I'm starting to write again
Why is it so difficult to get started writing?
Why do all the words get bound up in my head when I start to write about spirituality?
It's so clear in my head. So easy to think about. These are well-worn tracks for me. They've gotten that way over the last three years or so. In that time my relationship with Spirit -- what some might call God -- has strengthened and deepened. Although I do not hear its voice directly in my head, I know she is there. I know Spirit is there, regardless of what name I call it: God, Spirit, Yahweh, Jesus, Kwan Yin, Allah, Flying Spaghetti Monster.
Yet when I try to talk about it, the words don't come quite so easily as the knowing does.
I keep wondering whether I should force the words to come out somehow, or if I should fall back on my old pattern of no inspiration, no writing.
Time was when I would write like a mad demon: essays, poems, tracts, sometimes four a day, sometimes five, six, seven. And I did it because I was inspired to. I was moved to write, and the writing was good. Then it dried up. I'd be lucky to get two poems out in a year, and even those were forced.
I gave up on the whole thing. Perhaps it was not meant to be.
Ever since I rekindled my connection with Spirit, though, I have started to feel like writing again. I have started feeling that inspiration again. But it's got a different quality to it now. I seem to recall it being a fiery urgency. I'd act on it right then as I didn't want to lose it. Now it's a slow burn, a hot ember. You'd better write about this ... or else. If you don't I'll come back to bite you in the ass later.
And now I'm acting on that inspiration again. But that doesn't make the words come any easier. It's still a struggle. It doesn't yet flow like I want it to, like I imagine it should.
In time it will come.
Why do all the words get bound up in my head when I start to write about spirituality?
It's so clear in my head. So easy to think about. These are well-worn tracks for me. They've gotten that way over the last three years or so. In that time my relationship with Spirit -- what some might call God -- has strengthened and deepened. Although I do not hear its voice directly in my head, I know she is there. I know Spirit is there, regardless of what name I call it: God, Spirit, Yahweh, Jesus, Kwan Yin, Allah, Flying Spaghetti Monster.
Yet when I try to talk about it, the words don't come quite so easily as the knowing does.
I keep wondering whether I should force the words to come out somehow, or if I should fall back on my old pattern of no inspiration, no writing.
Time was when I would write like a mad demon: essays, poems, tracts, sometimes four a day, sometimes five, six, seven. And I did it because I was inspired to. I was moved to write, and the writing was good. Then it dried up. I'd be lucky to get two poems out in a year, and even those were forced.
I gave up on the whole thing. Perhaps it was not meant to be.
Ever since I rekindled my connection with Spirit, though, I have started to feel like writing again. I have started feeling that inspiration again. But it's got a different quality to it now. I seem to recall it being a fiery urgency. I'd act on it right then as I didn't want to lose it. Now it's a slow burn, a hot ember. You'd better write about this ... or else. If you don't I'll come back to bite you in the ass later.
And now I'm acting on that inspiration again. But that doesn't make the words come any easier. It's still a struggle. It doesn't yet flow like I want it to, like I imagine it should.
In time it will come.