INTROSPECTIVE ESSAY
I Let My Subconscious Write For Me
The cruelest blessing
I waited for its sweet, effortless buzz to kick in, to possess me until I was a mere passenger in my own mind.
You feel anchored by invisible forces, letting them move your hand and whisper in your head — those unforeseen bouts of inspiration. Is it inner wisdom? Perhaps it’s inner ignorance, the kind that goes beyond knowledge, haunting you, or perhaps being haunted by you, until it crawls from the depths of your underworld: your subconscious.
It pours out of you, a poem or whatever form it takes, filling pages with words that do not even feel like your own. Yet when you pause to truly read them, you know you are reading you, bits and pieces of yourself that have always been there, needing release. You have painted them in words, and when the paint dries, you fall into that blissful sleep after creation. Unbeknownst to you, your muse, a manifestation of your subconscious, has already slipped into hibernation.
You wait for it, but it remains ever-elusive. When you see no sign, you chase it. It may let you catch it once or twice, but no more.
You tread carefully now, with a touch of desperation, devising plans and becoming more calculated in your pursuit. It’s like walking into a room…
