Every Morning

Every morning:

it's not every morning, sometimes the words don't arrive as easily, my own focus just isn't there to wait for them to come. Like now. It's been a difficult few hours, so early too, and my routine has been altered past the point of inspiration. Someday's I struggle with the world, waking and already lost. 

but every morning I write.

nothing is forced, and if no words find me, nothing meaningful is written, then I'm absolutely fine with the emptiness of the page holding whatever it is I offer. I love the demonstration of a page's capacity, always available, willing to simply be without mark for however long is needed. 

what I find, every morning from first waking on - is that life is exactly like the page, there is always a willingness for the day to greet me as I am, right now, without bias to struggle or smile I am completely and immediately accepted as I am. Life is of equal capacity as a page and whatever my present story involves is just as intimately held.

so what's seen here is simply life, and only so - it's not divided to compartments of writing and separate daily affairs. Just life. And when I wake it's a morning found of capacity, instantly, a recognition matched of my own open nature, a willingness to hold whatever the morning through the day may offer. Every morning I am life expressed in varied ways, and just as much too I am capacity for all of its expressions, for each story now being told, everything allowed with equal grace and care. 

stories change, 

but I wake as this same capacity

every morning. 

~

Peace, Eric