The Large Intestine

I'm running away from my widely publicized (ha, comparatively so) blog. Why? I don't know. It's not what I want it to be, as well as in the public eye? Double whammy.

This is so, big. I am so, free.

I'm at a coffeeshop, eating a muffin, drinking a tea, getting to work on my creative projects. And what did it take? Seemingly, one person to shake me out of my routine. One person whose presence forced me to redefine my values. I was asked questions I had never asked myself, made to feel things I wasn't sure I was capable of feeling. When someone looks into your eyes so deeply, day after day, you wonder - what do you see, there? What is it in me that causes you to gaze, so intently? That causes you to pay attention? Perhaps I should follow your lead and find out.

And I am swept up.

I am now, effortlessly, as if the blocks were never there, meeting people. Making things. Writing. Singing. Living. Talking. Crying, when I need to. Laughing shortly thereafter. Not feeling like I should wallow for a prescribed 20 minutes before allowing myself to feel joy or delight. Allowing myself. I am no longer regulating so heavily. A very picky, very attentive, very tyrannical part of me has calmly stepped back.

Even now, I think, "Maybe this could be a pattern - I could write, blog, for 20 minutes as a warm-up before I begin my projects. I could come here often and have a pattern, build this, wear it in." I am trying to make things easy for myself but in doing so, make them harder. Make them sharper - with more corners and lines to step over, more things to remember, more things to foresee. But it is so easy, now, to let go of things as quickly as I conceive of them. Some I grasp to, fighting as they wriggle, slippery fish in my ice-cold, wet hands. Some are driftwood. I am learning discernment from the most peaceful place.

Now, to go feel the tip of my pen glide across paper.