Here I sit. In the coffee house. Drinking a strawberry smoother. And yet, I am in the midst of a battle. A battle to write.
Each single letter which proceeds from my iPhone keyboard is a victory. Every sentence is one more success. Every paragraph celebrated.
Sometimes my insides are dead. There seems nothing left in the well of my soul. There is a vacancy, an emptiness.
In these moments, it feels like I may never find the words again.
But I know also in those moments I am compelled to engage in battle. I need to overcome the demon of resistance. To go to war with this emptiness. Almost to refuse it.
To sit and wait for letters to fall out, words to form and paragraphs to to be pieced together like a big jigsaw. And eventually, what began as a drip of water in an endless desert, becomes a stream, then a torrent, then a tsunami of words pouring forth, spewing over the page – or my phone, in this case. Unleashed to do their work, without prejudice or fear.
And they never end. They create new streams, new rivers of themes, ideas, and possibilities, which will remain open as long as they are unexplored.
The journey is just beginning.
Many posts remain unwritten. They are lost. Not dried up, simply forgotten.
Many are explored, devoured, consumed by the hunger to write, to explore my soul, to delve deeper into this almost divine mystery of my mind, my heart, my very being.
All writing is part of me, even the words I never write. Even the pieces which I write in my mind but never appear on a page, for whatever reason. Time, boredom, tiredness, fear or a simple lack of access to anything to write them with.
I know eventually the desert will appear again. The tsunami will seem a mirage. Words will be tied with ache. Getting letters out will be like trying to move a big lorry with my bare hands.
Painful. Dirty. Aching. Almost impossible.
But each time I know I must go back. Obey the muse. Force open the floodgates.
It is almost an act of faith. Because I never know if the words will come. And even scarier, I know not what words could come if I do unlock it.
What Lies Within?
Who knows what words lay deep within me. What emotions. What thoughts. What stories. What pain.The fear of breaking resistance is almost the same as the fear of giving into it. But words are what I have. They are both my gift and my curse, like all gifts are. The window to my soul, occasionally beneficial to others, sometimes to myself, but often painful and terrifying.
I love writing. And I sometimes fear writing. But writing is part of me. I can’t not write. It’s not just a calling, it’s not just a passion, it’s a compulsion. Almost an exorcism.
I’m sure I’m not alone in feeling that.
This piece didn’t begin with any plan. I began this journey with no roadmap, and although I keep trying to end it, the tsunami has taken over, I am going places I didn’t know I could.
Now I feel afraid to stop. Both intrigued and afraid at the same time, to see what more comes out. The door is open. The desert is flooding.
Which streams will I follow?
If you are a writer, which of your streams will you follow? Will you dare to put your finger on that keyboard, type another letter, another word, another paragraph?
Do you dare to explore what might be living inside of you, in the depths of your soul? (you can tweet that)
It’s the blessing and curse of the writer. The muse demands we explore the depths, to pour out our souls for the benefit of others.
We are merely participants, dancing with the muse, and engaging with it so that the world might hear our words.
Are you ready to explore your hidden depths?
The journey is just beginning.
Question for Reflection:
Have you struggled to explore the depths to create great work & serve others?
What can you do today to take the first steps on this journey?
Let me know in the comments below!
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