I’m not sure why I see it like this, but it’s there. A flame inside me always. Sometimes so bright it hurts, other times just a low, slow burn that reminds me of its presence. I feel it when I wake each day and as I lay my head on the pillow to go to sleep each night.
Some call it inspiration, passion or motivation while others sometimes call it a gift.
Whatever it’s called, I know one thing. It owns me heart and soul and there’s no getting around that. The flame that is my writing will not let me get away, nor do I want it to. At least most of the time.
There are the occasions when the people in my head, their voices and their stories keep awake at night, but that truly is a small price to pay for the joy I get from it. This flame keeps me warm in the cold winter moments of my life, happy in the dark sea of despair that can sometimes threaten, and excited and present when the days seem to run together and blur.
I thought I had lost this gift for a while. That frightened me beyond description and threw me into a sort of living sleep that I had promised myself I would never return to. Then it came back to me. Or rather I took it back. You see, I realized that I really had never lost my flame, I had just let it slowly fade from my mind and my life.
Yet it stayed inside me, on a low, slow burn, just waiting for me to remember.
I’m so thankful that I did.
This flame I call writing is a gift. A gift to me. One that helps me see the world, as poet Mark Nepo writes, “with an ever virgin heart”. One that brings me joy and awareness in a way that may not be understood by some. But it doesn’t matter. I understand. And now I know that it will always be inside me. A gift I will strive to honor and appreciate for the priceless treasure it has been to me.
The flame is so bright and strong inside me now that it burns a little, but I embrace that. I know that brightness lights my way and keeps me present and awake to this life I live.
Here I go again...
© Copyright 2013 by Eden Robins