Wordplay

​What is it that sends us down a rabbit hole? This past week for an unknown reason I got a bee in my bonnet to reignite my infatuation with Harry Potter. Peacock TV had all seven films available on demand. Out came the pj’s and the popcorn as I settled in for a Hogwarts marathon. By part seven, there it was, the impetus (the buzzing bee) that compelled me to relive the magical imagery of witchcraft and wizardry – a forgotten message.
 
Subconsciously, I knew what I was looking for. A statement of literary gold had lodged itself deep in my memory and was working overtime to resurface. Today was the perfect day to remember. Headmaster Dumbledore, as a heavenly incarnation enlightened Harry, “Words are, in my not so humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic, capable of both inflicting injury and remedying it.” That was the piece of wisdom I longed to recover. Words are magic.
 
And so here I am, self-submerged in the magical business of words. Now, the true beauty of that message is that those are not the words of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. They are the wonderfully wise incantations of literary genius, J.K. Rowling through her delightfully mystical character. I will be forever starstruck by her mastery to visualize illusionary phantasm and transport us with such imaginary precision.
 
The meaning of any action is always open to interpretation, isn’t it? Someone throwing a plate against a wall can represent anger, jealousy, disappointment, loss, entertainment – totally dependent on the context of the story. But words alone, chosen carefully, can pinpoint and expose every human emotion without any need for interpretation. Our actions are important, but our words are powerful.
 
I have always loved to write. In junior high school, I was tasked with writing a short story for English. Some might say I had a weirdly vivid imagination, but my story was about the confusion, the smell of roses, and emotions felt at a funeral. I only remember the last lines of the story: “Now I understand. I am dead.” My story was written from the viewpoint of a corpse. I remember having my father read it for errors and watching his eyebrows raise and forehead wrinkle. I also remember him telling me it was a little dark but well written. I got an A+ on that paper and my teacher submitted it for publication in our school literary magazine. I always thought I would be able to produce massive volumes of books, and letters, and poetry as I got older, none of which came to pass. Life always got in the way.
 
I have come to realize during this journey just how liberating it is to write and how extremely important it is to rid yourself of pent-up emotional baggage. The vehicle you use does not matter. For me it is words. For many, it is cooking, gardening, crafting, photography, exercise, or any activity that gives you inner peace. Self-advocacy is a path to emotional freedom.
 
It is amusing it has taken me oh so many years for this discovery. And believe me, some days the words just do not flow. Writing is a pompous beast. Thoughts ebb and flow often without logic especially for a borderline crazy person. I jump from rant to rant as my brain dictates and can only hope I will eventually unravel each puzzle with some sort of clarity. Some of you will concur that I do, while others will scratch their head and say, “What the…….?” Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.
 

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