Word Play



Words stick to the roof of my mind.  I pry them loose with pliers and toss them down on to the floor.  They form a jagged pile.  The letters are tangled and bent in odd directions.  They stare back at me with dead eyes.  The struggle to find inspiration, something smashing as a topic, leaves me feeling exhausted and empty.

Deep within a calm voice says, “Get out of your own way.  The words will come.”

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Catholic School Flashback

Today, I’ve been struggling with the idea of discipline.  I often cringe at the word.  In my mind, I see the “board of education” Mrs. Lovchik had in the 3rd grade.  It was just a fancy name for a paddle.  The Board and I never met.  I was too frightened to misbehave.  One day, Ms. Lovchik left the class leaving us on the honor system.  Bart, an irrepressibly good-natured imp, tried to trick me into talking.   I didn’t utter any words but I did make a “Shh” sound.

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Image credit: http://www.bluemillscreenprint.com/about.html

I sit on the fifth floor of Vancouver’s new central library.  Large sliding windows open on to a terrace.   Graceful fingers of soft ornamental grasses feather the edges of my view.  Thin young trees stand straight and tall in square wooden boxes.   Nature’s shades of brown and gray fill in all the missing spaces.    My spirit is soothed by the calm lines and the colors so familiar to the Pacific Northwest.    I am a parched traveler who has struggled across a hot, dry desert.  My soul thirsts. Here it finds refreshment.

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Now that I have this new website, I find myself at loss for words.  Blogging was easy.   Writing for a web site with my name dancing across it, not so much.   I feel a lot more pressure to write things that are relevant, inspiring, outstanding.   I can’t hide behind a generic title or a simple idea.  I more naked than before.  It’s unnerving.

Mental Break. . .

Inhale deeply. . .

Relax into the words. . .

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I am the person behind the words printed here. I write because my heart will not allow me the option of NOT writing. It has taken me half a life time to discover this basic truth, but now that I have, writing is as natural as breathing. This is where my breath takes the form of words.


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The Miracle Morning: The Not-So-Obvious Secret Guaranteed to Transform Your Life (Before 8AM)
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