I’ve been writing morning pages for seven months now with no missed days. The page was always there in my notebook Just patiently waiting until I was ready to commit. Imagine all the things that lie dormant and in wait. Waiting for motion, Waiting for something bigger, Waiting for the right time, Forgotten, Re-shelved, Undone, And redone. Just waiting. And I always held the key Even if I forgot Or temporarily lost it. Once found, I used the door To the page And found myself waiting. To be great, To heal, To creatively express And be an authentic version of myself. And that is why I show up Again and again For myself Because I’m the only one who can.
The Imagination knows no limits. Sometimes it has a mind of its own. It takes me to unseen places and brings to life fantasies that have never seen the light of day. The Imagination is soft and wild. It comes from a place deep inside and longs to be expressed. It is unconcerned about money, chores, Earning a living or maintaining a home. It is desire even unknown to me Until it leaps out onto the page. My hands moving swiftly Making marks on the pristine paper. It is in my child’s mind As she creates stories, conflict, and magic Recreating a story or a movie to her understanding. The Imagination is not looking to adhere to standards of what is good or acceptable. There is no grade-point average to attain. The Imagination thrives on space to express and room to grow. To explore its edges unending and terrain always an adventure awaiting to be expressed.
My inner songbird sings that which she cannot bring to light from the dark and all that can be marked. To be alive and free expressing all of the emotions in me. I do not know what I'll say until the moment in the day When the creative muse appears at the fore remembering her inspiring visits from before I long to express what's inside and to be safe in my stride. I want to feel ease and peace the joy and magic of release Those words that are meant to be said once I get them out of my head.