Where the Wild Ones Shake

To be a writer one must write. I feel like an imposter lately, posing as a writer for I haven't written in so long. I sit to write, and it seems the words don't flow. They have no substance, no juicy bits to express. Have I nothing to say? Have I lost my voice? Are my thoughts that jumbled? Have I become so caught up in the world that the feeler, the thinker, the artist in me has gone to sleep?

That cannot be. For it is the feeler- thinker- artist in me that feeds my soul. When she sleeps, my world seems smaller with hard edges and straight lines. When she is awake, she dances wildly in mind, painting pictures with words, expanding horizons and softening edges with her curly, swirly lines.

I felt so ridiculously emotional yesterday for imagined reasons. That usually happens when she's trying to get my attention, and I am too busy for her. And if I ignore her, she only knocks louder. However, what disturbs me more is when she becomes silent.

I fear I may have been ignoring her louder and louder knocking, and now the her silence has become deafening. I have made a horrible mistake, but I see what I must do now. I must stir her from her slumber, and I must do it now or she may go deeper and deeper into sleep, farther and farther away from me.

I will start gently. I will go to her favorite places, where the tall trees sway. She so loves to hear their sweet creaking. I will breathe in the sun until she can feel it kiss her cheeks. I will sit by the pond and watch the ducks and herons, then dip my toes in with the hopes that the chilly water will get her attention.  Then I will play her favorite music and swirl and twirl my body until she feels the aliveness of the rhythm that has been resting in my hips.

Yes, that's it! I will dance her awake until I fall to the floor in a sweaty pool of juiciness. Then I will breathe, breathe long and slow and deep until she speaks. I know her well. She can be coerced. She is not angry or sad. She is simply bored to tears. Worldly concerns, errands, work and toil are like poison to a passionate soul.

 No, I will not let her stay asleep. We will dance and sing today. The day's duties have been canceled. Don't bother to call us because where we are going we cannot be reached, beyond superficial man made dreams to where the wild ones shake away everything that is not soul.