Writer’s block.

Sometimes I forget I’m in love with simple slapping-thunder words. I get tangled up in vines of doubt, comfortably constricted, and safely observe the jungle from a distance instead of venturing into the vivacious, multicolored beauty hidden amongst its inner tangles of life. I find myself instead conjuring great serpents of words to wind around the trees, imitating vines, entwining themselves into gaudy displays. But they do not grow saplings; they shed their shimmering skin again and again and it falls to the underbrush, promptly forgotten. Snakes are cold to the touch, intimidating, predatory. They prey on a beating butterfly, made for the delicate cradle of a hand, instilling within its keeper a sense of sacred fragility that quickens their pulse with the breathless fear of harming it. When I held it I couldn’t help but tremble at the uncensored clarity it offered. It’s a crime to stare too long at such exposed beauty. I might learn my flaws. So when I saw this I ran, not wanting to discover too much, seeking the secure promise of the giant snakes’ ability to impress. Twisting serpents are what my mind had come to recognize as impressive, though they deceived with their seething mass. They replaced the vines that I had mistakenly deemed lifeless only because they grew slowly and tangled together in a lingering stillness. I couldn’t wait for them to bloom. When I found my patience again I realized I had no choice but to slash at the snakes, eliminate them, leaving only the weak flutter of simplicity which opens up the portal to my thoughts and ignites an ember of “oh!”
I had to venture in, close-mouthed as the vines began to entangle themselves around me. They bloomed slowly at first, and then burst with bolded blossoms of inspiration.
The butterfly is far more powerful than it seems, far more powerful than the snakes which, in a thick corded knot, bar the entrance to my Eden. Truth sprouts from little fluttering life and one-syllable claps of thunder, and the words that capture the breadth of a lifetime condensed into one gasping jolt of verve. They are a sharp intake of breath after an underwater swim, in a sea of black ice-water surrounding the island of my jungle’s Beautiful Chaos.