When I am writing, there is a lot of not writing that happens: warm the coffee, drink more water, find a better background song, stretch, sit, stretch, search for a quote, walk the dog, and then, sometimes a freight train of words come pouring out of me; their cadence undeterred by being caught or not.
Sometimes, I just write a lot of crap.
An impossible chapter. I would spit at it, if I didn’t have to clean my computer screen.
An adoption agent is coming to your house to interview you on your capacity to adopt the creative…Why do you want the creative in your house? What do you know about caring for it? How will you provide for it? (41)
How will I provide for it? I was asking it how it would provide for me. There’s the rub. Sometimes, the savior we pray for needs our humility and our care in order to “save” us, which is of course us saving ourselves.
How and what will you feed it? Where will you house it?
What? These are all things I was expecting from it! You mean you want me, me to care for it? To love it? To sit still and stare it lovingly in the eye, bow my head, and thank it for even walking in my front door, and here take my favorite pillow.
Oh, yes. Yes. To dance with the divine is to give your very best silverware, the ripest mango, your misplaced modifiers, your gutter balls, your foul play, and the sweetest tears, from which you thank the One for receiving your gifts, effective and attempted. As you empty you are filled. You are full.
Please excuse me; it’s feeding time.