it's not even waiting - these words exist already, not in time, but in some greater primordial void from which they will appear. My role is to simply arrange, an artful placement in hope of meaning. So to write, to begin, is to match myself to the emptiness presented by the page, a shared understanding of the spacious origin of it all. To wait is a subtle implication of divide - that words are somehow other than my own voice, or more so that there is a claim to any voice at all, and not just the creative stream of everything given appearance of author, choice, and words. There is no waiting, only writing, only not writing, and both belonging to the whole.
~
Peace,
Eric
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