Writing to Time, Time to Write

By Jorge Antonio Vallejos

This is not an article.

This is a process.

This is a journey. 

I’m listening to Time by Hans Zimmer.  The piano starts and builds the tempo. 

Key by key.  Note by note.  The path is laid out. 

The violin kicks in. 

Brass instruments follow. 

Zimmer and his orchestra take me on an emotional ride:

up, down, twist, turn, straight… Write, pause, dream, write….

An electronic keyboard kicks in.  My chest pounds as my heart and mind soar. 

I see myself running, no more limp like in real life.  A steady stride turns to a gallop; then a slow pace; then a cool down. 

The piano takes over and slows to a key by key pace bringing a calm in me. 

My mind stills.             

The adventure ends.

Peace.  

I give thanks for 4 minutes of bliss.

My fingers press repeat; the journey starts again.

My last post, Showing Up #5: Staring Back At The Look So Many People Give You, was written to Zimmer’s masterpiece.  My fingers danced on the keyboard as the orchestra built up the song.  Each note like a brick, the path laid out like life’s highs and lows, the article slowly coming together. 

Writing is the building of something.  Whether it’s a free writing session that will never be published, a journal entry that no one will read, or a blog post like this one, words come together to form a whole.  Fingers type, letters pop up on a screen, a piece is created.

Brick by brick, note by note, letter by letter, the path is built.

There are no set rules.  I put pen to pad, fingers to keys, words to mind, voiced letters to air.  I’m not Italian, or Frank Sinatra, so I do it the Brown Eyed Way, my way. 

Writing is personal before, and if, it becomes public.

Sometimes I don’t know what to write, or why, and an awesome piece comes out. 

Sometimes I plan it, and it results in a sloppy pile of nonsense masked as writing.

Sometimes…

Always, there is time.  The time I take to write.  The time I make to write. 

And there is a path:

A path I write. 

A path I live. 

A path I leave. 

A path I return to. 

A path I avoid. 

A path I run to. 

A path that is mine.

A path that is me.

The brass blasts me forward; the violin elevates me; the piano brings me back to peace.

This is not an article.

This is a process.

This is a journey.