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Monday, July 15, 2013

I am a writer

Some say being a writer is easy, others claim it to be difficult. I think of it as a wonderful enigma, so easy and yet so difficult. The "words" part is easy; the decision of what "subject" you write of is the difficulty. There is a sea of thought in which to pull from.
I wade in the pool of dreams daily with my thoughts in the shimmering waters. As the currents change, the flow and the shapes and sizes of the small eddies differ moment to moment. My desire to write a tale of each entity stirs so much emotion that I find it difficult to focus on one singular manifestation. Oh the madness...
I sit back and reflect, only to find the task even more challenging. My thoughts cascading like a waterfall. Individual ideas represented by a single strand of water. I do not see a single flow of water, but a body of thousands of strands of liquid identities. The one to grab and focus upon is the challenge.
It is not just water, the clouds in the sky, or the woman sitting next to me that stirs my desire to write to no end. Everything known and unknown brings me to this chasm. Crossing is a new adventure each time, because each trip is its own and worthy of its own description. Where do I start? Oh where? Understanding is the starting point. Not just comprehension, but the act of becoming...
To comprehend the mechanics of anything, you must become that thing. The mind's eye must focus on the anatomical make-up of the subject. Acknowledge each individual molecule. Accept the existence of the known and the unknown. Open your being and enter the desired target. Feel it breath, move, live. Grasp the concept. Morph. Do not think...transform. Humble yourself. Become other than what you are, for a moment. Then you will be fully capable of understanding. That is the first step in receiving the gift of creation. Once the journey begins, it has endless possibilities.
I have seen places you never may be, and walked upon sands that are now seas. Watched mountains crumble into beauty, and flowers turn to rust. I flew without wings to worlds uncharted, and strolled down unknown streets. I've stood at the edge of time and gaze across forever, even embraced immortality and release it back to time.  I can take you to these places, but you must take my hand. Trust me, I am a writer.

© Autumn 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

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