The Wane of Writers Block
Doesn't it just wound you deeply when you have an inspiring and soul-firing thought during a busy moment? The scenes of generosity and effortless flow flash across your mind, seamless and glowing and there is nothing you can do but feel the thoughts and energy of the moment swarming inside of you, and you lose it in the end, because you couldn't get away to jot the thought down. If only we could excuse ourselves from the moment and write down the thought for these moments of time. But that is life sometimes, and the very act of the intensity of the wound of not being able to repeat it again or gather the same flow, it will never be the original. There is something morbid, delicate, and everlasting in the mental moments of glory that never get released aloud.
I'm still waiting for the invention where we can record our thoughts into some sort of separate digital notepad, off to the side of our eyes, written by our active consciousness, keeping it accessible to us, without a password or any need of wifi.
Mentally retracing anything is navigating through a storm of unstable thoughts that lend us one distraction after another, a game of catch me if you can. In the act of free writing while holding the end result in mind, I become physically clear of the mind's clutter. Writing the thoughts out with no particular pain or purpose lead me to the moment where it all makes sense or none of it matters.
It is the pushing through and gathering of words and inner chatter I hammer together and somehow, someway, like it is magick or therapy or healing, I feel better.