I can't really write of the mystery of creativity - yet every word now written is an appearance of its grace. This starts from nothing, a clear space of giving, and it's matched in equal value to my own capacity to receive - emptiness fulfilling its nature to become in some inspired form. This all spontaneous, and I have no idea of what words will come, but only that they do, and that somehow too they reach the page. None of this explains inspiration, of how a first thought appears clearly on its own, as if whispered by some finer breeze within me. To this end then, there is no right for me to claim these words, they arrive without author, and I belong only as a joyful participant in their arrangement. Grateful to be included.
~
Peace,
Eric
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