A Lucid Slumber

Sometimes I just feel like writing.

To grab that favorite pen

and feel the smoothness of the ball rolling ink across the pages…

forming words

and making thoughts that much more tangible.

Why do things have a way

of just streaming out as they do?

How is it certain words

and certain curves

just seem to flow in an almost musical and spiritual way?

It all just feels so refreshing and relieving!

There are no worries!

All cares are exposed and released.

There are no insecurities or fears.

Penmanship is perfect in its imperfections!

Why is it that this is a way in which I feel so much closer to God?

It doesn’t fully make sense to me.

Many others connect in ways that seem

so much more readily inviting than this.

Am I really so lazy?

My hand spreads across a papered surface.

The feeling is met with confusion

between desirable and undesirable.

Ink layers itself on the bulge in my pinky.

The small guiding muscles ever gently begin to cramp.

Striving for “good” handwriting begins to cease

as readability takes a back seat to the flow of feeling –

in literally every sense.

Letters become mixed as

new angles and swirls are experienced.

It’s a nearly existential sort of soft exhilaration.

Now if only meaning could be put behind the scribbles.

But this is art in and of itself.

It pours itself out of the recently creaked and exposed crevices of my heart

and even soul.

To add meaning would almost mean to snuff out the totality of freedom

or the exposure to beautiful rawness.

Rawness.

Something usually expected as painful,

wounded,

and negatively exposed.

Here the word only brings a refreshing sense of being unveiled –

something gloriously innocent,

young,

pure,

inspirational

and naked.

O to be innocent and naked.

Completely released from everything

that ties

and holds

and pulls

and reasons

and points

and pins

and stretches

and falls.

O to be released.

Sweet sweet release.

O to feel release.

To feel satisfaction.

To experience such fulfillment.

To experience such divine loss.

O to be at such an emptiness for words…

Words…

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