Inspiration Always Finds Me

Inspiration always finds me: 

with infinite things to write of, this moment, and inspiration finds me here - right now it's early morning, sun still not even a hint of being shown, deeply quiet except for an occasional note from a lone bird outside my window, it's call, as yet unanswered by a chorus that's will soon arrive. This is my writing time, my ritual of morning, sipping coffee, and completely unconcerned of any topic or theme to write of, no need to search for certain words. 

inspiration always finds me here.

this ritual has been long cultivated, years of showing up here before the sunrise, a first meditation to immerse myself in the deep silence of the morning, my practice being patience, no rush for anything to be accomplished. My pace is matched to the slow process of the sun, dawn has an easy reach without rush to light the day. I can afford to take my time, inspiration always finds me here, and there's absolutely nothing that needs to be written. The silence of the morning is enough for me to sit and listen to, a poetry of air in its quiet wait for any sound, stillness and the potentiality for motion to arise. There are infinite things to write of in this moment, and inspiration always finds me here.

what I long ago discovered is that there's no need for me to write of anything at all, there doesn't have to be a topic, no grand theme full of meaning and importance. There are endless things to write of and this is because this moment, right now, and always right now, is my singular point within the infinite, nothing being separate from the universe at large, this moment itself eternity. How could I not be inspired? Anything written now has arrived from a place of mystery, every word is spontaneous in its appearances, gifted to my mind to ponder, for my fingers to type, and to this moment on the page. 

so really, inspiration doesn't find me, it's here all along, the infinite disguised as my ritual of the morning, providing me with endless things to write of, or nothing at all, as silence itself is so full of possibilities and meaning, always sharing without need of being expressed as words. This is the infinite, right now, all of it, with silence and words both being found within the seamlessness of its embrace - and I too belong here, simply part of this endless inspiration.

always.

~

Peace, Eric