Oftentimes as I wander through the day to day process of living, I take a moment to inhale a dream. Though my mind is always actively thinking of writing, I seldom reflect on it deeply enough to make it my sole mission for satisfaction. No matter what transpires in my life, when I take the time to let my fingers tell a story, I am at peace.
It’s an exciting sensation to let the mind go, and create situations out of the desire to step beyond the self. At any time I imagine myself traversing across the country in a van, living in a beach house, or experiencing new cities which inevitably leads me to dissatisfaction because none of it is reality. I wake up in the same bed, the same apartment, the same city, the same state and this strange semblance of a life every morning. I pay my bills, follow the rules, earn my money honestly, and above all else keep my feet firmly implanted in the world I physically live in. We all know that kind of life is based on the conditioning ingrained in us to believe that is the means to survival. Don’t worry, I haven’t lost my mind and I’m very much implanted in reality, however, in digesting all of these ideas, I had one of my infamous epiphanies and came up with my definition of a writer and how embracing this idea makes everything else seem miniscule.
When you close your eyes you can still see. When you are surrounded by noise you can hear the silence. When your world is a tumultuous chaotic mess you can put it all in order. When your personal universe becomes mundane and trying, you can initiate strife. There is nothing a writer cannot create. Every emotion is readily available to enhance the experiences we have. Reality is the world we invent and there is no safer place for the soul to exist. As long as words stream from my fingertips I know I am alive. In doing this, I remain connected to the thread of life that ties it all together, that ties „us“ all together. ~rml~
That is all.