Every morning I sit here and maybe it’s tea or maybe it’s coffee beside me and always there is a dog and maybe one cat—I sit here with my fingers hovering above the keyboard and I pray that the moment they touch down that words will come spilling out into the open and they will be brilliant and life changing and that they will be everything. so, just a little bit of pressure to create something worth thinking about and the truth is that sometimes these morning writes clears the dust off of my creative self; it’s like picking my brain up, shaking her around and putting her back down, ready to start fresh. But some days, I like the brain fog and the slowness of waking up and of letting things that I feel rest with me so that the process of opening is slow and steady and it is like a flower blooming in slo-mo and eventually, is open, ready for the world to see her in all of her self. take a deep breath and pause a moment and look out the window at the trees and listen to the murmuring of saturday morning. Sigh. My words aren’t ready; there are plenty of them but right now they are floating around and I am cautious of plucking them from the sky too early and i’m cautious of sewing sentences together until it’s time.
So tell me about you—I’m tired of hearing myself think and I’m tired of my own words and all the me me me that I am in the depths of. what makes your heart race? Do you have a favorite sound? What does the ocean mean to you? Is there anything about you that you hide from the world and if so, what is it? If you close your eyes and move your body, does the unknowing of how you look drive you mad? Do you have a pile of books on your beside table and do you like coffee or tea and what is your favorite meal and how long do you chew for? If you were to live in the woods for a year, what would you take? And on island? What do you really think of tattoos and if you don’t have one do you secretly dream of having one and if you have one or two or three or more, do you secretly wonder what you would look like without them? Do you believe in god? Spirit? A force bigger than you? Do you believe in gurus? Do you believe in the wisdom your own heart carries? What is your favorite word and do you sometimes repeat words over and over again until they make no sense and do you take a strange pleasure in disorganizing thought?
Oh—and how slow do you like your mornings?