Sometimes I find myself lost. Found in sentences, phrases, a word. I start, I stop. I postpone and I look for reasons. Excuses not to be the way I’m meant to be. Yearn to be. Need to be.
It makes no sense and all the sense in the world. The word, the tone, the flow of the sentences, the volume, phrasing, sound and intention. The emotion, the feeling. All calls to something greater. Something bigger.
I found my calling in-between sheets of paper, the smell of a perfume drop, the sound of water in the shower. The gentle tones, silent moments, deep breath in between poses, the gasp between cries, the light in my dreams, the darkness in my mind.
Some how, somewhere, the light, well… it found me. It guided me. It lit the way into a world that was new to me. Foreign. Grand but oh, oh… so fucking scary, magical and powerful at once.
Sometimes I have no idea how to find it, call to it and yet sometimes I choose to ignore it when it shows up.
The words, they flow. They come like a magnanimous waterfall of thoughts and yet, I can’t stop, stop to glare at it., look at the droplet, taste it or understand.
Beyond all understanding, my fingers continue to tap, to create, to know something that my mind cannot comprehend, cannot grasp in the flurry of words.
I am found. I am here. I am now.