Looking back over the early part of the day, there isn't much to see. It has been a lazy day around here. I spent the morning writing and fine tuning some writing. The whole idea of getting random thoughts down on paper and then connecting the dots between them has always thrilled me. I firmly believe that the mind spews random facts of importance into our subconscious in an effort to guide us subliminally. That is why we are more readily accepting of some outside notions and more resistant of others. The opposite or match is already there in our subconscious. Have you ever flatly rejected an idea or person without knowing why? It is because, at some level of your consciousness, it comes in direct conflict with a known or unknown ideology. My dog is terrified of my son. Chris has never done anything to Malcolm. For some unknown reason, Malcolm will run or hide anytime he hears Chris' voice. Something in his memory, something about Chris, triggers each other.
This is what happens with my writing. Ideas that I cannot get my teeth around have come out. They demand to be expressed. It can happen anywhere, at any time. I can be driving and I have to pull over and write. I can be sound asleep, and wake up suddenly with words flowing. Even here at the computer, it can happen. When I start writing, it rarely ends where I thought it would. It is difficult for non-writers to grasp that. They do not understand the pleasure and pain of words tearing themselves out of your heart and head. Some things are like splinters to your soul. Tearing them free from the flesh is painful, but necessary for healing. Some feelings are like an acid, some etching, some burning, some destroying. They must be released.
I am an electrician, by trade. I have been 'bitten' by high voltages 3 times (that is 3 times too many). After I was released or got free from the current, I had to admit that it felt good. The feeling of electricity coursing thru my body was not unpleasant, but it would kill me, eventually. Writing is like that. Sorta. The words are conduits for feelings that feel good while you are experiencing them. Anger feels great while you are angry. You feel so alive. Hatred, pure and unbridled, is electrifying to the soul, while you are expressing it. Left alone in your spirit, they will kill and destroy their host. Without a victim, they turn on the possessor. Writing releases these things from my soul, even when the pain of digging out that splinter causes anguish.
I do not harbor anger or hatred. I try to avoid holding negative emotions. That is not always possible. Sometimes it can get in there and hide. You get into an emotional state about something and this thing flares up that you didn't even know was there. THIS is my release.
Hatred and anger need a host to live. Exposed and free, they die. Love is the opposite. It yearns to be free. It begs to be expressed. It feeds and grows on freedom. It is one of life's great mysteries. The more I give out love, the more I have. So, here, have a little love. I've got plenty.
Wow. I didn't meant to write all that, but that is just how it works in my ramblings ..
This is what happens with my writing. Ideas that I cannot get my teeth around have come out. They demand to be expressed. It can happen anywhere, at any time. I can be driving and I have to pull over and write. I can be sound asleep, and wake up suddenly with words flowing. Even here at the computer, it can happen. When I start writing, it rarely ends where I thought it would. It is difficult for non-writers to grasp that. They do not understand the pleasure and pain of words tearing themselves out of your heart and head. Some things are like splinters to your soul. Tearing them free from the flesh is painful, but necessary for healing. Some feelings are like an acid, some etching, some burning, some destroying. They must be released.
I am an electrician, by trade. I have been 'bitten' by high voltages 3 times (that is 3 times too many). After I was released or got free from the current, I had to admit that it felt good. The feeling of electricity coursing thru my body was not unpleasant, but it would kill me, eventually. Writing is like that. Sorta. The words are conduits for feelings that feel good while you are experiencing them. Anger feels great while you are angry. You feel so alive. Hatred, pure and unbridled, is electrifying to the soul, while you are expressing it. Left alone in your spirit, they will kill and destroy their host. Without a victim, they turn on the possessor. Writing releases these things from my soul, even when the pain of digging out that splinter causes anguish.
I do not harbor anger or hatred. I try to avoid holding negative emotions. That is not always possible. Sometimes it can get in there and hide. You get into an emotional state about something and this thing flares up that you didn't even know was there. THIS is my release.
Hatred and anger need a host to live. Exposed and free, they die. Love is the opposite. It yearns to be free. It begs to be expressed. It feeds and grows on freedom. It is one of life's great mysteries. The more I give out love, the more I have. So, here, have a little love. I've got plenty.
Wow. I didn't meant to write all that, but that is just how it works in my ramblings ..
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