I have been thinking about Shakespeare’s writing, "To be or not to be," in light of my writing.
Each new piece of writing starts in a state of nothingness, in the grace of not being or "not to be." It takes shape through my thought, the language of words, the beauty of sounds and the influence of meanings and logic. Slowly, my writing becomes. The decision of to be or not to be is made. Nothing is written into something.
When I was twenty-one years old, I was terrified of dying for six weeks. Death followed me everywhere. Rather than keep my fears to myself, I openly asked friends, family members, acquaintances, even strangers what they thought about their own death. In retrospect, I’m surprised people were so open and tolerant sharing their thoughts.
I eventually woke up one day and realized my fear was gone. I reasoned that since I didn't exist before I was born, and had no recollection of being in pain, the same would probably hold true after death. My exit out of the world would be the most mysterious part of the journey, possibly to be feared, possibly not. After death I would return to the same state of peace and grace I was in before birth.
I am. One day, I will not be.
This story of to be or not to be circles my life, for it consists of choices, which underline my choice to write the poem, the blog, or compose the play of my life. It takes hard work writing on a blank page. As a writer, I must constantly question if I have the courage, the being, to do it or simply slip under the sheets, cover my head, and give up.
To set the sparks of words in motion and watch them flame, that is when the writer in me knows that nothing breathes everything. Everything is written from the seed of what is not, and fanned by the writer who believes in what will be.
I am. One day, I will not be.
This story of to be or not to be circles my life, for it consists of choices, which underline my choice to write the poem, the blog, or compose the play of my life. It takes hard work writing on a blank page. As a writer, I must constantly question if I have the courage, the being, to do it or simply slip under the sheets, cover my head, and give up.
To set the sparks of words in motion and watch them flame, that is when the writer in me knows that nothing breathes everything. Everything is written from the seed of what is not, and fanned by the writer who believes in what will be.

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