Tag Archive: Inspiration

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.


I want to see pinhole lights in the night tapestry 
and be unable to escape the inevitable starstruck.
Craving spicy tastes that consume my inspirational palette
my plate seems so pregnant with unconsumed flavours.
Each lingering scent wafting through my memory
brings momentary flashes that echo recollection.
I want unshackled freedom for my intrinsic senses
possessing only what is granted an experience.
Yet within the poignantless grasp, fingers learn to slip,
and be unable to reach out and catch simple sensations.
The defiant five conspiring and complaining.


11:05 pm
28 February 2012

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