I don’t know why there are days that I can write like the words are being whispered in my ears faster than I can type.  I don’t know why there are other days when the thoughts, the feelings, the very emotions that I wish to share is caught behind an amazing brick wall that doesn’t want to be disturbed.  Some call it writer’s block, or use other fancy names in the fear that if they acknowledge that the pattern of human life and therefore the human soul is an up and down battle will continue to defeat them.  I call it like it is; the inability to write.

I can absolutely, without a doubt tell you that I am going through a period in my life when the words that are right there, on the tip of my tongue, on the breast of my soul, on the very air that I breathe, simply won’t form themselves in the to interesting enough and compelling enough words to bring to life a world I wish to share.  I like to form my words to inform, to commiserate, to bring a laugh or a simple smile.  I don’t like to waste those words on the useless normalcy that is currently overtaking my days.

Could it be that I am so busy that I can’t find the time to imagine? Could it be that feckless muse simply has abandoned me like all of the greatest writers have been known to bemoan.  Could be my soul is simply so tired and so overrun that it honestly can’t concentrate on the mundane pleasure of taking not only the reader, but me, the very writer into and onto worlds that only exist in a fertile imagination.  I am not sure.

What I do know is that despite the very real and very important responsibility I know that I have to continue to write if not daily, almost so, I simply need a break.  I need a break from the books I work on, the blog that brings me such joy, and the overall need to give my emotions and thoughts the freedom of the written word.  I need a rest.

I ask for your indulgence while I go away for a little bit, and find succor rather than the pressure I am currently crying from.  I ask for your indulgence while I give myself the most important gift I know…a little time. I imagine, mostly because it has happened a thousand time before, that my muse, my need, my soul will not stay silent for very long.  I imagine that very soon those demanding pests that call themselves the voices in my head will once again scream louder than the very quietness that I crave.  The voices are there even today, but they to seem to be tired.  It is time to go deep in myself and find the quiet, the relief, the very peace that will allow me to continue to fight this amazing battle.  To the victor goes the spoils of war; to the light rides our hero again.

May you find your own words, your own inspiration, your own way of finding succor. May you create within yourself a continual world that will give you everything you need.  May you find the desire to walk, as easily as you find the desire to fly.