on writing...

I've separated myself from here, from writing. Instead of writing, I've been living, integrating. Growing, changing. Transforming, expanding.

But now, I'm challenging myself to write again. To be creative here. On this blank white canvas, more open than the blank white canvas of my journals, which I love. LOVE. They are my lifeline, really. I need to write, it's innate in me. I need to create more than words, I doodle and draw with all of the pens I have collected, and it feels like a religion. It feels healing and alive and raw and ME. In there, I can pour forth whatever is inside of me. But, it's safe there. It's private. And maybe it's time to stop being so damn safe. Maybe it's time to try something new. Or, at least something old that feels new now.


I have no idea what to write about every day, but the discipline feels good. Like something I need now. I feel the need to move things inside of me outward. As my birthday nears, that is what seems to be clear. Last year this time, I felt the word action whispering on the wind. It was strong and real. To move things I was feeling into action, to become more the me I know I really am. Authentic. And to bring that into outward things. That seemed to morph into all of the inner feelings of love into outward manifestations of love. So many things changed in this last year for me. And, in the end, the action of love was really to love me.

Funny how it was always in me. The key was me. And now, I stand here so clear in my love for who I am, it's hard not to get choked up a little. Being one with life isn't just words anymore. It's a feeling. And oh, my god, that's it right there. When words aren't needed anymore and you are simply flooded with feeling, you've got it. You are it.

Feeling flows through me. I am the vessel. Clear. God, I love that.

So grateful for this past year. So excited for the year to come.

I am ready for the story that's inside of me to come out. Maybe it can come out here. That is my wish.

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