A kind of freedom

My writing assignment was finished today and I feel a sense of freedom and calm.  My words have been sent out into the world and whether they are well received or not I am left with a sense of peace and some relief.  This evening I am going with the flow.  I am trying not to think with any effort.  Everything is easy because I am choosing to make it so.  I am enjoying the quiet.  I can hear the last calls of birdsong before the night mingled with kitchen sounds of the fridge and dishwasher.  The day is coming to a close and there is a stillness which I can get absorbed in this evening.  This is like a serene oasis before the next piece of work begins.

Tomorrow I might take myself off to a cafe, for what Julia Cameron calls 'an artist's date', and have tea and a tea cake and scribble in my notebook. I might record snippets of conversations or observations or indulge myself in a stream of consciousness outpouring which could be turned into something interesting later.

  As an adult I find it hard to find inspiration for writing fiction, yet as a child I filled a multitude of exercise books with my little stories and illustrations.  I wish that I was still in touch with the same resources that I drew from then.  I have lost the ability to be fully present in each moment so that everything that is seen is observed in infinite detail and then wrapped up in the chasms of the imagination.  I would live in a story of my own making for weeks at a time and be able to keep that world in place at the same time as being present in this world doing the normal everyday things that we all have to do.  To be seven years old was a wonderful thing. They say that when we get old we return to our childhood.  I shall not fear my dotage if I can re-enter that fantasy world of playful imaginings that I lived in when I was seven.