This is my funk. I am two days shy of being exactly one month from when I wrote, I hear everything you aren’t saying…the last time I was firmly planted in writer’s block. I was sitting on my porch, stuck and writing in my journal and then that poem came. I’ve been writing ever since with more regularity than ever before. Yet, here I sit. Blocked. I’ve tried it all. I’ve journaled, I’ve read, I’ve searched inspirational quotes, I’ve reviewed notes, I’ve deleted, I’ve rewritten…nada. So, I’m writing to you instead, a letter. And to be honest…I still have just about nothing.
I have no idea what is in my way. Okay. That’s not true. I’m struggling with my ability to be honest again. It isn’t that I’m lying to you about anything- I’m not. It’s that, ironically, I’m not saying anything- Can you hear that? Can you hear everything that I’m not saying? I can’t tell you what is weighing so heavy on my mind because I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to be wrong. I don’t want to regret. I’m afraid that if I say what I want to say, the focus will be sucked up by everyone else involved and taken from me…yes- taken. I’m afraid that if I say what’s on my mind, if I speak of what I want, I will somehow lose what I have. I’m so twisted up inside.
Breathe. That’s what I need to do. I love the quote that says, in doing nothing, nothing goes undone…I need that to be true right now because I don’t know what to do except not do what I’ve always done. I’m back at staying. I’m letting it be. I’m neck deep in discomfort and anxiety, resentment, maybe a tinge of anger, a splash of guilt…what Pema refers to as “half faith”. I am of half faith. I’m praying with one hand- Please be the other hand.
I’m of the opinion that bad writing is better than no writing at all. I wouldn’t say this is bad…I’d say it’s just…not my best work. It’s not even work. This isn’t work, this is just me and the process that I have to sometimes take to get to the work. This is all of I got.