dry. jottings.

I find that I'm at my lowest point creativelywhen I haven't taken time to createfor myself.I feel dry, all I make slipping from my fingerscrumbling, cracking, clay to dust,what I thought was, is only a fleeting glimpse,
so I sit and wait on inspiration,a lackadaisical sort of stillness,that is stifling and humid in my lungs,instead of being wide-eyed, waiting and creating and moving,expectant,open,ready.
the times I am most inspired are when I push through
the sludge and haze, the bitter blueblack of seeming emptiness.there is necessity in the journeythat adds meaning to the discovery.
It's so important for me to make time for personal "work."the last few weeks have been busy and devoid of it,and I've been sensing the difference, feeling it deep deep deep. So here I go,
pour in, pour out,
learning to be filled as I go along.
pushing through uninspiration only to findwhat I was looking for, a spark, a light,a flash of gold in this dichotomy of beautiful and broken,was there all along.