CURSIVE
I really don’t like the word, “blog.” There is just something so unromantic about it. That’s probably why this writer took so long to lean into the practice of it…blogging, I mean.
There are so many things I am “first at” and there are things I carry inside my head that I am certain are original in every possible way. But blogging took some time to get used to. Maybe because so many writers had already flooded the field and I’ve never liked being part of a crowd. But still, the word, “blog” was probably the single biggest factor in avoiding the whole thing altogether.
This is why I decided early on that we would call what you are reading now, the Sanctuary Living Journal. Journal. A dignified word that conjures images of leather binding, fountain pen poised to worn pages, cursive letters with the proper amount of slants and curves, a free-flowing elegance that turns white space into exquisite art.
It is difficult to say an ugly thing in cursive.
I wonder what would happen to the world if the words that fell out of our mouths were as graceful as the words our hands form, one cursive letter joined to another as if clinging, grasping, caressing, holding on for dear life.
Cursive. That’s fun to say. Maybe even the better choice than, “cheese.” Try it now. I know you are already. Let me know if it made you smile. The word. Not the thought of the word or the simple joy of saying it out loud.
Do you remember when we would practice our cursive letters, both fingers and tongue wrapping themselves around each line with the cadence of piano notes gently blending one to another? The G’s, oh, and even the S’s look like musical notes, don’t you remember how melodic they are?
Like a secret language, cursive can conjure not only what is literal but what is meant when words are not enough.
Cursive is the closest literal representation of the soul’s yearning out loud.
Do we even know how to speak from the soul these days?
I think that’s my greatest wish, my dying bedside desire—that we would be as meticulous in forming our audible words as the delicate, scrupulous, mindful world of cursive.
Did you know that the hand has the ability to access a part of the mind that lies dormant until the two connect? Texting can’t reach it. Neither can pressing letters on the keyboard. Anthropologically, we are designed to hold tool in our hand, to build, to hunt, to draw. The awakening of the most beautiful part of our thinking selves comes alive when our whole hand gets involved.
The pencil is a bridge between the unseen place where thoughts dwell and the world where ideas come to life.
The art of cursive writing has become popular again in recent years. In my mind, one of the most beautiful things you can do for another is write them a letter in your hand. Your palm and fingers leave their DNA on paper. Words become as tiny sacrifice.
I challenge you to learn cursive, or take it up again if you knew it once. Above all, teach cursive to your children or join in with a group of friends. Write me a letter and share the thoughts and feelings that spill out. You will be surprised at what is accessed that you didn’t even know was there.
I poise the pen and begin to write. My thoughts flow onto paper, but something even more extraordinary is revealed. Here, with each letter, I write what is born in the heart—
LEAD IMAGE: Shuttered window with graffiti heart, captured in Le Panier [the Basket], the artist district in Marseille France. Dating back to the 17th century, Le Panier was bombed in 1943 and is now known for its streets and buildings covered in street art, the outward expression of people who have much to say [more on this in a future journal entry]