I can’t write. The seed is not germinating.
It sounded good in my mind. On paper, not so much.
What to do? What to DO!
Show up where you are.
She whispers. Who is she anyway?
I’ll just write where I am. In this very moment.
Nothing pretty is coming out. Actually, nothing much is coming out.
Unplugged from wisdom. Lacking flow.
Though I know it’s just my small M mind.
Telling me stories.
Wisdom is always lurking, available.
Kinked hose, clogged pipes. That’s all.
Flow is merely a thought or so many away.
Creativity is sleeping.
Or is it?
Stuck ness feels like a thing.
But something I know is…. it is not. A thing.
It is not solid. It can’t be.
Made of thought, as it is.
Stuck is a feeling. Thought created. A funny little story I’m making up for myself about myself, my writing. I’m thinking I should be somewhere other than where I am. Creating something other than what I’m creating. At a different bus stop on the road. Any place but here.
I lean into stuck ness and what do I know?
I want to reconnect to the source of fresh ideas. Creative flow.
Am I not always connected?
There is simply a crimp in the hose of the divine fire hydrant.
Discomfort, masquerading as something that means something,
is pinching the line.
I see a trickle though.
Ah, so my creativity has not dried up? My writing mojo is still there?
Seems like it is. Just not coming out as the usual.
Forget the prose. I heard. But not in words….just in knowing.
Keep your fingers moving. Write junk.
Go unconventional. Mess with grammar.
Is it a poem or a story or a what?
Advice for me……
Keep showing up.
Say what you see and hear.
No, one more thing…..
Go cook dinner.