Agenda

Agenda:

without idea or sudden inspiration, that's how it sometimes happens, arriving to my desk with intent to write but not yet with words that are ready to reach a theme nor fill a page. I have a willingness to wait, patience, coffee to sip. Writing often has it's own agenda, or perhaps it's more true that words and inspiration do - ideas flourish on their own and arrive with a subtle impact to my mind, so seamless and with ease that I claim them as my inspiration. 

really though, it all belongs to mystery.

and it's important, for me at least, to not make any assertions on how mystery should unfold, keeping my opinion to a preference, no demands as to when words will make their appearance, or even to ask for their arrival. Again, writing has it's own agenda and it's intimately involved with mystery. My interference only seems to complicate the matter as now I introduce an agenda of effort and will, not an intention, but a forceful ego declaration that mystery meet me on my terms. 

mystery is never forced.

writing, at it's purest point, is always effortless.

so my only role is to be without agenda, or to match mine with a greater one than my own, allowing myself to belong to the process of words and their pause, having faith that ideas gather in silence and arrive to me only when inspiration is ready to be told. With this in mind I am content to wait, at peace with silence and my time at hand, to sip my coffee in the early hours of the morning. It's still just before the first song of even the earliest of birds, fresh snow muting and distance sounds. So quiet, a stillness that's hushed against my ears in soft touch, as if another presence offering its embrace. I'm listening, and it's to nothing at all, to silence itself, listening to moments pass that are not yet measured by the reach of time, a quality only given to hours just before dawn. I'm listening. 

this too is writing...

and I am part it's agenda.

~

Peace, Eric