Best Writing

Best writing: 

my best writing is not entirely my own, containing words and phrases and deepest insights that are clearly beyond my imagination. That this doesn't happen all the time is a testament to my stubbornness, some buried need to still prove my cleverness to the page. Yet after decades of daily writing, a streak of 27 years I believe, the one thing that has gotten easier is surrendering my cleverness for silence, allowing just the right words to grace their way to me and easily reach the page. In my best moments I'm not actually a writer, more of a temporary vessel serving as a conduit between inspiration and the page - a vital part, yes, but only in service to the entirety of writing. What's really happened is that my trust has developed to the point that I've outsourced my ego for the sake of completion. It's still allowed to claim authorship of course, signing a name, taking credit for the best of words and defending the worst. Ego stuff. That's what it best after all, boasting of ownership, rushing for the completion of a delicate task, and basking in the smug satisfaction gained from hearing its own applause. 

and yet the best writing happens on it's own.

unhurried,

words gifted,

with no authorship to claim.

a shared grace. 

~

I love you, Eric

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My Place of Asking

My place of Asking: 

and this is almost always where I start my practice, an empty page and letting go of all preconceived notions on the words to fill it. This is my place of asking, it's where inspiration is received. Each morning I ask the Holy Spirit for just the right words...

and this is where my prayers are answered.

~

I love you, Eric

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Just the Right Words

Just the right words: 

writing has become a holy act as well, the page just one more thing given to the Holy Spirit and asked to be filled with whatever words best serve his purpose. More often now my day is a prayerful conversation, especially in the early morning where it feels as if I'm given my days directive. My writing is the perfect symbol of this, an empty screen and the little willingness to be graced with loving words to share. So now my most sincere prayer is may I always be an empty page...

and may the grace of just the right words find me.

~

I love you, Eric

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Being Filled By Holy Words

Being filled by holy words: 

it's here on the page too, this beginning emptiness followed by a request to Holy Spirit for just the right words to fill it. My life has slowly become a demonstration of faith, a daily determination to ask for a greater guidance than ever followed before. Writing is no less than a holy act, it's a prayer asking to be filled so fully by love that words easily overflow from my heart and reach the page. This is truly how I wish to live my life, prayerfully in this way...as if I am an empty page,

being filed by holy words. 

~

I love you, Eric

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Absence of Ideas

Absence of ideas: 

what I've done, or really, it's simply what's happened on its own, is let go of the struggle to think of something to write of each morning. I've found comfort in the absence of idea, it's freeing, and with this inspiration finds me on the emptiness of the page, every word being a link in an unknown theme that revels itself as my morning writing unfolds. 

everything I write is a mystery to me.

this has been just one more thing that has been surrendered, a string of concepts and beliefs that no longer seem to serve and now simply vanish without concern. I think an artist will sometimes cling to their struggles, holding to a false belief that there must be a period where inspiration keeps itself absent for a length of time, cyclical perhaps, and that one most suffer a bit for its return. 

I no longer wish to struggle ,

nor to suffer.

emptiness can be its own reward.

so too a single word.

and that's enough for me, just one word that's somehow intimately linked to a theme that has yet to appear in the course of time. I'm in no hurry, not anymore at least - 

inspiration knows exactly where to find me.

and it always does.

~

Peace, Eric 

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This is How it Happens

This is how it happens: 

most of the time I just leave it to the flow of words, no topic in mind, writing for the sake of whatever now unfolds. At one point this was a cause for deep frustration, not having a theme would leave me feeling fearful and adrift within an empty page, having little faith that inspiration would guide me through my writing. I'm much more trustful in the process these days, relaxed, and unconcerned with how the words will flow - 

thoughts always seem to find the page.

I wish I could offer guidance on how this has happens, provide some sort of blueprint that others might follow. But honestly, I don't really know, it's a mystery to me, and perhaps that's the secret right there - it's okay to not know whatever might come next, if anything at all, that if the very worst fearful thing that follows the last written word is absolute silence....

then reside in the stillness of the moment.

for however long.

unafraid.

relaxed.

don't try and make anything happen, there's no room for force here, effort won't make words arrive any faster. In fact, effort, concentration, actually slow the process to a near standstill. Just enjoy the silence, surrender to it, trust that words will appear completely on their own and their pace can't be measured by the standards of our time. 

there it is, the best that I can offer.

not so much a plan.

but this is how it happens.

~

Peace, Eric 

To read more from Headless Now, please visit: But It Took Awhile

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Love and Practice

Love and practice: 

the agenda for me was always words on a page, my first and only goal of writing was - to write, every day, and nothing beyond that held any great importance. It's been well over 25 years since that vow was made it's been easily kept, writing daily as a practice without concern of meaning, just happy that words arrive to me so freely and almost always feel inspired. 

I'd like this practice to extend another 25 years.

or even longer.

but I'm happy going day by day.

lately I've added something extra to this list of daily practice, filming, making sure that I open myself to whatever sight that nature offers and sharing it with others. There's no prerequisite except that it captures my imagination, that's it's unique to my perspective alone, as if the entire universe conspired to deliver me to the exact moment of my inspiration. 

and who knows? 

perhaps it did. 

that's how easy art is, and everyone's an artist. It's simply a matter of showing up daily, committed, and then falling in love with the actual practice of our craft. Love and practice are two key words here, as it's all a practice and that allows us the freedom of imperfection - and love is the force that keep us committed every day. 

it's a simply formula, 

love and practice...

it works so well for me. 

~

Peace, Eric 

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Everything is Yoga Now

Everything is yoga now: 

my early morning yoga routine is immediately followed by writing, and seamlessly now, they have become much the same in practice and outcome, with a feeling of stillness achieved without any undue effort from myself - and most importantly a sense of grace and beauty, if only briefly in a certain pose or perhaps a single written line. This all seems to stem from meditation, a continuous flow from cushion to the yoga mat and then reaching my desk as I sit and write.

everything has become yoga.

meditation.

a stillness known just beneath activities of body and mind.

this is Patanjali's yoga, cessation of the motion of the mind, for me, lasting only for a moment or so, a brief immersion into a sure and greater silence. But it's enough, with aftereffects that linger through my day and carries me through with equanimity and grace, inspired, and grateful for the day. There's really no sense of achievement here, it's not a place that I've arrived to, it's been here all along. My mind was simply too busy to ever noticed.

until most recently, with everything slowed down,

for whatever reason, 

and however it has happened...

everything is yoga now.

if only for a moment.

~

Peace, Eric

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My Greatest Small Surrender

My greatest small surrender: 

as for me, perhaps my greatest small surrender is in approaching the page each morning without a clear idea in mind to write of, my own emptiness of words matched to the screen, and simply having faith that inspiration will soon arrive with exactly what I need. My only plan is patience, writing is never guaranteed, and yet it always seems to happen. Waiting for just the right word or phrase is part of writing, it can't be rushed as then the words are mine and not a true gift of inspiration. And the difference is amazing in contrast, if I rush for words, reaching beyond my present silence just to fill the page, there's the absence of an easy flow, a struggle, and a sense that whatever's written isn't truly mine. They weren't gifted to me, not given as a reward for my patience and surrender...

but words without a touch of inspiration.

and not truly belong to the page.

the thing is, it's not really my surrender, it's a process that now mostly happens on its own, and it begins with the clear recognition that I'm not the author, more of an arranger of words, and even that is based on an intuitive sense of rhythm. All of this has been gifted to me, and in no way can it be seen as an achievement, I'm an author in name alone. 

my attachment to the process has been surrendered.

and even that happened on its own.

each morning, my greatest small surrender...

yet no one there to claim it.

until I sign my name below. 

~

Peace, Eric 

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A Place to Start

A place to start:

it's a rare morning that I stare at an empty page and not know what I'll be writing. Sometimes I'll not have an opening line that begins the proceeding flow of words, but at least I'll have a theme in mind, and then it's simply a matter of trading thoughts around until the right idea captures my imagination. Often, I'll come to the page with only an opening line and an entire theme will build from there, surprising me with the eventual outcome. But it's seldom that I arrive at my desk without a single idea in mind in which to write of, no theme, nor first line, just the emptiness of the page to greet me. 

and that's okay too.

it's a place to start.

there was a time though, when that would have completely scared me as a writer, believing that inspiration had to be apparent from the beginning or that a struggle would ensue. An empty page wasn't a place to start but a challenge to be filled, having arrived to the page full of ideas that would mark me as a writer, and all I had to do was arrange them in a perfect order. Emptiness was an impediment to my success, a frightening prospect if it lasted longer than a moment. 

which of course it often did.

and I found little joy in writing.

the turn around for me was the rediscovery of my own place to start, that I possessed a true beginning point with every moment that was just as empty as any page. There was never a challenge for this inherent emptiness to be filled, life always flowed through me, indeed, that I myself was the actual content, as well as capacity, for the story of life to be told. Every moment was a place to start, a perfect opportunity for inspiration to unfold, and it all happened completely in its own.

nothing to be frightened of at all.

so with this, there began a re-enchantment of my own sense of emptiness along with an ever present curiosity for whatever might appear. I am constantly being filled, never having to reach for the next idea, nor wait for a sudden burst of inspiration. Everything comes to me, truly so, an entire universe appears exactly as it's needed, no effort from me required. Emptiness isn't a challenge to be filled, it's the pure potentiality of my existence. 

it's always, and only...

my continuous beginning. 

~

Peace, Eric 

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Thank you, Eric