so i am writing

instead of reading, and wondering why

— what’s new, you say?

The drive to write pulls at my hands and mind, yet reading feeds me. Yesterday’s readings got me to scribble two full pages (you’re welcome, I think) of quotes and my own insight, and it was pure bubble. Unfortunately, I did not remain in the bubble all day.

maybe i should take it on
(staying in the bubble, I mean), like exercise: go so far as not to hurt yourself + eventually reach the pose. Stretch + hold. It almost sounds like a tattoo — or a jingle for plastic wrap =).
So, I shall not ponder why since it doesn’t matter. I will read because I need the proper fuel to run this machine that is me, even though I may write beforehand when I am so moved. If I end up not reading after writing, I will not write before reading.
and that, ladies + gents, is a circle

Even after this rigamarole, because I took deep + uniform breaths so many times before sitting at my desk this morning, I am still breathing that way.

it is refreshing + peaceful + powerful
like a gentle whisper

… a wind … an earthquake … a fire … And after the fire came a gentle whisper. When Elijah heard it, he pulled his cloak over his face and went out and stood at the mouth of the cave.

Then a voice said to him, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”

1 Kings 19
quite a passage, visual and poignant, of the senses

barely a week since i wrote this and i must admit: i have difficulty giving up the keyboard once i pull it towards me. a scribble i can run from, but it’s difficult from the keyboard. have fought the urge for a week, gave in today thinking “i got this” but: nnnno. and it means not entering the bubble and you know how i feel about that, so my writing must wait. does that make sense? I AM A WRITER … it is quite a (good, i guess) conundrum.