What a luxury it is, to write with nothing specific in mind, for no one in mind. To watch silently how the fields spread out before my eyes, covered with the first snow’s silver, how the birds soar to the sky where my conscious «I» gives way to a voice that knows where the truth is. There’s a short stretch from Christmas to Easter ahead of me, before the sun wheel makes another turn. There’s room only for the truth — the truth about who I really am, why the world is worth living in it, and how everything is good the way it is. About Providence which keeps our paths safe, about our dreams which always come true, about the fruits that ripen when the time comes. About the Spirit breathing where he wants, bringing the power to heal, to liberate, to resurrect. About how God is the one who comes in the end, when everything is said and done. About the power which is always with me, with you, in between us. About the holiday that will come and we will be surprised at how we could not remember about it. When snow will cover the plowed land and all warmth will be extinguished, a star will light up in the sky. Then everything that happened will turn out to be good as it was, and every voice will be heard in a song that will never end.
When I practice freewriting, I usually start with listening. Sooner or later a word, an idea, an image pops up in my mind. The first sentences are often useless, but soon a powerful word comes, determining the direction of further thought. Does the same scheme work in my freewriting in English language?
The pale sun is faintly shining through the clouds, looking like a light gray circle, and in the same way my personality only barely shines through the veil of the foreign language. When I was writing this sentence, I was lacking some words like shine through or veil, and without them, there was no hint at the next step in my freewriting.
But there’s also another, much more important problem. I don’t feel the magic of the words in the same way as I feel it in my native language. So my main obstacle is not the lack of vocabulary knowledge, but the lack of physical life experience connected with words in foreign language. The foreign words still have meaning, but are neutral, aren’t charged emotionally. As a consequence, I get much less soul nutrition from my writing in a foreign language.
Paradoxically, I freewrite in English even faster than in my native language. I spend less time on evaluating my writing just because I am unable to detect all the content I could then find unworthy, and that’s good for freewriting, even if there’s more noise in it. In general, there’s less self-criticism and shadow in my English writing at the level of meanings, though there’s more of it at the level of grammar — sometimes I am feeling that I speak unclearly, lack the exact words or correct grammatical constructions. If only there could be a way to recreate in another language my inner map connecting words, meanings and feelings! But my thinking patterns are, like a message in a bottle, contained in the sea of my native language and I can’t get access to them from inside the other language. Or maybe there is a way to achieve it? The question is still open to me.