There were always glimpses of the fire. Acknowledgment of its existence, something seen, yet not really felt- certainly not experienced. I spent small periods of my life penning a story or an article, yet for many poor reasons, I would stop to be someone else. The fire never died, yet it never burned enough to warm my heart much less my soul.
There is a thing in all of us, something at our center – a desire, a calling -our purpose. When we understand what it is we are meant to do – and actually do it, we become complete – fulfilled. For me it is writing and recently it has become alive in me; its flame burning brighter than ever before and my inner understanding becoming much more complete -more certain.
When I would write before, I felt good, yet it was very superficial. The feeling was always subject to the reactions of others. If others loved what I would write, the high would last and I would continue to write. If others did not like it I would lose interest and stop writing. An admired teacher gave me a kind criticism; I felt unloved and stopped writing. A friend once laughed opening; I felt ashamed and stopped writing. A judge once told me what I had written belonged in the trash; I felt I had no talent and stopped writing. I wrote for the favor of others. If you live your passion for anyone other than yourself, than it will never be strong enough to survive.
I write now because it is who I am. I write because not writing makes me unbalanced. I can have the worst possible day and if I put words on a page everything changes. Troubles at work no longer matter; darkness is pushed away – filling my life with light. Criticism, rejection are only splatters of rain drops instantly turned to harmless mist when they come into contact with the fire within. Even if I know what I am writing is not good, I only care in that it teaches me to be better. I write because that is what I must do. I write because I am never truly happy unless I am writing. Each letter I type brings greater warmth to my soul. Each word brings clarity to my mind. Each sentence supplies my world with singular focus. Each paragraph joins desire with creativity and each completed story supplies my inner self with more fuel – more passion.
So, here I write.