I’ve been having a creative flurry. I’ve been spilling ink across pages and pages, typing up work that is already finished, and feeling the burn of only having an hour or two every day to do it. My fingers sting when I drop my pen, glare at the clock on my phone, and try to squeeze another minute of two of work in before the momentum is crushed.
Then I go to work in the “real” work place. I do someone else’s work for them and make money for a business I would generally be content to see fizzle out of existence. I tell customers the truth about our products and get bitched at. I truck on.
And to me, of course, the real work is the work with Them, the work I love, the work I’m driven to again and again. That’s real. Making money is a necessity, but it isn’t real. I’m not engaged in it. I don’t enjoy it. My heart isn’t there.
Then I come home and tend to my family, whom I love.
Then, after the family is asleep, I do whatever I can with Them and maybe it is writing and maybe it is meditating and maybe it is sitting and staring at the damned wall while I enjoy the loving glow of Himself because I’m too exhausted to actually engage on the astral.
And I chant. I’ve been chanting at work during dead time and chanting on the commute and chanting when I’m stressed at home. It seems to help my day suck less.
Overall, the cycle seems to be getting easier. What I used to think of as a fallow time-the astral not being as easy to touch when I’m awake-isn’t necessarily so. I’m engaging with Them, but I’m doing it differently than I’m used to. And that’s okay, as long as my life eventually shifts to become a more manageable beast because I can only run on 5 hours of sleep for so long.
Hail Loki! Muse and Friend.