What Writer’s Block Sounds Like

I continue to try to read more and more to escape the writings that need to be done. As time goes on, the necessity increases as my willingness decreases. It used to be a gift, a joy to pick up the pen and put it to paper. I loved anticipating what fiction (although perceived as absolute fact) was going to come out. Now I look at the words–they are mine–but I don’t want them. They don’t pass whatever criteria I have for being legitimate. So my words are orphans without a home and where they come from (myself) doesn’t want them either. The limbo of lost and seemingly insignificant words flowing freely but unwanted from their creator although the necessity of their origination being vital. Only in connecting the fragments do I understand the stained glass. The beauty in the brokenness. The authenticity.

Floating aimlessly over the page–these words are for whom? What is the point? And what are they supposed to mean? I used to write publicly but I don’t know if I ever will again. It all sounds like shit. God–where do we go from here? I wish I could say that I miss the ‘me’ that used to write but I’m so glad that time has passed. Those words were also necessity with a tone of despair and hopelessness. The end of the pen was my only solace–the ultimate higher power. Now the pen is only the vessel. It’s role has changed as well as the heart that inspires it’s movement. The flow is choppy at best. Fragmented thoughts without the sting on cynicism. Truth, with the only hopelessness being in the ego. Words don’t sound as sexy coming from a healthier place. The darkness seemed to draw such appeal. Now I sit awake with truth and light unable to convey artistically the essence of that reality. And I sit.

Only Questions

Sitting with no answers
Only questions of motives
And a sinking feeling in my gut–
Only though about after the alleged occurrence

Questioning what is real
And what is just perception
And aren’t both the same?

Leaves me to ask
What’s the point of all this?

A long succession of self-judged failures
Masking as a lesson
At least that is how it feels

This journey, that is supposed to be the point?

I make more mistakes than ever before
Or maybe I’m just more aware
Or maybe my position on the word mistake has changed

Wanting to escape the elusive “I am”
Hit the pause button every now and then
Longing for the easier way I had grown so accustomed

But the honest way provides no shortcuts
No escape routes
The distance is the same for everybody
That comforts
And irritates me
All at the same time

This human experience
The unpredictability of it all
The unknown
And the known
Is everything
And nothing
All at the same time

God’s Will?

Many times it doesn’t look like I think it should.
It conflicts with my opinion of how things should be or how people should act.
But who am I to determine whether something is or isn’t God’s will?

Every morning I wake up and turn my will over to God. Since I’ve been doing this, things haven’t been pretty. It shows me how long I have been operating out of my own will. A lot of times, God’s will and my will collide. So I pray that he aligns my will with his. That is when balance and serenity arrive. Things don’t necessarily go my way, but I get to practice.

It’s elusive and always contingent on timing.
There is no formula.
What’s right for me might not be right for you.
We all have to experience our own powerlessness before we truly turn our will over to a Higher Power.

God’s will for your life or anybody elses? Who knows? I can barely figure it out for myself. So when I find myself judging others and thinking I know what’s best for their lives (or the world and everybody in it), that’s when I’m playing God. So I get to practice being aware that I did it–and then turn the perceived power I think I have over to the Creator of The Universe. I’m pretty sure he can handle it.

But…

When it comes to the little day to day decisions, how quickly I forget that. I make decisions based on opinion, mood or ego without pausing to check my motives or ask God what he wants me to do.

My days look different when I turn my will over. I often do things against my will and the outcome is better that I expected. A lot of times it is painful and I don’t want to do certain things. That’s when I remind myself that his grace is sufficient for whatever situation he brings me to.

It’s messy and I feel like I screw up more than I succeed, but it’s from an honest place.
Finally.
And I get the privilege of becoming more aware, as long as I am willing to be.

This is trust

That moment you can choose not to
But you do
The easier way would be to back out
But you don’t

You put yourself out there
Probably scared
But practice not contingent on the outcome

It builds
Little by little
By taking chances
Feeling the fear
And doing it anyway

By wanting something different
And risking loss
At all costs

Potentially facing
Abandonment
Heartbreak
Rejection
Punishment
Judgment

It’s that little voice inside
That yearns for something more
Than previous behavior allowed

It’s swallowing the pride
And disarming the ego
Simply because
It’s the right thing to do

It’s a shaky faith
In the midst of chaos
While knowing that

Practice

Is the only way

To strengthen

It’s that place that scares the hell out of you
While processing

And that place that you don’t yet trust
But you trust in the theory of trust
So you decide to give it a try

It’s all the things
That fear is not

And to the extent of risk
Is the capacity of
Joy
And
Sadness

All the while knowing
That if the full heart
Isn’t invested
Then what’s the point?

As I Sit.

The thoughts come
And they go
Aware of the judgment
To what I deem
Good
Or
Bad
And how often that delusion keeps me
From living authentically

Recognition of existence doesn’t mean it is new
It is acceptance of what is

I choose to sit with the uncomfortable
Simply being present poses it’s own challenges
How often I want to escape…
Just because.

Most of my life was spent escaping from perception

Created delusions to justify behavior

Manipulation of facts to continue believing the lie

The judgment I sit with
Is my own
And my worst critic
Is myself

That said–
I project less on you
When I’m honest about me

Denying reality
To appear better
Only
Makes
Us
Sicker

Truth will set us free.

Stumbling into Sanity

Reflecting.

Two years ago tomorrow I fell into a path I had no intention of pursuing

As the walk continued
There have been many pitfalls of self

The sediment became visible
And as erosion occurred
The natural elements corroded by earth surfaced to at last be identified

To the extent of destruction
Did the possibility of restoration appear

Scouring the surface
Through sweat and tears
All necessary to penetrate
The rust that has always existed
On the iron bars of my heart

Trust becoming experiential
Instead of theoretical

Imagery essential to confirm validity

Hope born out of suffering
And vice versa

The gift of detaching
After
Experiencing the beauty of The Now

Questioning my’self’ constantly
Although
Aware of Source that resides quietly within
Offering direction when I choose to listen

Awakening.
Listening.
Hearing.
Applying.

Simplicity flows from the most complex of sources

Presently here

Even though I have every excuse why not to be

What I’ve learned in the last year

-When a decision has been made, truly made, the consequences are of no consequence

-My feelings rarely match reality–and I’m learning to accept that.

-Love takes on an entirely different meaning when trauma symptoms are removed. It’s a reciprocal experience as opposed to a chore.

-I don’t want to be great–I just want to be me.

-The present moment provides above and beyond what we need.

-My brain and body are like siblings. They fight a lot, but at the end of the day, they really love each other.

-I now experience everyday miracles instead of hoping for elusive magic.

-Beauty is everywhere, I just have to allow myself to see it.

-My desire for alignment is greater than my desire for “want”.

-The “process”, whatever it is, is worth it. Don’t give up, especially when every cell in your body wants to. Thats the brink of “letting go”, which results in freedom. Giving Up and Letting Go are entirely different.

-I’ll take the scary unknown over the stagnant familiar any day.

-I would rather have my heart broken fully and completely than the alternative of not loving with my full heart.

-My perceived failures, I look at as lessons, which in turn deepens my fully human experience.

-I’m not God. And I don’t want to be.

-Losing everything can be the best thing that ever happens to you.

-I would rather be rejected as my true self than loved as my false self.

-Patience, as with anything worthwhile, requires patience. Sometimes I forget that.

-My heart gets claustrophobic, it likes open windows.

-Secrets are of no use when you are no longer hiding from yourself.

-There is a time for everything–the beauty lies in the paradox that is life.

-In the grand scheme of things, I’m not here for me–I’m here for you. I receive by giving–but only when it comes from an honest place. Giving with strings attached isn’t giving. It’s taking.

Illusions

Monotonous confessions swirling in the vortex of emotion
Clawing up to the surface to breathe in what is necessary and let go of filler

Survival tactics called upon when threatened
And faced with the illusion of decision

Choice is fleeting

Fabrications of elemental constructs block the purpose of original intent
Flippantly discarding what could essentially tear down the walls that were established involuntarily
Or possibly voluntarily
Whichever it is doesn’t matter
Either way
A wall
Is a wall

Irony permeates the moral fabric
As the wreckage starts to slip away
Leaving an open expansion
That can be interpreted
As Desolation
Or Freedom

Perception is the only reality.

Where It’s At

Vacillating between the extremes of too much
And not enough
Inevitably leaves room to feel
Like the middle is incorrect

The elusive search for balance
Continues to remind me
That everything is
Exactly as it should be
No matter what feelings are attached

As the quest for knowledge increases inside
The outside initially fights
But concedes to the flow
That is already occurring

Constantly trying to fight the current
By swimming upstream
Hardly feels natural, now

Each day
I wake up
And know
That it will be vaguely specific

The big picture
Never
Materializes in details

So here I sit
At the park
Writing this
To ease the unease
Of what was originally meant to be simple

I breathe in
And am reminded
Of how thankful I am for the air
Even though I never asked for it

To Love At All

A beautiful paragraph that I must share. Profound and personal. How long I have been guilty of this–and how grateful I am that it is no longer a working part of my belief system.

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it careful round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket–safe, dark, motionless, airless–it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable…The only place outside of Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers…of love is Hell.” (C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves)