What Shall I Write?
Of course, I could always fall back on a good source: my dreams. Last night’s was interesting in that I returned to it after several conscious moments tending to the toilet and calming our two dogs’ restlessness. But I don’t feel inspired enough to share it, since its meaning is ‘unworthy’ of serious consideration by others. In fact, it may be true to say the same about all my dreams.
I have been writing on WordPress for seven years in a fortnight’s time. I have tried to go ‘deep’ into the subjects that interest me, almost constantly all through that tenth of my existence here. They say that every cell in one’s body is renewed (at least) every seven years. So, I have to ask myself: Have I changed? The answer is: yes and no.
When I look at my earliest posts, I can easily see that I was reviewing almost everything I had experienced, and shared, through my previous medium of choice: poetry. But people don’t really appreciate poetry anymore. Once upon a time I could have been famous for writing it, but not now. Why is that?
And when I wrote prose, I chose to expound on themes that run counter to the prevailing ethos of the times, both present and past. What was I trying to prove, that I’m different?
Yesterday’s post about ‘roof brain chatter’ was a reminder to myself that my ego seems to be trying to assert my ‘special-ness‘. But I know I’m no more special than the next person.
In truth, I am only useful to spirit when I’m a blank slate waiting to be written on.
Bless.
