I feel the overwhelming desire to write.
For the last couple of months my brain has been stymied by the oppressive weight of reality. Sure, a few words have trickled from my brain to my keyboard but I don’t feel like I have been swept away by the truly seductive lure of language.
Now, tentatively, I take step after step back onto that linguistic dance floor. I wait alone in the center of the room until the beat of the typewriter keys finds its rhythm and the words circle around me like a hypnotic song. I sway back and forth, my eyes close and I lose myself in the art of expression. Like blood through my veins, the letters course and feed my body and mind with words.
This is my home. This passion for written expression is where I find my comfort, my refuge. And though my words are my sanctuary and my escape, they also indulge me with a sense of freedom.
These words are the one place that I allow myself complete abandon. I follow no rules. I adhere to no code or convention. I simply write what comes to me and allow myself to become immersed in the river of prose. I become buoyant in the sea of imagery and I ride the wave of creativity.
Sometimes letters enter my brain and form words. I am unsure of their origin but I do not question their presence. I simply reap the rewards of their existence, give in to their demand to be freed and serve my purpose as their translator.