It feels weird after the fact.  I wrote some last night.  Long overdue words set to page.  It didn’t feel good but it felt right.  Writing becoming foreign to me scares me a little.  Creatively, I mean.  Blathering upon this blog is more like a journal than something substantial.  But, I’m so glad that I deliberately took a crowbar to my mind and heart and wrote.  There was a little release, a little answer to a question from long ago.  Mostly there was a sense of being right.  Or at least getting that way. It’s a wonderful feeling tapping into that divine space.  I want to be stretched again to be able to see that which lingers on the edge of observation.

I have spent a lot of time in my life doing things because I thought that it was what I should do.  Writing is the only thing that I may have forced into my life that actually fits.  I enjoy crafting a phrase, or plucking an observation out of the ether.  Alas, I don’t think I’ll be sharing that piece soon.  I have to think about the possibility of finding the source of the inspiration.  Perhaps putting the original that was written to me next to yesterday’s piece will create some emotional bookends for the stuff in-between. 🙂