Whatever Comes To Me

Whatever comes to me:

nothing has to be written, there's no grand truth to be told by me alone, and these words carry no great weight of meaning. But still I seem called to write, everyday there is a pull to sit and give expression to whatever comes to me each moment. 

inspiration is simply listening to this urge. 

to be creative is the natural way of life, being a expression of the world just as I am - that I am a construct from earth and stardust, a trade of air for breath, and infinite in space and molecules. I am an aspect of earth, aware of myself as dust and something more, an energy of certain artistry, life in constant urge to be continued. 

whatever comes to me belongs to this moment only, a contribution to only to this page, and my own small sense of inspiration. To write is as easy and natural as breath, it's the same trade of emptiness to form, the energy of life expressed in the same wish for continuation. To write is to be myself, a true self of creative energy, giving voice to what's heard even if it's just for me. I am obeying the law of expression, life always seeking to be known in every possible way. 

it doesn't matter if this is true.

what only matters is this communication-  that life whispered and I heard in this simple way, listening brought me to the page and I wrote with a quiet wish to be voiced, to give myself to the moment's urge of creation and continuation. 

to simply be inspired. 

if read, perhaps only briefly seen - then I am joined in this expression with another, we share a single moment crossing time and space to be together. 

that's all the meaning that is needed. 

~

Peace, Eric