If seven is the age of man then certainly we should have learned some things in 10 years.  Trying to sort those things, in the midst of my embarrassment of riches: family, a dissertation, new work demanding ink and breath, performances, the reality of a theater season at The Thea, and my ongoing baptism by Wilson, has silenced me. I have that ‘dancing as fast as I can’ feeling. Time for the doctor to take the medicine she prescribes.

I thank the ancestors, my parents, my children, the spirits that walk with me for the gifts given. I remember. I am here. I am not done. I remain a willing vessel. I plan to run on until my day is done and when I get to my maker may she say, ‘Well done.”

About Ayodele Nzinga, MFA, PhD

I create; therefore I am.
This entry was posted in Craft, journal, Life., Theater, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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