I am finding myself getting lost in reflective pieces and spaces. The art of looking at things from diverse angles is becoming more appealing than my usually strict way of thinking.
Life lessons are opening me up to indulge in critical thinking and the rewards of knowing inner peace or understanding that there are things we can't change ourselves regardless of how badly we may want to. It can also be simply quantified as patience. Something, I have never had.
I am proud to call myself a student of life. A curious soul that seeks to figure out how everything works even while fully aware that it is impossible to conquer such tasks.
For example, there are times that the ink rules over my every entangled emotion. Times when even if I have been shying away from writing, I come running or crawling back to it. My writer is experiencing such.
Then there are other times that I'd rather burn than pick up my pen. I bury broken stanzas and incomplete pieces deep down my suffocating soul. Like I have been doing for the last one month.
I am yet to understand this phenomena within me.
Ask anyone who scribes reflective pieces and they will tell you that there is nothing harder than trying to choke the need to draw from an overflowing inkpot. The act in itself feels like a crime against one true self or nature.
To be honest, dawns and dusks have come and gone as I fought the crippling urges of spilling pain on your screen. Fighting my inner critic and her recurring pile of questions...read doubts. This is me moving past it all :D
Should I also add that it's a season I go through? I have this annoying habit of sinking into rather dark places and because I believe some things are better digested and resolved between the mind and soul of whoever going through them, I intentionally stay away from writing for a while.
How are you yourself?
