Words Appear

Words appear: 

to know that words appear, and that it's all completely on it's own - there's no need for me to do anything other than show up to the page. It's my own commitment to appear, to believe myself a writer. There's a certain faith in both of these. My involvement here is really minimal, and this isn't to downplay talent, nor the role of practice. But simply to state how little of any this I actually choose. Words come unbidden, truly appearing on their. I have no idea of what's to come until ideas reach me and I find myself typing phrases that were absent just a moment ago. 

in the same way I never chose to be a writer, it's an impulse too - somehow, I've been given the idea to write, to sit at my desk every morning and simply wait for words to find me. They always do. Through none of this do I find myself willfully choosing my actions. Where do these first thoughts of being a writer originate from? Why these particular words? I never really know, and it no longer seems to matter. This is where I find myself, and it's here that words find me. 

so I write. 

of course there is a choice - I could stay in bed, go for a run, or a thousand other options might appeal to me. These are possibilities. Yet still there's little say to any of this. Why would my preference be to stay in bed? What draws me to my desk instead? I find myself living in a mystery, surrendered to its flow. There's the appearance of choice and I participate fully. That's how life operates it seems. But there's something deeper playing through as well, a certain choice-less awareness to it all. What's going on is just participation, there's no central authority to make the calls, no self found present to choose these possibilities. It's simply life engaging with itself, inspiration without true cause. 

and so, I find myself here, writing. 

words, did indeed appear. 

~

Peace, Eric