- Writing - vignettes
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- From Morning pages 1 - on writing more
I have a sense that there is a lot of, let’s call it unprocessed gold, inside of me. It’s subtle, it’s granular, it’s those little grains that a gold prospector would have to patiently sift to discover. So it’s easy, when I look at the stream of my life, to think like “idk dude, nothing there but a bunch of mud”. But if I’m patient, if I slow down, if I sift through the dregs for a while, I’ll spot a grain, and then a few more, and perhaps with time my eyes will adjust and I’ll find them more quickly, and perhaps after a while I’ll have enough to smelt some small thing, a little ring or pendant, not profound, not a weighty ingot, but still, something meaningful to me, perhaps to a loved one or two as well.
And with time, as my store of golden trinkets grows, I will stop doubting the stream, will stop feeling that I must look elsewhere; the beauty of this stream will be self-evident, and I will always have access to it, this profound source of wealth, ever-present, ever-changing. I will wear my suit of golden armour and cast a warm light wherever I go.
