Be here with the cup
In the soapy water
Be here with the toaster
As it cooks
Smelling the aroma of crusty bread
Browning
Be here with the sights and sounds of nothing more important arising
Than dust motes drifting across the room
As writers we are trained to panic
It is ingrained this thought of blankness
As wrong
The white page
The empty canvas of the mind
Frightening
As bloggers who post daily
It can be even worse
Waiting for the words
They come when they want to
Wild creatures
That cannot be controlled
But they won’t find you when you’re so involved with trying
You can’t hear the soft touch of leather clad feet
Ruffling feathers that say they are here
You cannot hear their breath as they alight on your shoulder
And growing bolder whisper in your ear
You cannot hear
Anything
Over the sound of your own head thinking
So butter the toast
Spread the vegemite
Eat
With a blank mind
And one ear tuned
To the sound of the word birds
Arriving
They’ll be here soon
Just keep an open mind
(And remember
They despise cages
And will never enter
A locked room)
Some days are wait and watch days. I used to panic when I seemed to have a blank space where the words usually flow – now I find it natural and enjoy the peace and quiet of for once, not having thousands of words all jostling like people to get off the ferry and burst onto the page.
Perhaps it’s just winding down for Christmas – who else is feeling peaceful?
