I've been wanting to create a piece of writing so profound that it inspires me to get out and reinvent my entire connection to the Universe. To choose a deliberate action and forge a path that could only be illuminated by the greater forces outside of myself.
It's not happening.
The inspiration hasn't flashed through me and released the gates of whatever that energy is all about.
Maligned luck? Misguided attention? Childish delights masquerading as serious creations exposed?
But? I show up. I practise. I write constantly. I ponder constantly. I go out and experience the world. I read the experiences of others out in the world.
But? I don't want to rehash what others have said. I don't want to add my voice to the cacophony of other voices. I don't want to be an echo.
But? I do want to inspire. I do want to bring fresh perspectives to old issues. I do want to assemble the connections that I am able to make into a workable piece of creative writing. I do want to be a person sounding the wavelength that resounds in echoes into the future.
While a solid and particle sticks-and-stones legacy is fine for some people. I want to awaken a space within the thinking brains of humanity that changes the world toward the peaceful, calm, and deep.
My fear tells me that I'm delusional and to sit still, silently, stupidly, and alone. To wait patiently for my flash of inspiration, because I am incompetent and unable to create from my own imagination.
My incandescent and eternal self tells me that the only person who can create what I want to see in the world is me in this present moment. Inspiration is supportive, but the connective channels are mine to expand. Energy won't flow in the ways I hope if the infrastructure isn't there to receive the energy at the end of the line.
So I sit here befuddled because what the hell does that even mean? Ice melts slowly and understanding comes as it is meant to, I suppose.
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