If contemplative writing can be said to be wording, that's delicate. It is a process that requires, first, if not foremost, Consideration, careful, thoughtful attention, but also that means, and this is foremost, Being Considerate Of The Other, showing appreciation for the-one-who-reads-the-page, in this case. All of that requires understanding the other, certainly, but deeply, with approval to the point of admiration, taking pleasure in and feeling grateful for the other.
Even titles are risky sometimes, in the face of the high calling to Respect The Reader. Titles sometimes get selected with some conscious purpose known to the worder, one-who-words. And sometimes titles arise on their very own, with source unknown, as if electing themselves by their own depth that may even escape the most meticulous notice. The test, in the end, is the quest for the title that serves as the handmaiden of the task, To Delight, pure, simple, plain, and also but more sensitively, To Point To Delight, The Feeling Of Being.
So wording seems different from any other human endeavor. It has the delightful task to delight by pointing and gesturing in the direction of Life's Delight All Around. In wording, there's no effort to inform or objectify reality by naming, numbering, or otherwise pretending to know a thing the reader knows not. That may happen and certainly the other way, yet it's not the point of wording. To recover, wording points and what it points to is delight, yet delight everywhere to be noticed, and in so doing becomes an instrument of delight. The worder uses words and their wording, the wording of words, to Show Life's Delight. Good News In Deed, and the deed is wording.
Here's just how different wording is as a human endeavor.
Imagine coming across a pond you've lived near that some other's thrown a stone into and so the waters are muddy and you want to make them crystalline so you throw in another stone. Clarifying the ancient art of writing contemplative seems just like that, sometimes.
[Oh, you might make the pond a vast ocean worldwide, so full of mud it's hard to swim in. For the stones would be myths and sacred writings and doctrines and rituals and ethical principles by the many. In place of living nearby, substitute swimming in that ocean's center, muddling through in the muddy waters. And finally, instead of throwing stones, which clearly does not clarify, try . . .
No, wait, the metaphor still holds water at that point. The world's religious have been known to throw stones at one another.]
