Needless to say it has been months since I have written words to myself and for myself. They begin to clutter in my head like old cobwebs caught in the corners of the unreachable ceilings. Taunting me, getting fuller of dirt each day. Catching these webs and removing them is a task that is harder than just getting a broom and waving it around above your head like an idiot trying to hit an invisible force somewhere in the upper hemisphere. Believe it or not, it’s not the thinking that is that hardest part but the non thinking that makes the broom slippery and unable to grasp. In turn, leaving the webs intact and unscathed by the my efforts. If thoughts are being forced out then they are not pure and smooth as they should be. Kind of like pushing down on a play-dough form to hard and it all oozes out the edges like a Neanderthal using tools for the first time. Not pretty. Seeing that you are capable of putting words on a piece of parchment, or screen, satisfies a small part of my inner writer that wears unique clothing, walks around clicking a pen randomly, and staring out over a calm pond or up into an overgrown leafy tree for hours not writing a thing…just observing. This writer inside of me has no worry of time, when it starts or ends. It is a sense of self representing peaceful, ageless, freedom. With this self as a part of me…lets just say I feel normal. I cannot deny it as a part of me or who I am, yet embrace it and let it out. I don’t care who sees it…it is not for anyone else but me. I am not here to please you with the words that I write, they aren’t yours they aren’t even mine to possess…just release into the universe to float and be free. To exist with the beauty God created, forever changing, always unique, and never controlled.
~Write and Explore~