The voice and the water

Now that this week is over, I have so many ideas, so many things I want to write and share about.

People have asked if I’m going to keep updating the blog with how things are going and I said Yes I would. So the entire week has passed and I’ve written one post, about Wealth and Money. Not super exciting. Not super overwhelming lol.

Sometimes I feel bogged down by my ideas. I feel like I have to catch them floating out in my mindspace and then get them down on paper before I lose them and then don’t have any content. That is the saddest thing ever… But it sucks even more when I’m facing a blank screen and it feels like I’m scratching nails over a chalkboard trying to formulate my ideas and thoughts into coherent strings of words.

Seriously. Sometime I wonder if this is one of those just-have-to-get-over-the-hill kinda things, where I have to grit my teeth and push forward. But sometimes it just feels like I’m stuck in a place of stress and fear that I’m not going to perform the way I wanted to, the way I envisioned, the way I think people expect me to. Not that there are so many people waiting on me lol.

Just… during this time of thinking and pondering and fearing, I realized I lose and miss out on the presence of my words, the depth of life, the secrets of truth that need not to be put out on a blog or always documented, but simply breathed in and lived out.

As I was showering today after working out, I felt a quiet voice within asking why I felt so pressured and stressed and fearful.

I answered that I was afraid I was losing, failing, falling behind. I was afraid I wasn’t working hard enough, seeking desperately enough, pursuing fast enough. I was afraid I was making light of the Muse that inspires and flows. Especially now that I had made the decision to leave a salary and standard way of living, I had no excuse to not be faithful to my art and creative contribution.

The voice within laughed, as it always does, in that full hearty way. In the gentlest voice, it said I was not alone. That the source of ideas was within. That even if I didn’t remember everything single idea, that I would never miss the timing. Because whatever needed to be spoken and heard would be spoken and heard. At the right time. Every time.

It was my turn to laugh. Mine was more of relief and catharsis. I laughed, then smiled. Of course. This art, is not just mine. I am just as much its. Haha do I sound like a crazy person? I am simply a vessel that writes. But the writing is secondary, a side effect of the life I live, the heart I feel with, the soul I am. Writing is an expression of what already is.

If I don’t know the what-already-is, what will I write about? If I’m fearful of losing something, how can I enjoy what I have? Would I truly even have, if I’m not truly appreciative and understand I’m in it, it’s in me, and I am it?

My fear validates that I don’t have. But the truth is, I’m the only one that thinks I don’t have. And that’s the funny part. What I want so badly, I deny myself. Simply by fearing. Simply by worrying about it, perpetuating my anxiety, surrounding it with my concern.

And then my esteem and respect for my art, my expression becomes my prison. I’m enslaved by the idea of it, by the nonexistent instruction manual that tells me I need to be prolific and funny and eye-catching and relevant and Buzzfeed-worthy. By this time, I’ve reduced it to work. A transaction between my soul and the universe. I’ve transformed my gift and talent as a burden, and prostituted myself for no fee.

So essentially, it appears I’ve left a job that made me feel cheap (money for my time and energy) for another that strips me of any value (devaluation for failing at my expression). Sounds… like a really bad life choice lol.

The voice goes on… I can’t remember the exact words but I remember the feeling. As the water fell on my body, washing away the sweat, I let the words fall on my soul, washing away the anxiety. I remember remembering that there is a time and place for everything. When the time comes to put out work, to churn through and fight for my art and voice, I will know and I will pull through. When the time comes to write deeper, I will know and dive harder and further.

I remember the voice asking me how many days it had been since I’d left the firm. I answered, It’s been five business days, since I don’t count Saturday and Sunday haha. I laughed again.

The voice asked, What have you been doing these past five business days?

I answered, Working, writing, reaching out, figuring stuff out, learning, doing homework.

The voice asked, Not even a break? You think you’re not trying hard enough?

I couldn’t answer.

The voice continued, Who are you trying to be? You’ve done everything you can. You’re doing everything you can. What are you so afraid of? Trust me, there will come a time when you wish you could have it this chill and laid back.

I thought, Oh shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.

The voice: Lol (yeah, it laughed again lol), don’t worry – when that time comes, it’ll be time for you. Relax. Just relax.

I laughed within. And laughed. And laughed. And then smiled as the water poured over me.

As I dried myself, pulled on my clothes, and packed my belongings, I understood somewhere within, that in order to write, I need to live, to know, to experience, to breathe. Forget all the thinking, all the oh-this-would-be-an-awesome-blog-post, the how-can-I-turn-this-into-a-writing-piece?

Forget the trying, forget the manufacturing, forget everything that isn’t Truth because Truth is Good – it feels Good. Because you can’t invade Truth, you can only let it be. And when you do, it invades you.

I walked out of the gym smiling, feeling a little Boss – okay, a lot Boss. Hahaha. I was in cahoots with the universe, the universe that was telling me that if I jumped into the current, I can paddle as hard as I can, but I’ll still only be going as fast as the current. That I need to trust the current, trust its strength, trust it knows mine, and revel in the fact that I’m in it. And it’s in me.