I wonder why I can’t write as well as I used to. Words simply fail me. My ideas seem like a dried up well, or just recycled rubbish. Is it because my mind is working, thinking in some other frame? Has the beneficent Angel of creativity forsaken me? Where are you, o Angel, who whispered profound truths silently into my being? Who brought me new insight when I looked at the most mundane of all scenes? Where are you, o Bringer of immense joy, you who made my mind slip quietly into that sea at the edge of dreams? Where are you, my constant companion, on still cold nights, my guide through the myriad of questions that have no obvious answers? I see you have become quiet, maybe moved back into the shadows of my consciousness...waiting; for the time when I stop desperately seeking for you, or your shadow- that forced creativeness, that shallow reflection of your depths... when I stop seeking you out, and renounce the Shadow, maybe...maybe you will come back and rescue me. Give me the words I long to have. Give me back my thoughts, and my silent joyous voyage- into your realm.
Thank you, my beloved Angel...for helping me write this short piece. I begin to feel your embrace again.