Whatever Words

Whatever words:

each morning I come to face an empty page, a clear screen that holds nothing but the potentiality of whatever words might be given. I’ve written most every day for well over 20 years now, not a streak as I really don’t give it much concern. It’s simply what I do. Truthfully, I no longer even consider it a commitment or a writing practice, it’s like yoga to me, meditation, or more so, it’s an act that’s built into the fabric of my day in the same manner as brushing my teeth and all the other smaller actions that don’t any thought at all. I write in the same way my breath is drawn, it just happens on its own.

but that doesn’t mean it’s in any way taken for granted, or that I’m not mindful of the words that reach the page. My mornings are inspired, everyone of them, and words generally come easy as I relax with my first and only cup of coffee for the day, my body feeling loose and energetic from earlier rounds of sun salutation, and my mind is still, curiously empty of inspiration until my fingers reach the keyboards and begin typing whatever words arrive.

it’s an easy process.

and there’s very little for me to actually do.

except prepare the coffee.

it’s not that I’m on any sort of auto-pilot of expression, triggered by an empty screen to write whatever words appear — really…