It is time to write.
To confess, expose, reveal…
be real and raw and silly-serious moment by moment me.
Here. Now. -vs-. Someday. When.
Someday when I know what I’m doing?
Have it figured out?
Plotted, schemed, planned, blueprinted, outlined?
Ptttthhhhh! You know THAT day, right?
I am a beautiful messy mess heap of chaos and presence
Wanna know something?
My insides are scribbling.
I am scared. Scared of being scared. Scared of being scared of being scared.
Yesterday I shared with friends that I do not comprehend why I get
So. damn. frozen. stuck. stymied. in my lack of tracks
when.ever. I. contemplate coming here (yes, here, to a wordpress screen, fingers on keys) and writing any.thing.at. all.
(as clearly evidenced by the chronic non-posts pervading this site, right?)
And I think I must find out what is “wrong” and-or “why oh why” in order to overcome and be the golden-hued, prolific, profound, insightful, inspirational blogging goddess that we all know is in here somewhere.
(Ohhhhhhhh…. could that be why?!)
They told me to just write. Write me. For me.
Not for you. Or them. Or any grand scheme purpose.
Simply to write. Express. Allow words to come. Flow. Have their inexplicable way with me.
So here I am.
Shaking. Criticizing. Condemning. Regretting. ALLOWING. Receiving. Sharing. (Insert loud screechy horror movie scream here)
Writing words from voices whispering, hollering, quivering and shimmering
Fastwriting over, under, beside and through the scribbley scary insides
Less pretend pretense.
More real raw-been Robin.
I am a writer, after all.
I am also a Leader of Laughter and Guider of Dreams and Creativity Coach. And that scribble and scrape-slops my insides, too.
I just want to hide. Run away. Hibernate. Meditate. Extrapolate.
You have no idea (wait, but maybe you do?) just how much energy I spend resisting
what I’m meant to do.
Fighting, warring, tugging, slugging, ugamugging.
It is ongoing, this internal bickering with all the voices
vying to be heeded and heard,
whining, cajoling, singing, snorting
All these damn voices, yearning.
I am hushing you (shhhhhh now, it’s ok)
setting you free
be unleashed upon a page, a stage,
keep me real, release release
have your way with me.
It is time to write.