I am “wordy”.      I am in love with words.  I love to read, love to talk, love music for its lyrics and I love to write. I could never live without words. My favorite subject was penmanship. I’m sad that it is no longer taught. There is something so beautiful and elegantly refined about curved letters.  Art.  Yes, I love words.  Its a love affair I hope never ends.

There is a big plastic bin in my attic filled with notebooks and legal pads.  In the bottom of the big green box  lay  innocent grade  school diaries alongside the journals of a bewildered young girl abandoned by her father yet navigating the magic of first love. There is a pretty hard covered diary that holds the ramblings of a 23 year old young bride being abused and beaten.  A large green tablet tells the story of her escape and reinvention. There are  black and white composition books that tell of a rise to success and fortune, of blissfull soulmate love and an amazing  life.  A road map to the American Dream.  And there are  moleskin workbooks that tell of  a fall from
grace and a dreams transition into a nightmare.  There is a dark maroon Cancer Diary full of fear and gratitude.  And there are the most important notebooks of all that tell of a middle aged woman’s struggle and  climb .  The climb out of an abyss  on a ladder of forgiveness and  acceptance to reach healing.   Each word is my truth.   Each  letter is a stroke in the fingerprint of my personal literary DNA.   My life story…so far…

For as long as I can remember, picking up a pen was therapy.  Pouring out my heart to no one but myself and I guess God was some primal instinct I could never be without.  I am compelled to do it and have been well…since I could.  It feels beautiful and satisfying to me.  As my thoughts turn into tangible words I feel great release.  Words are feeling and emotion to me.  They are all stuck inside until they pour on to paper where I can see them, sort them, make them my friends. Its all about that connection. In recent years I envision the words to be tiny points of light showing the way to right action as they pour onto the page from my heart.  A gift to me and sometimes my readers.

I write for myself. I have to, it can be no other way. If I try to write for others it does not work it is not authentic. But I write to help others.

I pour brutal honesty out onto the pages and risk vulnerability and expose myself for my readers because I want to help them.  If someone can learn or gain wisdom or comfort and hope from the telling of my story it is worth baring myself.  If telling of my great happiness or success can bring someone else the realization and inspiration for their own happiness or successful  then I have done what I set out to do.
When the sharing of the repulsive details of my own suffering  can alleviate someone else’s suffering and lighten their load. my discomfort in the telling of the story matters not..  What matters is that my words connect the reader to relief and healing, through insight and inspiration. What matters is that I have created a place that inspires healing and insight.  That is why my words are written.

That connection is for me too, not just the reader.  I write to connect.   I am an intense creature which sometimes makes for a lonely life.   When you look at and feel things  deeper than most, few  people understand you.  I  learned to cope by journaling. It taught me to connect with and understand myself. But as my life grew bigger and my journey more amazing I learned so much, I had to share it with others.  So,  I blog.
I reach out with my pen to see who is out there.  I throw my words out to the world to see who will grab on.  Who will get it.  Who will get me.

Words are a bridge.  A bridge from  safe feelings to intense emotion and back again.  Reader and writer,with each other for support, we walk the winding words of this bridge , sharing a connection of mind and emotion and memory.  It is a space where hearts are stirred, ideas are inspired, memories are recalled and resolution is achieved for both reader and writer.  The stories make us feel connected as each word threads us together in a shared experience.  We bridge our uniqueness to reveal our oneness.  That is such a beautiful feeling.

Life is all about connections. My blog is a bridge  connecting us to life and its meanings as I see them.
I hope you enjoy it and are stirred to think and be inspired by my experiences because they were meant to be  shared.

Peace and love,
Georgia Rose

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