Must we use words
For everything?
Can there not be
A silent, flaming
Leap of heart
Toward Thee?

- Elizabeth B. Rooney (1924-1999)

I love words. But I think I also see in my love of words a compunction to use them. They are safe. If not islands in the seas, they are at least floatation devices. 

Sometimes, I like to see what happens in me if I let loose for awhile my leash on words - slacken for a time (day, week, month) the way I use them to structure and hold, describe and name (all very good human capacities). Like many writers, my compunction for words is woven with a compunction to write, with unease - even a kind of febrile angst - quick to arise if I'm not writing. I've learned to hold this angst and let it be part of the task and work of writing. But sometimes, it is a gift to drop the rope, let wordlessness come upon me.

I think this is a way of freedom. Even replenishment. The need to write and my love of words is not going anywhere, but it seems good to let my soul know: you exist, and are seen and loved, regardless of your writing.