I don’t have visions like I used to. There are too many chemicals running rampant in my body for that to happen. The beats and rhythms no longer speak to me because of age and imbalance. It’s as if the universe is tuned to a different frequency.More to the point, I am.
Part of the issue is that I’ve suppressed these muscles for a fair amount of time. I have to keep stretching into the beyond in order to find the right place to find the stream of consciousness that I used to be able to tap into at the speed of thought. It’s not easy to recover those skills.
It’s much like any other exercise routine. It has to be done regularly and with purpose. Movement for movement’s sake isn’t the goal. That is just chaos.
Another piece of the struggle is that I’ve put too much credence into seeking validation from others. I’m striving for the likes, the plus 1’s, the hearts instead of knowing that the sometimes maligned words that I string together are good. They are the best I have at the time and that is good enough.
They do not have to be on par with Dick or King. They do not have to rival those of Capote or Chandler. They are mine. No one else can write them as I can. No one else will have the passion for them as I do. No one can feel the rush that comes from them.
No one can. No one is supposed to.
I’m beginning to realize, once more, that it doesn’t matter if my words move anyone else but myself. I should not write towards a goal of winning a popularity contest. They should be for myself, primarily. If others find something in them that sparks a kernel of insight or emotion, more’s the better.
And in the span of few hundred words and a several minutes, I feel the strength and power of what I’m saying. I feel the truth of the matter and can feel the flow of the universe around me again.
The beats and rhythms surround me. The spectral voices are in chorus to the ethereal songs. It is here where I find my place and feel the connections that I’ve missed.
Here.
Now.
And it is wonderful.
