Be Thankful for ‘The End’

Say hello to the beginning of the end. Or should it be the end of the end? Hard to tell. What I do know is that the once bright light that became clouded over with fog as though it came from a lighthouse not meant to save the ship is now shimmering back. Over the past couple of months, the fog would lift a bit, but not for long enough to be able to use it. Or was it my hazy mind, not able to focus on the light that was actually there, which caused me to lose so much of myself?

I’ve been rather sick of late. That was my unfortunate reasoning for what I hate to term, writer’s block. For another it may be the end of an important relationship, through death, either literally or figuratively. Maybe someone moved, started a new job, had to become accustomed to a new life rather than focus on who and what he or she is and wants to do. For me, I have spent the last two months struggling even to get out of bed, let alone write. My spark was gone. Nothing was there to ignite my passion and creativity. An illness had beaten it out of me. Or, again, if the light was there, I was just not able to see it. I couldn’t use it in any way or form, no matter how hard I tried. Which, admittedly, wasn’t all that hard…

But I’m here with good news. I can see my beacon again. Candles burn all around me, illuminating the room as my netbook shows me only what I need to see – my words. I have the strength to put pen to paper, fingers to keyboard. As I sit and wait in doctor’s offices or as I fold laundry, stories appear and weave words into sentences, sentences to paragraphs, paragraphs to pages, until I cannot take it anymore and I have to stop what it is I’m doing and write it all down. Oh, how I’ve waited for my life to be overtaken by stories again. Not by dreamless sleep while my body was doing whoknowswhat to destroyandthenfixitself.

I’m not completely fixed, no. And sometimes the fog rolls in and I have to rest and let the creator lie still, but that’s all right by me. As long as I know that part of me is still there. That oh-so-important part that sometimes (let’s face it, most of the time) seems to define me.

How many of you have lost your way, for whatever reason, and subsequently felt you lost a piece of yourself — only to find it again, out of the ether, and to once again be filled with a sense of purpose…to know you are you again?

You are a writer — through and through.

Now, I’ll admit that this article went nowhere near the direction I had planned, and the title is more in keeping with the original topic, but I have a feeling I’m not alone in this dilemma I’ve been facing. Besides, what I originally wanted to say can wait for the next time. For the next five-hundred words. After all, I’ve waited this long…

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