How to Remember Your Magic.
It starts with hearing yourself. With moments suspended in time
I told myself I would get up early and write today — and here I am, in some half-hearted attempt to feel a sense of well-being that’s been rather evasive lately.
But I am trying, and there is something really good about that.
There is something golden and divine in every attempt we make, big or small, to better ourselves. To remember who we really are.
I’ve forgotten to make time to hear myself lately. I’ve forgotten the spark. The magic that makes me swallow poetry whole.
The thirst builds. I am ravenous now. I need these precious moments before the day begins. Before I grow eight arms and do all the things for all the people. Listen, I love all the things and I love giving. But when I have no base to return to and I become only arms, I feel so blah and numb.
I wonder fleetingly as days flash past me entirely too quickly— where am I?
I feel consumed by life and work and chores and plans and stupid social media accounts.
I need something outside all of that — something immaterial. These quiet moments are sacred. No one has to know anything about them.
