The Spirit in the Lake

I come to sit by the water's edge this morning and to listen to the Spirit in the Lake. I don't feel the grief of a few weeks ago. I don't know if I'm numbed to it or if I'm really dealing with it. I'd like to think it's the latter.

The weeks hurry by nowadays. They rush on their way to nowhere. I've felt kind of trapped in a vacuum of sorts. Creativity is at a near standstill. I started a new project and that has taken up some time. But I can't really excuse myself by using that for a reason.

I remember not long ago that I would have been sitting and wringing my hands right about now wondering if I had lost my ability to create. That seems so odd to me now. I wonder, "How could I have even thought that way?" It is a beautiful thing when you can see your own progress.

And so I sit in the silence and think about all that I have done. The ideas come in a flood at times and then there are times like now where I feel as if I am in a desert period. Patience is a virtue I have not yet perfected. Yes, I'm so much better at it now, but I can feel the strain at times because I try to engineer outcomes and force results.

Today I will just wait and let the thoughts drift and mingle with each other. Who knows when a burst may appear? What I do know is that when the first thought trickles through my brain I will feel the radar lift to detect the signals of the others which inevitably follow. It is then that rest is scarce and the creativity flows like a river.

But for now I will try to enjoy the silence and nothingness of free thoughts running wild yet not making any sense. Perhaps if I listen closely enough I will hear the Spirit in the Lake whisper to my heart. For when the pen meets the paper there is no time, no concept of it passing. There is only the sweet joy of doing. I can wait for that... while I listen.