Archive for the ‘ Inspiration ’ Category

All that shimmers

Today wobbles like desert heat-shimmer.

It could go either way but I suspect that it will be a day that will try my soul.

I am becoming somewhat accustomed to such days, I’d vastly prefer not to be but since I can handle them I suppose it’s better me than someone who cannot handle these days, these thoughts; the feeling of not using ones potential.

I, like every person born on this earth, have greatness inside; locked away, waiting to be uncovered.

Some days I use it, days like today, I just hope it’s still there when I need it.

I am so weird.

S. Pentathol

I sometimes question my direction.

The people closest to me, those people that share my life, often tell me that I am much too hard on myself.

Conversely, I believe, that I am nowhere near hard enough on myself.

These last days I have found myself somewhat inexplicably sad; I had hoped that I would be past feeling sad over things that I cannot change by now.

Apparently I am still far too open, easy even. I almost wish I were still possessed of the suspicion that characterized my early adulthood; it made life much safer to inhabit.

Well from an emotional standpoint anyway. I tempted oblivion many times, and looking back I am very surprised that I am here to look back with surprise.

I am not completely hopeless, let me clarify: I am still thankful for many things in my life. It just seems as though the things that matter most to me will always be those that require baptism by fire.

I am sad to say that I am quite accustomed to being burned.

And obviously I am, as always, quite impressed by my facility with language.

Some things never change. Some things, do.

In my darkest moments, I believe that language will be my only legacy; all that will remain of the person I was, the passion that consumed me, the great love and greater sorrow that would come to define this mortal shell: words, these included.

I hope that more than that will be my speaker. I fear that it will be my Ender’s Game that speaks for me.

That, I think, is the moral of this particular story.

Dictionary Dreamer

I love the word “transmutation”.

I think because I love the idea that you can change something into something else. Like changing a bad mood into a good one, or a sense of melancholy hopelessness into a joie de vivre that authors impress upon on our characters but seem to seldom find in our personal lives.

I am a seeker. I am a dreamer. I am a writer.

I am all of these things which make me uniquely (not so in a sense and yet very so in others) suited to cataloguing the human condition; this human experience that can be so very ordinary in it’s extraordinariness and vice-versa.

I find that some of my most contented moments are when I am crafting an amalgamate of real emotional discourse and imaginary characters. Characters that, were I not quite so impressed with my ability to put words together, would not exist.

I tell some of my own story every time my fingers hit the keyboard on my laptop; every time some joy or pain bleeds off of the page it is because it has flowed through me into my stories.

My story becomes my stories becomes my (his)tory.

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I know that I have been given gifts, tremendous gifts. All of my talents and intelligence are a privilege, a gift. And they are a privilege that I am genuinely honored to have.

I feel that I have a responsibility to use them; there’s a quote, I’m not certain of the exact words so I’ll paraphrase:

“Your talents are your gift from God, what you do with your talents are your gift to God.”

Oddities

Something tells me that this week is going to be odd.

I’ve got too many ideas. Sounds like whining doesn’t it? It’s hard to keep them all straight sometimes. I need to take a day, turn my phone off and just write.

Hmmm, and run. Which would require that I turn my phone on, since it’s my iPod. And one of my platforms for writing. And of course my link to the world.

A quandary. I enjoy puzzles.

I feel strangely guarded today, I’m not certain how I feel about that though. For a very long time, I had gotten so used to having these unbreachable, insanely thick walls, that I didn’t even notice that they were there anymore. When I’d finally torn them down and looked out into the sunny fields around my fortress:

I could finally breathe.

Now when I look out, I feel like there’s sun sparkling on a moat that constructed itself while I slept and I don’t know why and while it’s certainly pretty, it’s no longer necessary and I wonder why it is here.

I rather enjoy allegory.

Free

I’ve been running again, slowly and trying not to push myself too hard, but running nonetheless.

It’s crazy how much I’ve missed it (it’s literally only been like 10-14 days) and how much something so simple can improve your outlook.

Of course, my outlook has been improved by more than my being able/allowed to run.

And there is not much that could ruin my mood today.

I have been happier, more myself, freer and more content these past weeks than I can ever remember being.

Omnia causa fiunt.

Why you ask?

Sometimes, when I’m not thinking about my own selfish need to write; my desire to get the noise in my head out onto paper, I think about reasons to write:

“…they were just words, but they inspired me to stand up when all I wanted to do was lie down.”

Nelson Mandela

It doesn’t get much clearer than that.

Omnia Vincit Amor

World Builders