I sit with my laptop where apparently it belongs – on my lap. My fingers are poised on the keyboard, ready for action. I have a full cup of coffee, am in comfortable attire, and the lighting is appropriate. But not a damn thing happens.
I gaze out the Window looking for the Help I need to get me going. A Connection with that Voice that I can somehow magically hear through the glass panes, as if it’s coming from somewhere else, someone else. The voice that speaks to me in a language only I can understand. A voice that, while seeming to come from outside, truly does originate within. The voice that is my true self.
Still nothing happens. The Screen remains blank, as if it’s trying to Conceal some sort of Dirty Secret within me that I am not yet ready to disclose. But no, that can’t be it. I don’t have secrets anymore. I paid the Price of living that way and the Inevitable happened – I got sick. With a kind of soul sickness that robbed me of my sense of self-worth, left me feeling so very Incomplete, and filled me with Envy of those who were living authentic lives. Now, there isn’t anything in my life that I have not shared with at least one person.
So what per se is it then that has created this Fight between my soul’s Longing for the Flow of words to rise out of it, and the Fearless resistance and Nerve of my mind trying to keep them buried? I quite simply do not know.
I turn to my reader to see what other folks have somehow successfully been able to create. Going to my reader is like walking into a library or bookstore. The Footsteps I take there are never a Misstep. I never Drop in to a gathering where I am not welcome. I always land exactly where I am meant to be. It may be a featured article robust with Sentimental memories of the author, a photographer’s gallery of pictures of one single Object, or something I just happen to discover on the Edge of the tags. Regardless, I always find a Shelf in my reader holding something that I am meant to read and/or see.
This isn’t some Frivolous journey I have embarked upon. Not some false and Fleeting sense of belonging that I experience through reading other people’s words. No, not at all. In Contrast, by entering my reader I have both entered into and been granted membership to a community. Although virtual to some extent, my community is my connection to the entire world. I feel no Divide over location, gender, age, sexual orientation, religious affiliation or lack thereof, education level, or financial status. All of you someway, somehow have become a Friend to me. Simply by being you.
I get up to Refresh my coffee. I stop to once more gaze out the window. I return to my bed and place the laptop back on my lap. I place my fingers on the keyboard. Something happens. I begin to write.
My words are my strength. My words are my healing. My words are my inspiration. My words are my soul’s laughter. My words are my heart’s love. My words are my mind’s intelligence. My words are my power. My words are my story.
My words are my Legacy.
Image source: blackevilweredragon on deviantart.com, CC3.0 Unported