When the words don’t come,
it is a night without the horizon glowing
reflecting
the grandeur of the universe’s footsteps
No starlight
No moongleam
To touch off apparitions of wonder
amazement
the taste of windswept jasmine creates, it
effervesces and dissipates
A cohesive coherence lost
like a sound without an echo within
when the words don’t come
7:03 am
23 May 2012
While stretching out to try to sleep tonight, I realised something. One reason that I am so tired all of the time is that I don’t seem to have the freedom to indulge inspiration when it comes.
I found myself struggling to let go of something that keeps bugging me to write it down. Inside my head, I said over and over, “You need sleep. You have to let this go for later…” I don’t have to get up early tomorrow, and I am thinking this as a knee-jerk reaction… wow. Pavlov would be really proud right now.
After such a period of time where sleep has been cherished due to time demands and such a strained work schedule, when I lay down to sleep it’s because I’m usually exhausted. Writing it down means probably giving up an hour or more or even all of my sleep. If anything goes through my head that I want to remember, I have to get up and write it down or it disappears within the mists of sleep-fogged memory. Too often I just pass it off because my mind and body are screaming for rest.
Later when I try to remember or connect with what inspired me, I know it will be stilted when I write about it… or it is just gone. I wonder how much of this has contributed to my internal dysfunction. Gosh, we writers are truly messed up narcissists aren’t we? Writing is such a balance between trying to find and share truth and the divine, and being self-serving and self-absorbed. You have to have a little bit of both to do it I believe. So, it’s 2:48 am, and I’m going to stop writing about this, and take a few moments to write about what started this in the first place… and hopefully wake up refreshed for whatever might be in store tomorrow.
Selah
There are too many choices about what to say...
I'm a recovering Christian, a recovering alcoholic, a cancer survivor, a recovering brother and son, a recovering missionary, a recovering writer, and a recovering dreamer.
Yet, I've been blessed with being a teacher, a storyteller, a counselor, a theologian, a scientist, a labourer, a leader, a follower, a writer, and a dreamer.
Hopefully I won't be getting over any of these anytime soon. However, I do pray that I might be better at dealing with them and being them as I walk through this trek.
Someone once told me I was the dumbest genius they knew. Another told me that I was essentially the socket-wrench of Satan. Hopefully I'm neither, and yet somewhat both. (except for the Satan part)
If you enjoy the creative works that I will get around to inflicting upon this, please know that they are mine, and don't use them unless you ask. I would be so honoured, I think I would pass out from the mere question... The writing is mine, unless noted, and the photos may be mine or borrowed.
Wander with me, please.
Temporary No More---Blog by Charles Dean Burbank is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License.
