Sometimes when I sit down here to share some of the eureka moments that burst open in my head like fast-forward flowers, the inspiration fizzles. It’s almost as though they’re just for me, or at least for a to-be-determined few.
Part of it, I think, is that I’m just not inspired in this town anymore, or at least not enough to push the “whoa!” of a momentary realization out from my heart and head through my arms and into typing hands. At least not very often. Why is that? I don’t know. I used to be so eager to put pen to paper or fingers to keys. I guess it’s that even though I’m doing completely different things and living in a different abode than when I left “forever” a year and two months ago, it’s the same place with the same stultifying force that slowed this Superball almost to a stop. I become animated in conversation sometimes, especially if it pertains to animals or Ireland or love, but in black and white, I’m just about spent. Good thing I’m leaving “forever” again in a month and a day.
I had the Feeling not long after I first moved here, almost seven years ago, and for a good span after that: an overwhelming strength in knowing what I was doing, even if it didn’t make any sense. I was where I belonged. The certainty welled up as an exultant YESSSSSSS that swept away everything else like a flash flood — or sometimes as a forceful “this will not stand, man!” Or both.
But now it’s like things are dying a little bit at a time, not least of all my old, old grandma. Maybe when her spirit breaks free, so will mine (in a different way, of course — I intend to stay in this body a good long time yet . . . though one never knows, does one?).
It’s almost hard to write about the magic, even though it’s obviously still happening behind and under the scenes, because I remember its full force only from before, when I felt it last. Remembering is not experiencing.
Self-expression is borderline exhausting. I’m weary. But a spark keeps me trudging, keeps these words smoldering out onto the screen for some reason . . . until one fine morning . . . .