I love to write this blog. I love that I can complete something every day. I love that I have a venue to write about what interests me most – the intersection of creativity and everyday life – and that there are readers who return every day to see what I have to share. I love all of these things and rarely does a day go by when I do not pause in a moment of private gratitude for the opportunity.
And yet not once do I look forward to writing the blog. Never. If I experience any anticipatory feeling it is dread—dread that I will not be able to sink my line low enough into the waters to find what I want to say. It is odd that it is even possible to not look forward to or even to dread something you love, and yet it is so.
Rarely am I inspired. Most days I sit down with nothing but the memory of having been satisfied with what I wrote the day before. Most days I begin feeling as if this subject is a rag I have finally wrung dry.
Which is precisely the gift this space affords me. I have used up all the easy ins. I used them up in the first three months. Now, if I want to find a way in I must silence all thought. I do not always want to be silent. I have a lot to say. I have a voice and I like to use it. I have thoughts and I like to think them. No matter. Silence is my only portal.
And if I am lucky, if I become very still—I might even disappear. This is the greatest gift of all. Beneath the current of ceaseless thought, beneath the noise and the bright circus of life, there is a space where waiting is enough. Here you must do nothing for something to come to you. Here you must forget all judgment, forget all ambition, forget your past and all your old hurts and grievances. You must forget all of it and remain perfectly still or be cast out. Here, for a time, you remember you were never any of these things, that you couldn’t be these things, that you are that same empty space in which anything can be heard.
If you like the ideas and perspectives expressed here, feel free to contact me about individual and group conferencing.
You can find Bill at: williamkenower.com