The recent death of a contemporary, a counterpart, a woman I've admired, is one of those events that has startled me into awareness of everything I have. How much there is to be grateful for -- like every minute of every day. It makes me want to savor the sacred in the ordinary. To let loose that poet that lives deep inside me.
When I hear people say to live every day so that if it's over tomorrow, you'll be content, it's easy to feel like they mean to leave nothing undone, that it's necessary to experience it all. For me, living every day and feeling good about it is more and more about being still and being aware; about seeing and not getting caught up in the daily frenzy of doing. I want to experience life but I also need to reflect on it.
For the past three or four months, I've been acutely aware of not having creative juices flowing through me. I've had no creative energy. I know it's not gone for good; I know I haven't lost it or somehow run out of it. It's just a hiatus. But I wonder why. For some reason, I've not been meant to create right now. For some reason, my spirit has been required to be still.
Tomorrow, for me, a new sun will rise. Maybe a surge of energy will come. For Sharon, her spirit will be freed and she will fly away.