Discipline and dedication come to mind this morning. All the words – all the struggle to put them in the correct order – to lavish them with inspiring adjectives – to pour out my soul only to have it leashed again. The writer is subject to a war as he enters the realm of creating. A work in progress becomes a daily grind. A battle against time – of which I have little. A recipient of blank pages waiting to be filled. A blank mind like the emptiness of life itself.
Thinking ahead – death may come soon – so many things to say, so little time. The journey is filled with detours and roadblocks. Each twist and turn delivers new thoughts and a change of plans. We struggle to find an ending, yet we haven’t even made it half way through.
Life – the daily struggles – the aches and pains of aging – the perils of moving from one room to another and trying to remember why you went in the first place. Who cares? Why does any of my life have any bearing on another’s? Maybe in my telling, someone may discover they aren’t alone in their journey. The experiences we face every day can create a story – a poem – an idea. Our dreams are like that too. When we’re in search of the creative process, everything we deal with in life has purpose in fulfilling our goal.
Looking back – remembering – past mistakes and what we learn from them – secret sins known only to you and God – successes and goals accomplished. Each of these possess a tale to be told.
Our lives are like a giant manuscript, just waiting to be poured onto a blank page. If only spell check didn’t interfere.