As a writer I love words. There is nothing more beautiful, more thrilling than the way words link together as they bounce off the tongue. It is not the words themselves that are so appealing, but the emotions I feel deep inside where the meaning resonates in sound waves and ripples ever growing. They fill me with a longing and swell like a volcano smouldering in my soul, itching to flow free.
Today I was thinking about the word "Pour." A rather simple word, yet with so much meaning. You can pour a glass of milk, stand in pouring rain, have crowds pour from an elevator and pour out your heart. Each of these meanings tap into different emotional wells. To pour a glass of milk is like saying "To give the glass milk" but in a small everyday way and I have lost nothing because of it. When I picture pouring rain I picture a giant bucket of water being dumped from above. My stress level shoot up a notch when I imagine crowds pouring out of an elevator. I can taste the rush and feel the elbows in my side. With pouring out your heart I feel exposed, vulerable and yet wildly abandoned, willing to do anything and believing I could fly.
At first glance it does not seem like a powerful word, because it depends upon what is being poured. The phrase "He poured out his life unto death" is very powerful. It speaks of sacrifice, pain and a willingness that is hard to understand. I can pour my life into my writing, yet I believe there is always a small part I keep back so I am not fully drained. I don't pour everything I have, I just pour enough for the both of us to get by. But what would happen if I did? Would I really lose everything? Would I find a strength that belongs to another?
