Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Inspiration/Block (for the writer) (05/20/10)
- TITLE: A THERAPEUTIC DISTRACTION
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The palms of my hands are sweaty, and my stomach is in rebellion over the coffee that I have over dosed on, I am anxious and afraid. Will I be able to write again? What was I thinking; even trying to write? Who am I, but just a particle of dust that is blown away like the dandelion gone to seed, here today and gone today?
I aimlessly walk around my kitchen as Joe, my Yorkshire terrier, follows me in hopes I will go to the jelly cupboard and get his leash and take him for a walk. I pause long enough at the cupboard to invoke a tail wag and a pleading whine; I have no defense against his begging, trusting eyes so I hook the leash to his harness. Perhaps taking this time out from trying to write might be the catalyst to open the proverbial floodgates of creativity, who knows?
The gentle morning breeze wafts the sweet aroma of hyacinths in my direction and the crepe myrtles that line the street stand like sentries protecting us as we walk this familiar path. Joe sniffs every bush, tree, and light post along the avenue, marking and leaving his signature behind. I see a squirrel hanging upside down on a bird feeder having his breakfast, and Harley the chocolate lab from down the street saunters up to Joe, his flank swaying with his wagging tail. They sniff each other in a salutatory manner as canine friends are apt to do and I greet his mistress, Joyce.
Joe seems to realize what I do not; I need to step away and relax, allow myself to stumble; even to fail. I have to admit that having a dry spell, writer’s block, or whatever one may call it, did sound an internal alarm, and it frightened me. I need now to find a way out of this maze…if not today, then tomorrow. I will trust that this will not last, like snow that is heaped high in winter, and eventually melts …so it will be with this. I feel a twinge of confidence as Joe and I climb the steps to our front door.
Joe lays on the coach, content and I deliberately circumvent the computer. I pick up one of Billy Collins books, put on one of my favorite old vinyl records by Nancy Wilson and melt into my well-worn brown suede recliner. I aspire to do nothing more than to relax and become the long legged tanned girl from Ipanema (in the song it is a boy, but this is my meltdown and I can be who ever I want). The bluesy sound of Nancy’s voice is like a bromide and soon I find myself suspended between wakefulness and sleepiness…a wonderful transition. I surrender to the peace that has descended upon me like Elijah’s mantle.
Upon arising I find my thoughts are focused, crystalline clear, sharpened like cut glass. The hint of an idea is whispered in my ear and like the early morning fog that has been burned off by the sun; I discern that the Son, also, has burned my mental fog, away. The desire to write has opened the seam of my mind and I whisper, thank you God for removing this mountain.
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