Sometimes I am intoxicated by writing. An idea will gel, my fingers tap words across the keyboard and I am unstoppable. Before I reread, before I edit grammar and vocabulary, I am a mildly manic maniac intoxicated by words and ideas and expressions.
Then there are times when I am NOT intoxicated by writing. When I sit still as stone before my computer screen staring at a blank Microsoft Word page, daunted by the task before me, emptied, uninvolved, disconnected.
But then come those times when I have to write my ideas down – which, at least in that moment – seem brilliant. The phraseology of my sentences, the topics of which I speak, the breath of song within. There are times when writing takes hold of my soul and flies with the angels – all by itself – I hardly have to think. Words bubble from a well of depth related memories and I am moving at the speed of a gallop – pages running quickly beneath my hooves.
The feeling is one of freedom, wind whooshing through my hair, eyes wide. My mind is a step ahead of the rest of me and my fingertips race to stay in sync. It is in these moments that I break through the wall of me, I rip through boundaries and visit the foreign that oddly feels familiar. I follow my thoughts fearlessly like leaders lead. I am somewhere else.
Life gets bigger and includes all of me, and I accept this. Before I judge, before I worry what another thinks, before self consciousness sets in – I am simply where I am, in the moment, with my self expression.