Writer's High

It’s the struggle of your heart to find just the right words with which to express itself. That obsessive urge to find clarity that consumes you. It’s the longing to be heard of the voice that screams inside of you that you constantly muffle with the noise of the world around you. A lost identity that searches for a face.

It’s that moment in which you sit at your writing desk and the world disappears around you, melting into an insignificant nothingness and all that remains are the memories that you revive, the dark fears that you confront, and the dreams that you find freedom in.

It’s that heat of passion in which your soul recognizes its truest self and spills itself out into the words that your pen furiously scratches onto paper.

That’s writer’s high.

~vagabond~ © 2010

A few moments with myself

Lately, I cant hear the voice of my soul speak to me. I miss our conversations. The searching, the dreaming, the creating something out of the nothing. Finding myself within myself. Discovering thoughts misplaced. Ideas forgotten. Dreams abandoned. Planning new journeys to undertake. Instead, a noisy chaos surrounded me. A blur of rushed activity. Overbearingly important and seemingly necessary yet meaningless and unuseful. As the noise from the chaos around me grew louder and more demanding, the hushed voice of my soul spoke softer and softer, growing tired and weary, fading away from a whisper one day into the stillness of a tormented silence. I missed the voice of my deepest expressions, the nurturing voice of my dreams, the voice of my innermost conscience, the voice that calls me to live life again and again. Lately, I've been straining to hear it speak to me again. I've begged and implored it to talk to me again. To speak louder that I might hear it above all chaos. When all I really needed to do was just to step away from the noise, to walk away from the chaos, and to just listen.

~vagabond~ © 2009