I’m hot. After the cold shower that was this August in Montreal, summer is back with a vengeance, and so am I; to create, to blog, to burn the fire. Sticky thighs glue me to the rubber exercise ball that doubles as my desk chair, there is nothing to look at but a flat-screen, and nowhere to go but the circus of my mind. Anything goes. The greatest show on earth!
How do I get there?
I crawl inside. At first, it’s dark and dank like a backed-up drain. I inch my way through the brainy slime, holding my breath, careful not to engage with inadequate phrases, limp ideas, or any clever, wordy crap that might distract me from finding that beacon of light, that clanging bell; the nirvana of a writer’s inspiration. On my belly, I slink my way through the cemetery of lame thought, discarded words splatter my face and paper-cut the flesh of my now naked body, stripped of humility in the face of creative mediocrity. I will overcome. I am a warrior on the path, purely heaven-bent. I push through the bloody canal into the swirling, colored lights of the infinite sky, and throw myself in grateful ecstasy, at the foot of the dream.
My mind blows bigger than the ball on which I sit.
GOOD NEWS FLASH: Mazel tov to our friend Hanna Thompson for winning a Silver Medal at the Beijing Olympics with her U.S. foil fencing team of three. Check ‘em out on Oprah this Monday, Sept. 8/08.
