To me writing is to express the churning cognitions of the mind moved by the spirit and lit by the flame of the soul. When the blank page bows before the unabashed potential of human creation my mind flashes to unite with this wonder.
My most comfortable pen wrapped lightly in optimistic fingers, knowing there is no limit to the possibilities that can indeed manifest. This is where the walls give way. Feeling every curve and bend, this pen brings life to my deepest thoughts, only limited by the attempt to unveil the fractal pattern of the script within. My spirit sings what’s confessed by the soul. I rise from the hollowness of material things, moving aside for the ember of pure awareness to kindle the contour of my intent.
There are few things within the narrows of societal convention that liberate me, that inspire such hope, reaching the illicit, lawless depths of my inner being. It is here that no self-conscious analysis or critical self-leverage can dim. This is the place where eternal spirit resides, like a long-awaited union with the profound. A spring flowing from the mother of the cosmos, where the bay of souls speak to the eternal and the distressed hollow fill with the alluring dance of life.
I cannot tell you what it looks like, that was the task of those that came before me, I can only tell you that it feels like an artesian spring of new love that blooms in the heart of the innocent lover. A limitless horizon that carries the weighted determination of the perpetual seeker. It’s the warm sunshine that illuminates snowy peaks. The quietest contentment of crisp dew, or an ecstatic state brought on by communion with the divine. To be One, wholly feeling, purely being. Writing is my constant companion made just for me. | JP, 2018