not waiting for a theme’s arrival, this morning I write simply for the flow of words alone, unconcerned with having a greater meaning, or any meaning at all really. I’m just writing, it’s a practice similar to meditation and it follows soon after my earliest sitting, still well before the sun’s appearance, fresh coffee at hand, and it’s a ritual that fulfills a promise that I made to myself at least two decades ago, to write everyday no matter mood or inspiration.
this is important to me, it’s the action itself that has value and not so much any meaning to the words. Honestly, what’s written always feels completely out of my control, a mystery from arrival to completion, every word a gift from inspiration and my only role is to be open and receptive. The more I write the easier this is, again being similar to meditation and the two are a seamless practice to my mornings. Meditation readies me for a deeper listening to the so often subtle voice of inspiration, tunes me in to just the right vibration for this listening to occur.
it’s that easy, waking in the hours before dawn, still dark, quiet, sitting for an unmeasured length of time, and my mantra plays soft until completely gone, far too subtle now to be heard…only silence, my own, and it matches the soft stillness of the early hours. That’s my preparation for writing, a foundation laid for words to gently land upon, lingering only long enough to be heard and written down. And it simply doesn’t matter if a theme arrives, or if I’m inspired to write anything at all…
and I find myself just writing.