She sat staring at her computer's dull face, willing her self to write. Like every other goal and dream in her life, the writing was a constant battle of wills. There was the voice that quoted a mantra "step by step, little by little, each time we do something it is closer to the goal". Yet her goals and dreams often seemed to be like the carrot or rabbit held out for a race, just out of reach, offering nothing but an eternity of running in circles. On the days when that ellusiveness coupled with the other voice it was enough to stop her dead in her tracks. The Other voice barked at her, holding a fun house mirror of failures and fuck-ups on display. "See" it would say "See here high school, how you could have had comfort a relationship with Andrew, but no you had to have ideals to want Trevor…remember how you figured that things would get better with age? HAH, who knew that 17 would be the capper of you datability? Or what about Richard that nice sweet boy at 26 who really liked you, you know the one with the slight stutter, but no you just couldn't date him because you still had Ryan on the brain?" "Yes" she says in a small voice "But there are other places I didn't fail, I have a Master's degree." The voice shouts, "Master's Degree oh darling you really want to go there."
And so over powered by a voice in her head the not so young writer morosely walks away from her computer. Thinking maybe tomorrow I can scribble something of meaning and worth.
She heads to work which consists of caring for other especially those slightly more broken than herself. Silently the writer allows that evil voice to reproach her there. "If you were of value you would take even this shitty job and make it something but you just aren't are you?" "Really you should just give up and dive into mediocracy but you can't even do that right can you?"
Each day that the sledgehammer of hate filters into her mind, this talented and beautiful woman looses some of her shine. It gets to the point where even seeing another's attempts to shine hurt so badly she prays for an end.
Yet she meets a prophetess who's heart is kind and gracious, the prophetess might be able to help exercise this demon voice. They sit in meditation and prayer, imbibing plants and herbal fusions.
Rapidly one day the voice of the other subsides. Good voice takes over. She sings over the writer and offers her words of tenderness and love. Good calls out Truth singing it over the writer, and step by step she finds her fingers and pen filling pages again. As the verses and stories fly like Pegasus out of her pen she thinks nothing of the composites from which they were birthed. It is only when each night she climbs back into the comfort of her lover and her red editing pen all of her failures are revealed to be the fodder of this current growth.
Created: Jul 02, 2010Document Media