Insubstantiality

The urge to write billows, like a thunderhead borne aloft on the convective currents of a southwestern desert afternoon in late June. Amorphous though it may be, the giant is impossible to ignore. It towers over that vast but deceptively empty landscape. Nature demands attention.

So, I must write, even though my mind seems a desert in its apparent paucity of formed thought and sentiments. Swirls of emotion urge the tiny, nascent, effervescent droplets of ideas – they are hardly with substance in individual aspect but cannot be ignored when urged to coalesce into the massive shape of a hallmark anvil. The cloud towers far above me; it reaches for the limits of the atmosphere.

A form whose significance is unmistakable, yet it is ever changing, ever mutable, whose essence can be understood in general terms, perhaps, but whose specific power and raison d’être vis-à-vis the supposed confines of my own mind continue to be ever just beyond grasp. How awesome the energy contained and how substantial the potential expression of its power can be, yet, when I reach for it, it dissolves, it is always insubstantial wisps.

Ah!