The nature of writing for me is that it is a cathartic practice. I channel the emotions I am feeling, or angst, and it flows through me. The practice of getting it out of me and onto the page is one of relief.
I ask of you one thing, if you are going to read my writing. Please know that what I write, the opinions or emotions I express, may very well change after I write them down on this here page.
That is the nature of the beast, as they say, or, as I say, the magic of the craft of writing.
This truth can very well be applied to the words that come out of my mouth as well.
I am a firm believer that sometimes we just need to express ourselves, let it channel through us, and then it is no longer true for us.
It would be good if we could remember this in the heat of the moment. Remember, whatever we feel, it is just energy. The mind loves to attach to it and say, sadness, where’s the story? Then it’s off creating its dramatic story. We tell it over and over, keep it alive, and soon we are in a big ol’ mess.
Really, we’re just vessels who channel energy.
We are allowed to change. In fact, we always do, no matter how much I seem to you like the same person you saw before, I, undoubtedly, am not.
I am me, choosing myself, again and again, anew and anew.
I am a morphing compost heap of old patterns, transforming into new rivers of love and blissful light.
To say I am anything less, or anything else, for that matter, is to error.
You can not name me. No more than I can name, nor claim, to even see you.
We each, all of us, a practice in the art of creation.
At least know that it is like a river, ever flowing, changing, and though that drop of water flowing over that rock looks to you to be the same, it never is- it is always a constant flow of new. And so are we.