“I don’t need to write a post. . . oh, but I think I’d like to . . . “

It comes now on a grey afternoon, after this much-needed rain. Yes, it has been such reprieve. Both in the atmosphere and my emotional sphere(s). Choosing to write some words on the screen comes after the tizzy of a couple of wild days, as we shift into September & when my own physiology screams ‘Fall!’ though still it’s not here for three weeks more, is it?

I felt like, I haven’t written since April, why would I choose now? And then that other voice, the other side of the same coin calls out, “Why not?”

As if I need a magic point in my day to write.

As if I need a potent circle of readers to take on at the exact moment.

As if I need a world to share in, when the world simply needs more of us to share.

And as I see this black text over a white screen, sometimes my many voices play tricks on me.

It’s not enough to write so infrequently.

It’s not enough to not have a firm theme for your blog.

It’s not enough to have a voice that carries into writings beyond posts of 200 words or less.

Must I write poetry?

Must I learn music and write lyrics?

Don’t I like movies, must I learn how to create scripts?

The biggie: must I pretend I write anything at all until / if / as I acquire the gumption to write a book?

All the musings in the world do better on out of my head, dear choir. The songs that get played over and over in my brain. And perhaps yours are like that, too. When we try to turn down the volume its like more accompaniments come in and deny our experience in hearing the core of our own harmony: we each have gifts to offer and there’s no time like now.

Which is not to say it can’t wait – sometimes we have the means of trusting our pace and that too is a gift of intuition. Why not believe that I can take breaks and return to something?

The summer for yours truly has been a soft one. Much adorned like the year’s word I proposed on January 1 – I took on more training into ceramics, obtained the humility of a dry heat that killed off foliage. Still gallivanting at times to the salty shores and on occasion the fresh waters or poolside waves. It was hiking outdoors and daring to wear smaller clothing in the brutal sun. Sharing a glare of my tan skin and thinking, “Why not? Why not now?”

We don’t have tomorrow until it comes.

Do the thing. Rest when you need. Breathe in and out. And keep it going.

I’ll come back, too, dear Reader. Eventually.