I am here. My fingers are truly free-writing. I have no idea what I am going to type. I am writing without a prompt, just letting my thoughts spill out onto the page. I am sitting with my feet resting fully on the floor. My eyes are closed and the keyboard feels cold beneath the thenar eminences of my palms. My eyes are a little puffy and wet feeling. My body is a little achy and sore. I am waiting. What next?
My favorite mug sits here steaming with hot tea and I pause to take a sip. A small smile lifts the edges of my mouth as I think of G, the man who has my back and brings me tea every morning so that I can sit here and indulge myself with the writing of these morning pages. He is like the “gate keeper” who stands guard and makes sure the Queen is not interrupted as she humors herself in her bed chamber.
Indulgence. It means tolerance and understanding and also extravagance. Some mornings I understand my need to do this discipline and other mornings it feels like an extravagance. Whose time am I wasting with this purge of words? Self-indulgence. Am I tolerant and understanding of myself? Or am I wasting my time as well as the readers who choose to follow this book of pages?
Time. What would I be doing if I wasn’t doing this? Sleeping. Would I be better off sleeping than flushing out my brain every morning? I have to honestly say no to that one. I am getting plenty of sleep. Since I started this process I go to bed earlier. My body only stays awake a certain number of hours and it simply goes to sleep. I am lucky that way. I have friends who are insomniacs. Their bodies are restless or their minds are disturbed and they lie sleepless in their beds regardless of how tired they are. Not I.
What would you be doing if you weren’t reading this? Perhaps voyaging the web for something of interest to capture your eye and take your mind for a ride? Maybe these words are a distraction from your work which waits patiently for you to finish your daily internet experience. Maybe you are seeking clarification to some question in your mind and you hope hidden in this prose lies an answer. And who knows, something you read may point you in the direction of your resolution.
The truth is that is why I am here. There are many questions in my mind and I am still seeking. On either side of this desk are bookcases to the ceiling filled with words. I have sought the answers to my questions in their pages for over fifty years. I have come to the conclusion that none of them hold the answers to my questions. In fact, all they do is create more questions. If there is an answer for me, it may show up on this page one day. I write for that possibility.
I am not here for you. If you are entertained or intrigued by my pages that is a bonus for me. If you read something that tickles your fancy and makes you smile that is an even bigger bonus. I don’t expect you to find your answers in these words. I don’t believe anyone holds an answer for any of us. I am no longer seeking outside of myself.
The journey is in the inquiry and the response is hidden deep in our tissues. Allowing the questions to take us inward without expectation or judgment is the voyage of our lives. If ever I come to a point of satisfaction and feel contentment that lasts it will come from within.
So I indulge myself with this mining expedition in search of my soul. I may never find more than the ramblings of my intellect regurgitating its digested words from all those books I’ve read. But maybe, one day, I will tap into the mother-lode and discover the mystery of the universe that lies within each of us. And in the meantime, I will sit here each morning allowing my fingers to find their way around this keyboard in search of the portal in.