I reflect now on the thing that most escapes my understanding. And that is trying to reason through the effect of an attractive pull that gets me to write the things that I write about. One may think that I could write about virtually anything. I suppose that may hold true some of the times, with assistance. But to write on the things that I am least passionate about, well, it is like pulling teeth. It is very much a strain and I would have to force drag myself up to sit steady to write on my least pursued topics. It seems then, that I use enthusiasm as my litmus test or compass that points me in the direction I should write towards.
I then get lost in thought as to why such words are chosen to be expressed, that is, whatever becomes expressed out of me. I see expression as the milk that leaks out of the mother’s bosom. She has to work through the pain of the milking process and it is only when the milk is fully expressed, she is able to gain a sense of relief. Quite strangely, however, I do not have the answer as to why I write the things that I choose to write about. I more sense an attractive force or pull, coupled with thoughts accumulating in mind and when I do not express these thoughts, they begin to cloud my mind, just as a mother’s bosom becomes fully engorged with her milk just waiting to be expressed.
I suppose then, I may consider it my passion, as I bear such an invisible, yet very powerful force that influences my choice of words and causes the hand to write. What challenges me even more, is the thought that most of these thoughts that circumvent my mind, usually do not land in your everyday conversations. While everyone is chatting in my immediate environment, all that I am thinking about it is how on earth do sink holes form? Why does it happen? Where does the soil all go? The land just evaporates, just like that. Or sometimes, I wonder about the marine life and the creatures that are not yet seen by man. Not that I actually want to see these creatures. But I think about them nonetheless. I know! Strange, isn’t it? My mind floats to random topics that I cannot easily stick into your everyday conversation. When I study my words, I appreciate my lack of relatability to the much outer world. After all, if I write about life as a loner, truly, I mean truly, how many persons can actually relate to this topic? By life’s consensus, I would imagine this figure to amount to nothing more than less than one percent. Am I right or am I right? Yet, it is a topic that intrigues me, since it circumscribes the world in which I live. My decisions may grossly differ from the decisions of the majority, whatever the majority may look like. What intrigues me the most is learning life’s adjustments in a world where my relatability is certainly lacking. I ask myself, if I struggle to fit into this world, well, there must be another world from which I belong. There has to be some other way one must go in order to survive when there is very little to survive on just off of this world alone. This leads me to explore!
It pushes me to imagine with more effort and to believe, quite surely, this is not all there is to life. Why would the Creator, the Eternal One, leave his children on earth to simply live quotidian, humdrum, lives when our Father was teeming with so much creativity. I used to think about this a lot. It made very little sense to me. Deep down, I knew that there was something more to life. I knew that there was something more, but I did not know what!
For life is more than food and the body more than clothing.
(Luke 12:23)
The act of writing helps me to challenge my own thoughts. I play thought games where I challenge one thought with another, then I put the winning thought to the test and then come up with some conclusion. I play with my thoughts. The beauty in thought play is having the understanding that there will always be room for more learning and for more understanding. I may understand a thought in one way today, but after a very practical experience, my perception may change. The base thought remains the same, but there is thought growth happening, as I receive more understanding.
So, now I focus on the source of these thoughts. Where exactly are my thoughts coming from? I may not have the exact answer, but one thing that I do know is that my tendency for writing usually occurs during periods of extreme stress or strain. Words seem to effortlessly pour out from out of nowhere. I then considered the nature of my words and reflected on much. When I think about the force that gets my hand active, sometimes, I think that I am moved by God’s Spirit to write the things that I write. I mostly keep these writings to myself, for I never really knew where the source was coming from. I sit now to think that maybe, just maybe, just a teeny weeny maybe, perhaps, I was able to hear God’s voice in a way that got me to express all the thoughts that were floating around inside my head. But I assert, this is only speculation. Most importantly, however, I would receive the thoughts that kept my spirit afloat while moving through some of life’s greatest adventures. Though I had very little time to sit down, I never denied myself the great pleasure of writing on those tiny bits of paper that I kept with me in my pocket. While I was walking on my way to pick up results or to collect medication, I would be writing short notes to myself, expressing the things that just needed to be expressed at the time. My short notes became my lifeline to keep my body upright in my most difficult moments. When I did write, I wrote with much intensity and vigor. I wrote encouraging speeches to myself. I wrote words to encourage myself.
I used to think for a very long time, that when someone hears God’s voice, they would hear an actual voice. Perhaps, this may hold true for others. But I never heard any such voice. No. In fact, I don’t hear any physical sounds. What I do hear are thoughts that play out in an authoritative tone. Sometimes, I hear the words flow out as if in song. I sometimes hear a melody of words. When I don’t write, the thoughts start to pile up in my mind and play over and over and over again, until finally I release them. I considered much, that writing may have been my connecting piece to communicate with my Father. It is just a thought that I sometimes consider.
I dig further into this idea. Suppose I say it is indeed, God who speaks to me, how can I be so sure that all that comes out of me is actually his thoughts? I have struggled with this thought for a very long time. Could it be my Guardian Angel? Could it be my own thoughts? Then it hit me. In times when I wrote the most, I knew the verses of Scripture the least. But now, when I study my words that I have already written in the past, I find myself in awe, realizing that some of those words closely matched the ones that were written in Scripture. It took me a very long time to come to terms with this idea. Could it be that God, the Creator of all things was really speaking to me; this little island girl? I doubted it for a really long time. It was only when I began to read more deeply and consistently the verses of Scripture, was I able to discern his voice.
When I realized that this could potentially be his voice, I began to get a little nervous. For, now that I do know this, suppose I erred in my future writings, thinking that it was his voice, when in fact, it was my own voice that I would be hearing. Am I writing or is He writing or am I leaning on Him to write? I was anxious for a time about being mixed up with the thoughts that streamed through my mind. So, I held on to much reservations and instead, I would mostly review and meditate on the words which I had already written form previous times, which were always quite therapeutic for me.
At this point in time, I cannot ‘boldly’ say I ‘hear’ God’s voice, for I may be telling lies. I am still quite young in my spiritual endeavours. I am just only a baby. But from a worldly perspective, what I can say is that I try at best, to write intuitively. I allow my inner self to take the wheel whenever I do decide to write and it is from this place, where I receive much insight. When I begin to write from this internal flame, thoughts flow. I try to keep in harmony with the flame that quietly burns inside of me; this flame that stirs up quite the fuzzy, warm, inviting feeling. It is this flame that provides the source of my fuel. It is this flame that frames my hand to write. It is this flame that lets me know that I am indeed, alive. As I write, more life flows through me. I feel energy flow through me.
I will not yet know the actual words and definitions in the English language what all of this writing and its source can possibly mean, but I use writing and imagination as my tools to access what can never truly be seen or touched in the material world. It is in writing, am I able to slip out of the material world and into the invisible world, before I find my way slipping back into the material world.
Now, I consider my final thought. I am thinking... If I want to take this challenge of writing a little further, I have to start trusting in the words that I write. My words may not be for everyone’s appetite, but I still have to learn to trust my hand and what it does with the words that flow out of me. I have to push myself in eliminating doubts, when I do write, so that what comes out may be somewhat more pure and true.
I challenge myself, then, to trust my thought flow and to not alter too much of what comes out. For what comes out is my true self – expression and this is what I was always hoping to get out of this exercise in my faith journey. I long to know my true self, so that I can activate my true powers.
I learn to rest the opposing self for a while, in order to allow the true Marisa to break through and tear down the tall walls of a defense that she has built for herself over the accumulating years. I dare myself to write in good faith and for once and for all, just trust myself with my thoughts, as I learn to let go of self-doubts. I need to start trusting in the power of my words, resting on my Father’s strength to help me express the things neatly hidden inside of me. It is by faith, that I allow the words to be abundantly birthed out of me.
I then get lost in thought as to why such words are chosen to be expressed, that is, whatever becomes expressed out of me. I see expression as the milk that leaks out of the mother’s bosom. She has to work through the pain of the milking process and it is only when the milk is fully expressed, she is able to gain a sense of relief. Quite strangely, however, I do not have the answer as to why I write the things that I choose to write about. I more sense an attractive force or pull, coupled with thoughts accumulating in mind and when I do not express these thoughts, they begin to cloud my mind, just as a mother’s bosom becomes fully engorged with her milk just waiting to be expressed.
I suppose then, I may consider it my passion, as I bear such an invisible, yet very powerful force that influences my choice of words and causes the hand to write. What challenges me even more, is the thought that most of these thoughts that circumvent my mind, usually do not land in your everyday conversations. While everyone is chatting in my immediate environment, all that I am thinking about it is how on earth do sink holes form? Why does it happen? Where does the soil all go? The land just evaporates, just like that. Or sometimes, I wonder about the marine life and the creatures that are not yet seen by man. Not that I actually want to see these creatures. But I think about them nonetheless. I know! Strange, isn’t it? My mind floats to random topics that I cannot easily stick into your everyday conversation. When I study my words, I appreciate my lack of relatability to the much outer world. After all, if I write about life as a loner, truly, I mean truly, how many persons can actually relate to this topic? By life’s consensus, I would imagine this figure to amount to nothing more than less than one percent. Am I right or am I right? Yet, it is a topic that intrigues me, since it circumscribes the world in which I live. My decisions may grossly differ from the decisions of the majority, whatever the majority may look like. What intrigues me the most is learning life’s adjustments in a world where my relatability is certainly lacking. I ask myself, if I struggle to fit into this world, well, there must be another world from which I belong. There has to be some other way one must go in order to survive when there is very little to survive on just off of this world alone. This leads me to explore!
It pushes me to imagine with more effort and to believe, quite surely, this is not all there is to life. Why would the Creator, the Eternal One, leave his children on earth to simply live quotidian, humdrum, lives when our Father was teeming with so much creativity. I used to think about this a lot. It made very little sense to me. Deep down, I knew that there was something more to life. I knew that there was something more, but I did not know what!
For life is more than food and the body more than clothing.
(Luke 12:23)
The act of writing helps me to challenge my own thoughts. I play thought games where I challenge one thought with another, then I put the winning thought to the test and then come up with some conclusion. I play with my thoughts. The beauty in thought play is having the understanding that there will always be room for more learning and for more understanding. I may understand a thought in one way today, but after a very practical experience, my perception may change. The base thought remains the same, but there is thought growth happening, as I receive more understanding.
So, now I focus on the source of these thoughts. Where exactly are my thoughts coming from? I may not have the exact answer, but one thing that I do know is that my tendency for writing usually occurs during periods of extreme stress or strain. Words seem to effortlessly pour out from out of nowhere. I then considered the nature of my words and reflected on much. When I think about the force that gets my hand active, sometimes, I think that I am moved by God’s Spirit to write the things that I write. I mostly keep these writings to myself, for I never really knew where the source was coming from. I sit now to think that maybe, just maybe, just a teeny weeny maybe, perhaps, I was able to hear God’s voice in a way that got me to express all the thoughts that were floating around inside my head. But I assert, this is only speculation. Most importantly, however, I would receive the thoughts that kept my spirit afloat while moving through some of life’s greatest adventures. Though I had very little time to sit down, I never denied myself the great pleasure of writing on those tiny bits of paper that I kept with me in my pocket. While I was walking on my way to pick up results or to collect medication, I would be writing short notes to myself, expressing the things that just needed to be expressed at the time. My short notes became my lifeline to keep my body upright in my most difficult moments. When I did write, I wrote with much intensity and vigor. I wrote encouraging speeches to myself. I wrote words to encourage myself.
I used to think for a very long time, that when someone hears God’s voice, they would hear an actual voice. Perhaps, this may hold true for others. But I never heard any such voice. No. In fact, I don’t hear any physical sounds. What I do hear are thoughts that play out in an authoritative tone. Sometimes, I hear the words flow out as if in song. I sometimes hear a melody of words. When I don’t write, the thoughts start to pile up in my mind and play over and over and over again, until finally I release them. I considered much, that writing may have been my connecting piece to communicate with my Father. It is just a thought that I sometimes consider.
I dig further into this idea. Suppose I say it is indeed, God who speaks to me, how can I be so sure that all that comes out of me is actually his thoughts? I have struggled with this thought for a very long time. Could it be my Guardian Angel? Could it be my own thoughts? Then it hit me. In times when I wrote the most, I knew the verses of Scripture the least. But now, when I study my words that I have already written in the past, I find myself in awe, realizing that some of those words closely matched the ones that were written in Scripture. It took me a very long time to come to terms with this idea. Could it be that God, the Creator of all things was really speaking to me; this little island girl? I doubted it for a really long time. It was only when I began to read more deeply and consistently the verses of Scripture, was I able to discern his voice.
When I realized that this could potentially be his voice, I began to get a little nervous. For, now that I do know this, suppose I erred in my future writings, thinking that it was his voice, when in fact, it was my own voice that I would be hearing. Am I writing or is He writing or am I leaning on Him to write? I was anxious for a time about being mixed up with the thoughts that streamed through my mind. So, I held on to much reservations and instead, I would mostly review and meditate on the words which I had already written form previous times, which were always quite therapeutic for me.
At this point in time, I cannot ‘boldly’ say I ‘hear’ God’s voice, for I may be telling lies. I am still quite young in my spiritual endeavours. I am just only a baby. But from a worldly perspective, what I can say is that I try at best, to write intuitively. I allow my inner self to take the wheel whenever I do decide to write and it is from this place, where I receive much insight. When I begin to write from this internal flame, thoughts flow. I try to keep in harmony with the flame that quietly burns inside of me; this flame that stirs up quite the fuzzy, warm, inviting feeling. It is this flame that provides the source of my fuel. It is this flame that frames my hand to write. It is this flame that lets me know that I am indeed, alive. As I write, more life flows through me. I feel energy flow through me.
I will not yet know the actual words and definitions in the English language what all of this writing and its source can possibly mean, but I use writing and imagination as my tools to access what can never truly be seen or touched in the material world. It is in writing, am I able to slip out of the material world and into the invisible world, before I find my way slipping back into the material world.
Now, I consider my final thought. I am thinking... If I want to take this challenge of writing a little further, I have to start trusting in the words that I write. My words may not be for everyone’s appetite, but I still have to learn to trust my hand and what it does with the words that flow out of me. I have to push myself in eliminating doubts, when I do write, so that what comes out may be somewhat more pure and true.
I challenge myself, then, to trust my thought flow and to not alter too much of what comes out. For what comes out is my true self – expression and this is what I was always hoping to get out of this exercise in my faith journey. I long to know my true self, so that I can activate my true powers.
I learn to rest the opposing self for a while, in order to allow the true Marisa to break through and tear down the tall walls of a defense that she has built for herself over the accumulating years. I dare myself to write in good faith and for once and for all, just trust myself with my thoughts, as I learn to let go of self-doubts. I need to start trusting in the power of my words, resting on my Father’s strength to help me express the things neatly hidden inside of me. It is by faith, that I allow the words to be abundantly birthed out of me.
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