With Infinite Things

With infinite things: 

with infinite things to write of - and yet at this moment feeling as if no words will arrive in inspiration, my mind is quiet, settled in silence after meditation, content. So I let words appear as they do, their own pace, whatever meaning they provide, no rush to write things down. This seems also a part of meditation, a silence that continues on, lingering past my sitting, urging me to take my time and simply enjoy these last few moments before dawn, being still so early and well before the world awakes. 

with infinite things to write of...

and just these few words that speak of silence.

what I do is honor my commitment to my time of writing, my only wish being to keep authentic in my approach to words, not striving to reach for any experience that isn't exactly of the moment, inspired, but only in the sense of being completely mine. This morning I spend as much time in silence as I do writing, more so really, as these words come sparingly, only a few arriving and then a pause, returning to a silent mind, abiding here until another word appears, I find it easy to settle into this process, remaining unhurried, and without concern for how this will proceed. 

it's a mystery,

unfolding by single words, arriving as they will.

with infinite things to write of, and this morning it's simple of silence, not really choosing a theme of subject, but allowing words to find me without an agenda of my own. It's a pure inspiration, slow, a drip of words that reach a quiet mind. Right now I feel as if its over, my writing time is through, and these last few words...

returning me to silence. 

~

Peace, Eric