Contemplative Jenn is longing, forcefully
Right now I’m doing this with audacity and unmitigated joy. My arms, my heart, everything about me is wide open, to the extent that it sometimes skews perspective and intrudes on daily living. So where are the words? The music? If I were only living my writer’s life in the midst of this, I would be complete. Throughout my life creative practice has been the door to my heart, but it seems that thinking, dreaming, is a substitute for writing these days. I have the fodder, and the wish, but not the inclination or the focus. I am desperately hoping to wrestle back that focus. I have to. My life depends on it.