Writing Finds Me Here

Writing finds me here: 

writing finds me here, present to the beginning emptiness of the page along with my desire to participate in its fulfillment of words and meaning, perhaps even a few lines of striking beauty, or a particular thought that offers some keen insight. I never really know what's to be written, not even as the words begin to flow, writing remains a mystery until the very end and the page is filled. It's similar to meditation in a way, surrendering any sense of control for something larger to be involved, a greater creativity than my own that stems from a vast inner-world of silence. This is where words arrive from, not from a thinking mind, full of plans and with a set agenda -no, words come from silence, from the truest sense of inspiration, strictly from the spirit world and then gifted to the page. 

writing find me here, in the mystery of it all. 

grateful to receive this gift of words. 

really, it doesn't matter what I write of, I'm always happy just to be within the process itself, involved, thick in the midst of inspiration. The less I control is always better, I've learned to be patient, my eagerness restrained by hard gained wisdom. Writing always happens on its own, or at least that's how words first appear, not through my effort, but only by surrender, letting go of any belief that I have some control. I am only here to arrange the words once they've been given, providing some structure to their flow. It's the easiest job of all, and it's always with a self-knowing smile that take credit for the words. 

writing finds me here, already surrendered...

ready for the gift of words. 

~

Peace, Eric