Where on Earth or Heaven
does all this writing and inspired I would like to think come from. It is a
fountain, a gushing something, it is like the mind and awareness,
consciousness, life, the origin of the Universe and Creation. It is invisible
and non definable, if it were definable it would be limited. It would be limited
by the local ring fenced mind and any inspiration which would or could jar the
comfortable conditioned mind would be rebuffed, rebuked and cast aside.
So there is an excitement
that a seed, a glimpse, a hint or a great big splash of an AH HA, and then in
that eager anticipation to express it in one’s chosen expression, say a few,
dance, poetry, sculpture, art, painting, writing and the like. Sometimes when
writing it consumes time, food, cramp, fatigue and yet there is an urgency to
spill it out, it seems a gap, a space in the mind, awareness, consciousness and
a tap of some sort a mysterious process is activated.
Often the writing and
content which comes through is a shock and jolts my comfort- ability and
jostles my suspended and somewhat lackadaisical doing mind, it can present a
challenge and it can answer things, soothe and comfort as well.
Just when I think and feel
blocked or I need a rest and there cannot be possibly more it can come suddenly
or after a break, it has its own agenda and rhythms, however it does appear
commensurate and concomitant with what is going on in my life as such.
It is never trivial, it
seems pertinent to my needs and somehow this is not me as a brain washed conditioned
person.
Some say it comes from
your godhead, your guardian angel, your guides, your this and that, I prefer to
leave it as portal, a star gate, a worm hole, a black hole, a fountain, a
source which is not behind, in front, up, down or any special tangible location
it is a mystery and not in the realms of my mind content belief, it is non
local and as such any attempt to define and locate it turns the tap off.
Such is the beauty and
frustration; the beauty of the feel, the
rush, the education and creative fulfilment of writing without thinking or
worrying as to the grammar and so on, and I am not concerned if the reader or
publisher if that ever happens is not pleased, as the content came from source
unknown and is not to be tampered with by another’s interpretation, as arrogant
as that my seem I feel it a gift from
somewhere and although others may not like it, it seems to have a special place
in my life.
I am grateful that this is
coming through me and I am the flute this unknown plays through me and that is
all I can say, I am grateful to the unknown source of my life and through its
trials and tribulations has led me to be where I am and to whatever I am and all of
this is a mystery as it ever was and without the mystery of the unknown the
known would be wearisome although I must say trusting the unknown is not task
for the unprepared. For if one would be
prepared it would not be the unknown.
SHACK
