Writing stopped its ceaseless flow and I don't know why. Something occurred in my interior life that jolted me severely and I lost the imaginal figure who fired my desire to write. I'm shifting, transforming, unable to see or know what's ahead. The shock remains. I am sundered, unsure. Is it that the star came too close?
But perhaps the point is the obscurity, confusion, incomprehension. Inside this burning star where I blindly feel exploding energy without graspable form.
Sheath of feeling. Words groping to touch air.
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-oh, writing process- on Metaphor
in my apartment on a dance-the-poetry-within-you day I never know what is going to emerge that day, ever, always a surprise a rough draf...
i felt that way for awhile. like something between writer's block and loss of everything creative. i recovered. a few weeks. then, the numb-ness went. and words began to flow again. hang in there. hope it all makes sense for you soon and it gets better.
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