I think I stopped writing because I forgot who I was writing for.
I wrote with the intention of an audience; forgetting that I started writing for me.
I’ve written several blogs I haven’t published. Why?
Because they were for you, I suppose, and not me.
This blog has had many iterations over the past 4 years.
The most important moment was summer 2017 when it was all about me. Without the pressure of anyone reading it. It was an outlet.
I stare at the keys now and words come out. As if posesssed by some higher power - as if in in a trance. Like a ouija board. Now interrupted by spotify ads and plagued by glaring spelling errors which my busted trackpad refuses to fix.
I let something guide me. My vision blurs. The keys are familiar. The presence of wisdom. It’s here.
In this moment is where I find peace.
The busyness of life fades away. The lists. Checking all the boxes. Doing all the things. Presence is found in the quiet if we allow it. I’m always afraid of what I might hear in the silence. So I focus on the space in between - the bardo.
Presence is in the in between spaces. On the other side of chords or a comma. After a pause and before a breath. It’s in the anticipation of a kiss, the seductive moments prior to chocolate, the adrenaline of exertion. It hangs in the air after the rain. It lingers in the smoke swirls. It whispers in the trees. It rushes the shore with the waves.
In these moments, life seeks us. Calling come and play. Reminding us to breathe. Take precious care. Life is for the living.