Can one write about not being able to write?

When your mind is blank but still you feel the need to put pen to paper, or as it is these days, fingers to keyboard and start tapping away, do you still write? Woody Allen said, “I write better when I have something to say.” And it’s not that I have nothing to say or to comment on. It’s not that my life has achieved perfect balance that I am now in Nirvana with balance being my state. No, far from that. But the lethargy...good God the lethargy!

Words run around my mind, touching each other, connecting, and disappearing. These thoughts are so fast that I can’t catch up. These thoughts come together to give me hope of being able to put down a coherent and inspiring piece of well strewn words that reach deep into the mind of one and drag out your sleeping conscience and wake it up to analyze, decipher and understand the fabric by which this world is made and be blinded by the sheer genius of the creator in intelligent design manifestation...... But no such gift has yet manifested itself in my writing. It is not for lack of time, nor space, nor capability. It is not for lack of material, creativity, or originality. Perhaps one could say that one is tired.

Overwhelming scenarios of situations so deep and so beautiful that you cannot do it justice with words and you are left with the beauty so engraved in your mind that you try and stop...try and stop. You give up trying to explain how something so profound has affected you, at how a simple object made so much sense to you that you can’t out it into words. The beauty of the world leaves you wordless and completely astounded. It could be that. Or it could be the depraved nature of man that shocks you into naught, where words aren’t harsh enough to explain...to show the rest of the world your frustration at inhumane acts...can one not be able to write because of the profoundness or deepness of a situation, or because of the ugliness of the said situation?

We find that one finds situations of diverse polarities so distant from each other but so intense in their being that cannot have words put to describe them. With all these thoughts running around your head, you find that the thought has disappeared. You no longer understand it. You no longer feel it. It has touched you and left a mark, a notch on the life tree that defines what you hold dear, a mark of sorts that you can feel, touch but can’t describe. And if you can’t describe it, then was it so profound that it did not leave the clichéd lasting impression on your soul?

So much runs through, so little gets through.

So many feelings, so little felt.

Too many words, no words at all.