On free-writing and other (sub)conscious acts of spontaneity and exploration
Don’t think about it. Don’t deliberate. Don’t ponder or fester or calibrate. Just get the words out clear on the page. You never know when you’ll channel a sage, a voice from an age that will whisper a rage, dissect and engage.
The world is full of swirling, twirling artefacts of time and space. Dancing in the ether wondering whether any old soul, any bold coal will allow itself to fall into the pit, not fight it, but be ignited.
Bring on the rhythm that grows rabid with every phrase of silence. Bring on the wells that are deep and clean, and drank by the lean who will rather eat more than bread, more than meat more than the humdrum prescribed defeat that is the order of the day to day, the portion of the ‘fell by the way’.
This day, in this minute is the only remedy for night. Live it, love it, embroil yourself in it like a scandalous fight. Take up its radiance and silence the blight of dark sky. No need to stoop to Lunata non grata, for all are welcome where we rise above all matter. No hurt or hate or fear, my dear.
And who has seen the needless thoughts fought and lost, hanging on the periphery of self, holding tight, blocking the light cluttering up the mental sight? The things within that we should have loosed to gain. Loosed to bless. Released from the frame to add their ‘Yes!’ to the universal Hallelujah.
So daily, weekly, we seek and purge them out by means of the power to lose control. Perfect timing of and unmetered dance, some say a trance. But perhaps an advance? (Selah)
I tell you, this stream of the unknown, unsewn and uncloned surely has no limit at a desk or with pen, in a doctrine, herb or a den, on holy days or just at the weekend.
No, not even the sky can fully testify of the total riches of Free.