“Do whatever brings you to life, then. Follow your own fascinations, obsessions, and compulsions. Trust them. Create whatever causes a revolution in your heart.”—Elizabeth Gilbert, Big Magic
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In porch rest eve, Anna read the words from book amidst her spirit-peace. She looked on her world, life’s scene around—lake and lawns and break of trees that made neighborhoods seem more wild, boats in pass on the water’s channel and the presence of him at side—and she felt again the desire to write as she had not in some time.
Not since fall had she recorded mind and presented in semblance of shape, but she felt the want again.
What was there, waiting within wanting shared and made and told?
She quieted, searching in, but knew it was not something she could force but must wait for when it showed. When and how—whatever it was—only then could she catch and create; but it all began of an openness, an openness to receive, to participate in role and part of the art’s, story’s, Creation.
From world around, she looked on her body, sun lines in coloring in, down draw of her shoulder straps still loose upon her sides; his notice and attraction to them still.
What would write? What wanted told?
Believing, desiring, she rested in an openness: openness to receive, openness for participation and live of part in Creation of the art.
New strangeness came to sense, tingle and rise of skin in aware believing the magic near. A story was there, Creation’s spirit respondent and also seeking, drawn to open’s beckon.
She shivered, aware and attuned, as the spirit entered in and raised goosebumps over sun-tinged flesh and low-drawn pale that showed.