Yes, it's a beautiful day.
I am alive. Here, typing this out, the keys click clacking my thoughts into the universe.
You dear reader, wait patiently for the words to post.
You've waited so so long. It took me years to believe in my voice, but I finally do. I know this is my destiny, my life, my work. Before, meaning before I knew this, I thought work was hard, but this work is easy.
Easy in the sense that when it's right, it flows, it just is.
When I was in junior college, almost 30 years ago, I remember reading James Joyce's "Dubliners" for the first time. I remember thinking, how did he do that? How did he turn words into a magic carpet that swept and flew me away into the clouds? How did he paint a picture that way?
Now I know, writing is not just from the head, it's from the heart, from the universe. And it is magic. It is spiritual. It is God, and it is me.
So as Patti Smith reminded me the other night as I listened to her sing under the stars in the desert, keep walking barefoot in the sand and grass, dancing. Arms in the air.
Twirling. Spinning. Breathing.