Sometimes writing like living, is a struggle and for now, I am really struggling. It has been so difficult to find something coherent to say. My mind has become a desert, a vast unforgiving wilderness. Thoughts often scurry like lizards toward the nearest shelter, hoping to escape detection. So brief and fleeting are my thoughts that my words often fail to capture them and so they disappear back into hiding unexamined and unresolved leaving me to wander aimlessly, lost. I sometimes catch glimpses of them like oasis's on the horizon, inviting and hopeful, only to disappear into the reality of the sands leaving me alone with my thirst. Thus I struggle on, not knowing what direction to take, which way to go, what to say. In the blinding glare and heat of the noon day sun, my thoughts un-nurtured, struggle to thrive. As darkness descends, I must keep moving. It is all I know how to do, all the while hoping somewhere in the process, I will find my words.
If I am still, very still and empty my mind of all the chaos and noise of the day, I begin to breath. With breath, there is life. In the moonlit coolness of night, I am reborn. Bathed in the soothing milky glow of the full moon, my thoughts, like the desert, come alive. Carried on night time breezes they swirl and dance with what was hidden from the heat and the light of day. As the desert comes to life, I begin to find my words. They are everywhere. They call to me, immersing me in their wonder well into the approaching dawn. At peace, I no longer struggle with my writing. For now, I know its truth. It, like the desert, speaks to me in stillness.