I approach again with a need to write …The waves of intellect have crashed on numerous occasions against my will, like the waves that roar with the sheer power of the ocean, white water power. The foam I consider to be the evidence of passion is all but expunged by frivolous over thinking and an ultimate descent into pointlessness. I had deceived myself into thinking that I had nothing constructive to say. There I sat for weeks, head spinning ravenous thoughts around in a spiral , like a pac man munching up all the delicate passion.
My head still spins with forming thoughts holding tension that I must release. The mounting unexpressed minions dragging me to a place where nothing is soft enough or clear enough. The pointlessness dresses my soul in the foulest of rags , and does not even take joy in it’s victory! The odor has grown to a stifling intensity, it acts like a drug that changes my perception… finally I move to open the window. New air has such fragrance that it makes my mouth water , a desire for something other begins to manifest. I find myself naked and clean with a fresh stack of enthused potential.
Maybe now that I have my own permission thoughts may be allowed to crystalize at a natural pace instead of speeding in confinement. The act of writing begins the release of debris, the rattling of chains and the chink of light. The motion of doing has the tendency to quiet the mind, fishing out those core truths. Instead of shooting fish in a barrel one gazes upon the vast open nature that is their habitat. Writing creates room for ideas and their details , slightly apart from the chaos but still connected. The deep multidimensional well of reality is in constant motion, full of the diversity of many mundane acts. The rich and beautiful notion of prayer and altruism. Routine that is gently laid upon the rest of the random mind.
Naomi Brosnan 