Words in the Wilderness Flow

Where are you?

Are you out there?

Can you hear me?

I am speaking out.

I am calling into the wilderness.

I am raising my voice.

Connect.

Lift.

Raise.

Words Matter.

Can anyone Hear This?

What say ye?

Where does your thought go?

Where does it come from?

Words.

More Words.

Flowing in.

What will come out?

Be Yourself.

Rise Up.

Light Up.

I know, you say.

I say.

We all say.

But what do we say?

Listen.

The first time I remember being introduced to poetry, that wasn't rhyming, was sometime around 3rd grade. It was as if the words reached down into my soul. It was just beautiful. Good poets can use few words and cultivate familiar ideas. They can bring relevance to emotions. Cause you to feel understood or seen in some way.

I used to write often. I think I am realizing right now in this moment that it was a way for me to emotionally regulate and also, to understand myself better. Writing my own thoughts down, then being able to re-read them helped me to see myself from the outside in. It's a great self-reflection tool.

I even dabbled with writing poetry back when I used to write. I loved Emily Dickinson and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Emily's things were less wordy, but still presented enough of an idea that your imagination kicks in and you get to tell a bit of the story along with her. Then, Henry was great at bringing in the emotion brought on by the process of story.

Writing was—and perhaps still is—my way of calling into the wilderness, of raising my voice and listening to the echoes that return. It reminds me that words matter, not just for what they say, but for the space they create—for connection, for self-discovery, for light.

In a serene forest bathed in golden light, a solitary figure reflects amid nature's poetry, capturing the essence of introspection.