Simplest Thing

Simplest thing: 

it's the simplest thing, just listening, waiting, patient, and words appear completely on their own now, no search nor effort from my part as a writer. This used to be somewhat of a struggle, at least fairly often, not so much writers block as it was failure of my inspiration. Or so it seemed. But it's a mistake to blame anything other than my own impatient drive for words to come to me, relying solely on my own imagined talents and not trusting the very source of where my every talent lies. 

it's the simplest thing...

allowing words to come to me.

yes, I have a process, a ritual to perform, and yet really it's for my own convenience, a preparation of my mood for writing and meant only to relax my mind, readying me for the listening that's just ahead. What I want to do is to release myself from any expectations, not yet being concerned with worlds or inspiration, matching myself with the facing page, empty, and at once full of promise for anything to now appear. A writer is really nothing more than capacity, a vessel between words and page, delivering gifts that are so freely given from the source of inspiration. 

wherever that might be. 

that's not to imply that I am somehow separate from this source, that it lies within another world beyond my desk and mind. Everything is right here, now, existing in this very moment, and my only task is this realization, relaxing my pursuit of inspiration and allowing words the grace of their appearance. It's the simplest thing, sitting at my desk, listening to the play of silence, and it's the words themselves that ask me to be written. The source is here, present at my keyboards, enriched through typing fingers, brimming with both words and silence. 

it's the simplest thing...

listening.

and then writing what is heard.

~

Peace, Eric