I have become more of a reader…
I’m more of the slow reader,
I want to feel the gravity of the words,
the emotion it invokes,
observe the creativity of its syntax,
and realize the impact it has on the world…
But my pace has taken a presto over an adagio,
Even the heavier books on philosophy and the sciences,
I have read with much gusto and a on a faster pace…
what I have read would give me inspiration to write,
more themes to build on,
a steady foundation…
But now I just read and absorbed,
thought about the things I read about a bit but not really do anything about it…
I feel like my creative juices are trapped in a dull and dark room, with a locked door and a hooded guard has went to render his duty, passing off the skeleton key to the next one in charge of making sure I keep quiet, that I attempt no escape. The guards are just outside and I’m left to my wandering thoughts and it is as though I am not trapped in this dull and dark room with a flickering light bulb and mosquitos, it is as if I’m running about in a wide and green field bathed gold by the morning sun but I cannot do anything about it but only “think” it.
I never believed in “writer’s block” as many would whine about it, loathe it and complain about it. I’ve always heard of it and held on to my belief that man is bestowed with unlimited opportunities for creativity and the freedom and license to use it in whatever way he pleases.
But there is a “trauma” that a poet, a writer, a painter, a troubadour, an actor and anyone involved in the arts and the sciences that would cause in him to fall into that dent, a pit or the black hole he would fall into and feel through the darkness.
It would feel like all hope and beauty is lost and there is nothing more to write about, sing about and paint.
Until that miracle comes again and brings the creative mind out of the dent, the invisible hand, a big eagle taking you out with its big claws, the knight in shining armor throwing you a rope to climb out of and giving you the kiss that seals it all, or maybe an unidentified flying object who would use its gamma rays to teleport you to its nest. Until then would you be able to write again of sunsets, a new day and the deep violet night sky.
I found a good definition of WRITER’S BLOCK while surfing the Web for pictures to place on this article and tips as to how to overcome the limbo it is: