A New Moon

I lost writing, for a time.

It was one of a myriad of things I threw on the pyre of trying to keep a failing marriage going, mortgaging my creative impetus into a money making venture that couldn’t outrun our imbalances. Overpromising underdelivering to my fans & patrons, suffering that creative wound, and then entering the pandemic which was finally enough to kill the dynamic that was killing me slice by slice.

For a time, I lost my urge to write even as for a time I lost my urge to have sex. Wounds, that healed on their own time, by their own… not logic but deep knowing unfolding which made its own sort of sense.

But we heal, or we don’t; and I have healed. And now there is nothing to do but to begin walking again, on atrophied muscles, the unsteady legs of something both old & knew… the unsteadiness of a fawn quivering to stand contrasted by gray hair and wrinkles.

I don’t know what writing is for me, anymore. Not now something to make money; not bound by genre by which I mean marketing and guided by what I think could get me paid. It is a path in my heart that leads where I know not, one I’ll follow again best I can till and unless I can’t.

It starts with honesty, saying what I see to the best I’m able save where doing so imperils my family.

So what do I see?

Much. And as I see, I am confused whether I’m seeing something within or something without. I would like, mostly, to write about what appears to be out of myself but fear I’m mired in the patterns and limitations of my own internal imprint. I’m unsure if what I see is the false virtuality customized to frack my attention, and even if I can peer past my internal fetters, the weave of shadows that have me captivated by the cave wall; then I have the problem of how do I communicate with you all ensconced in your own context?

Assuming there’s even a you who will read these words.

In the past, writing was complicated… intended as it was to serve multiple masters. Now, here, I can make this simple: Write a thing. Hit publish or print. Possibly share as is relevant. Repeat.

If there is more to this, then it will come in its own hour.

I must walk before I can again dance, I must dance before I can _.