Saturday, January 2, 2010

Empty Pages

I feel like I have nothing to say lately. My poetry has stalled and I have no idea why. Life has not stopped, so why has my ability to communicate it come to a crashing halt? I am afraid that everything that happens to me, and the way I perceive everything happening to others, is no longer good enough to share.

Why is writing such a struggle with self-satisfaction?

1 comment:

  1. The creative process is not always a constant flow that one can tap into. Sometimes a spark flashes in the clouds followed by a drenching downpour of thought. Other times, an inexorable drought seizes our minds.

    But ability does not vanish, just lies dormant. Usually the most prolific times of my life are when I feel great passion/emotion towards something or someone. Lately much of that impetus has faded, as I have become used to life's complexities. The turbulences of my past drift away as I forge a new serene path into the future. Yet I am assured, as a river never flows in a straight line for too long, neither will life.

    Other times, my not having satisfaction comes from thinking that maybe I won't satisfy others. But in the end, if I feel passionate about what I am doing, the opinion of others should not be a factor. It all comes down to being content and having a positive relationship with one's self, which is the core of our reality. I keep having the idea that to have good relationships with others, shouldn't we first have a good relation with ourselves?

    I dunno, hopefully this isn't completely meaningless.