Drought

Writer's block. What is this thing. We call it a thing, as if it's there. Something to muscle out of the way. Burst through. Smash, pound, eliminate. But what is it really. I have about 15 blog posts backlogged in my mind right now... "Slings and Savages", "Sex in a jar", "Enlightenment & my sleeping foot"... waiting, waiting, waiting for what? For someone to make me write them. For the brilliant post, that perfect one, the funny one, the one that everybody talks about.  And then the fear envelopes. What if? What if it's not good? What if it's not... insert 1000 different things here. And so they all bounce around in my head, pinballs, oh they're brilliant, I say, ooh, that's a good story, that one, oooh, that one really says something. And yet, they fade, they begin to fade, without sunlight, without water, stuck inside, rattling around, the part that's bursting to get out, is now limp, a plant in drought. Water. Water? And I look at it, and know how beautiful it once was. Water it. Water it? Or just write. Just start. Write what I am experiencing right now. Right now. Write now. Experience. We experience something, and then it changes. It is forever changed. We talk about it. We tell the story. And then it changes it again. And we tell the story again. And it changes. And we call it true. This is what happened. This is what Actually happened. Or is it? What if our experience of something is the closest we can come to the Truth of it. What if we were to stop and be with our partner. Our kids. Our friends. Really stop. Even for 2 minutes. Just stop. And be with them. I can guess that's what we will remember. In the end, when we look back, it is those brief moments of connection, of being part of something bigger, of being open. Letting in.