Animated

‘You are most animated when you are talking about your writing.’

My morning started with this statement. It felt good. Especially when I was in a downward spiral, where I seemed to lose my radiance, my glow, my hope, and my zest for life. It happens whenever relationships take a downward swipe. At least for me. 

Whenever such a situation arises, it's almost a pretend reality. I am still moving through the everyday mechanics of living. Working, walking, reading, talking, leading, eating, laughing even. But the eyes are quiet. The lips quiver many an unseen moment. Breathing turns into sighs when noone is listening. The smog is smothering. Or is it the surge of my untended emotions?

Where do I lose my usual animated self? Is it in the recriminations I pile high on myself, peeking from under at the huge mountain of regrets, guilt, reprimands, wounds?  Or is it in the freezing silence that swamps my days, in the absence of any connection, blocked phonecalls, deleted messages, exited groups, averted eyes, bodies turned away. 

I turn then. Turn to my writing. My words. Unspoken sounds morphing into words, stringing into sentences, perched like dew drops on a spider’s web, glistening in the pale golden light emanating from my reclaiming of my animated self. 

I write. And I turn. Like a dervish. 

And then I turn. And turn. And turn. 

Till I find myself turning through the sign of infinity. The figure 8. The symbol of breakthrough. 

Into my animated self, lovingly touching life around me, softly whispering faith affirmations, inviting loving back into togetherness. 

Beyond breakdowns. 

Yes, I am most animated when I am not just talking, but actually writing.