Tonight, I write.

To write is to pray, and this is where I find my flow. A thing those who tell others how to live experience as “a state of time-bending joy”. My consumption of self-help knowledge is somewhat problematic, but we’ll talk about that later.

The goal of this blog is to set my thoughts free, the storms and the calm seas, to use my fingertips to speak for me. To writing is to feel – joy. It feels like passion growing from seed of ideas, cultivated by hand and watered by my stream of thoughts.

As I grow from the inside out I vow to myself to tend to the ideas brewing in my heart, bringing them to life as all things seen with the eyes have come to be realized – first by a thought, then by an action.

Writing is an omen to the universe. It intensifies my deepest desires as if the universe’ native tongue is the ink on a paper. Every prayer in the form of a hand written letter I’ve sent to the powers that be have been answered – whether I realize it or not. My humble asks materialize no matter how big or small.

My overwhelming growth last year put me at the forefront of all I asked for and at the edge of my perceived limits. I free fell off of all that I knew and landed on higher ground. This new echelon felt unfamiliar like driving someone else’s car, or the cold damp sheets in your childhood bed after coming home from war.

I once heard someone say “even the rain clouds can bless me” . My fragile heart at the time took that to mean the sun is always behind the clouds, and the moon is always full. Writing is my full moon, my rain cloud of a blessing. It allows me to be me: as is, and duelly palpable to people outside of my head.

To write is to pray.

 

 

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