I am the raw wound shaking off its stitched restraint, finding new skin. I am awake, even as the last bit of congestion keeps the air around me muffled and grey. I am awake.
It is so intangible, a moment where you can reach things that before seemed too high or deep in the cabinet, I found the key, still not sure where or how. It might be just getting off the wheel, even for just a week to recharge my thoughts.
I listen to music and there are feelings expressed you would miss if it weren’t for being awake. I think this is where my purest creativity lies, in those quiet moments where we imagine great things and see better than our eyes can.
Maybe it’s the storm outside, the great sound of thunder, the gray sheet of clouds that insist on perpetual night, I can describe things that before seemed so foreign. Maybe it’s the lingering fear, the feeling of vulnerability as the storms threaten again.
I equate it with having a craving, in fact feeling starving, yet you’re not quite sure what that is? It agitates you in its lack of clarity and your left more hungry for it. The inspiration I seek is much like that.
A word I can’t remember, a place I can barely decipher but it means everything to me. I’ve coaxed it out like an animal hiding in the shadows. Both afraid and curious I welcomed it in allowed the tension to grow to the edge of feeling something.
It’s a great wave of feeling, like glass streaming through windows cutting pieces of you as it thrusts forward like the cruelest bully and you are left to absorb all of its edges, all of the pain, pleasure and memory creates a cavern inside of you.
Seeking that cavern and willing to drown within everything it delivers, that is the full force of being full and creative. It’s safer to avoid and yet there is nothing more exquisite and powerful than to feel and create with every fiber you have until you and the page are one piece, a whole and this means everything.