Is it necessary that you have something to say when you write? Can you write just utter nonsense - catching the words in your fingers as they erupt in your mind? Just like that. Leaving the critique on your shoulder. Locked in the bathroom. Locked away. With ear phones in your ears to block out all the noise. So that all you hear is your own. Not the audible one. But the one which sees, hears and notes down things in everyday life to re-visit once you want to say something.
Say something. Anything. Don’t look at the white of the screen or of the paper. Just let your fingers run with a life of their own. Let them be the only cord connecting your heart with words. Say everything. What you didn’t want to say. What you never will say. What you will work on, to get rid of. Say everything. All those days of pain. All those days of laughter. And the momentary life of all those things. Say how stupid you have been. Say how you will work on that longing, until it washes away. Until one day, very soon, you will be just as blank as the paper or the screen before you.
Leave that grammar lesson in the bathroom too, with the critique. Because what you have to say bends to no rules. Let alone grammar. Because what you want to say will always stumble at the doorstep, afraid of that grammar wall in its face. So leave those full stops, those periods, those semi-colons, those dashes (small and big) those brackets, those ellipses, those exclamations. All of them. Leave them locked in the bathroom and just listen to that cord connecting your here-now to the here-after.
Don’t you doubt on the here-after. This is just not it. What you see, the mountains you climb - just as Sisyphus returned with his burden at the foot of the mountain every single time - know that you never ever reach. You never ever achieve. Because after every mountain-top you see, there is your burden with the steady walk uphill. Know that your victory is only in reducing that burden. Leaving pieces of it behind you. Mind you, not just leaving them. You need to disconnect that cord that ties you to them. And slowly, ever so slowly you will shed all that burden. All that longing for the mountain-top. And this time when you reach the mountain-top you will start to notice the change. You will notice that there is less of you. You will notice that along with your burden, you have left all the cords that tie you to time.
And that you are slowly disappearing. Slowly, one cell at a time. Surprisingly you will be elated. Not sad, not melancholy, not tearful. Just silent and elated. You are not re-living the times of the burden. You are just completely, absolutely in the present. Then you know, this is it. That this is the last climb. The last of the mountain-tops you will see.
So, say something. Anything and know that one day that mountain-top will cease to exist and that happiness will know no bound.