I have a confession

Sometimes I’m afraid of being inspired. Because then I feel stuff. And feeling cracks me open. I start to remember stuff. Like: that I'm ALIVE. And someday I won't be. And I FEEL. And someday that will stop. And I get all motivated to make spectacularly beautiful things expressing my gratitude for existing. Or try and figure out how to better blast the world with how much love I feel for this grand experiment called Living. But then it's so much, almost too much, yes it is too much, like when I watch bjork orkestral live and it just makes me ache with so much inspiration I want to explode. And I cry and feel like how can I ever, ever embody fully all the passion I feel? Like, really, how can I do it? It's impossible. I'll go crazy or die. But I pick up my pen, and try, clumsily at first, then a little smoother, which develops into a vivid openness, I feel my body relax, and suddenly I am in the slipstream of creation. I open wide and let whatever come out, come out, and I am at peace. I'm alive. It doesn't matter that I'm not bjork or a superstar or a famous writer or any other thing other than I am. It doesn't matter if I can't find a satisfying way to share the awe and exquisite joy I feel. To just feel it is enough. If I happen to pass on any spark of inspiration to any other living thing in this wide gorgeous flow, so be it. And if not, damn damn damn does it feel good to flow.

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