On sitting silently

The words from the poets' mouths were entertaining. As a reader, as a writer, I've heard those words, thoughts before just in different combinations. It is the combination of the right words that makes a writer or a poet. The energy, the force, the gestures, the presence, the confidence and finally the nervous energy of the poets were all inspiring and enjoyable as I sat silently and took them in.

The words on the wall at Busboys and Poets were magnetic. Words in the air evaporate. Words on the page, in ink exist with strength in a way that spoken word lacks. But these writers share their words and themselves with an audience with reckless abandon and joy. They are saints.

The words of Dr. Mohammad Mossagegh on the writer-activist mural above my head as I watched the poets share their spirits, spoke to my soul: "If I sit silently, I have sinned."

I sit silently thinking about writing, thinking about teaching, thinking about beating some up with my wisdom, sharing my hard-earned lessons. I sit silently about friendships lost and gardens untended. I sit silently with words piling up, writing and rearranging themselves in my head. I sit silently processing, over-thinking, mourning, fearing, yearning, searching, weeping, loving...sinning.

I can no longer sit silently.