Issue 21 of All Authors Magazine
Lush with Awareness
What a powerful word to describe something that many cannot wholly understand. Being aware is being in tune, in touch and completely inundated in the now.
It’s like a blanket covering the now with a sheath in living color. It’s like a presence that transcends the moment with a mysteriously vivid and tangible understanding of who, what and how.
Awareness. It’s a word that is highly underestimated in this day and age.
Used to describe things that we assume others need to know, understand or even acclimate to, the word “awareness” isn’t given the depth that is truly deserves.
In recent weeks, I’ve had an inner struggle.
I started a full-time job several months ago in a position that requires a lot of me, my time, and my devotion. While I’m passionate for the cause, and love what I do, I’ve found that it’s eating away at my creativity. Whenever I feel as though I want to write, or need to write, time simply does not allow it. And then, when I do have the time, I’m far too tired to even get up and do it. In the process, the flame that used to burn with a fiery passion, now seems more like tepid embers, hardly lit and growing gray.
It was in deep thought of this matter that awareness hit me like a ton of bricks. It slapped me across the face and said, “Hey, chick! Wake up!”
I took a good look at myself and realized a few things:
- I was no longer as happy as I used to be. My felicity had gone astray along with my creativity.
- What words I did have to say/write, were drowning in a lagoon of inability and excuses.
- My characters were losing their lives. The voices I heard every day, which spoke to me with words that left me awestricken and deliriously happy, were slowly but surely going silent. This, in turn, began to make me feel empty inside.
- I was losing me.
In all truth, I’ve writhed to reconcile this fact. You see, I NEED my job. I must have a steady and stable source of income, because God knows that writing isn’t paying the bills. My son needs things, the home needs things, I need things, and only a 9-5 can pay for those things.
The biggest of the dilemmas is that the cause for which I stand at my current position is near and dear to my heart. It is the fight for the rights of the Special Needs Community. This of course, weighs on my heart because my son is Special Needs. How can I turn away from that? How can I not be a part of it?
Yet, the core of my very being is paying the price for the lack of being able to creatively express myself.
Sometimes I ponder on the fact that not too many understand my hearts quarrel. Unlike other writers, I’ve not been writing since a young age. I did not discover the bliss and catharsis of putting pen to paper until I was in my mid-thirties. When I did, my entire world was changed. Not only had I birthed invisible beings into thriving life—energies that I could hear, feel and communicate with—but I’d found a means of expressing a wholeness of self that I’d never had before.
It was like baptism in fire, like water in the desert, like respite for the weary. Never had I ever known such a miracle. Never had I felt so in tune with myself. Why? Because, in writing my world became my own. I did not have to share it with anyone, or put anyone before me as I’d done my entire life. It was just me, my words, my energy and my characters. Nothing else existed or mattered. Writing was the one time I had the permission to be selfish and no one cared.
It was AWARENESS at its purest state.
I fret that I’ve lost it once more. I fear that in being subservient to others—like I’d done my entire life–I’ve once again mislaid the one thing that made me, me.
How does one placate responsibility with need? Desire with demand? How does that happen?
In the last few weeks a light has come on in my head. Awareness is knocking at my door. Do I answer her call, or do I ignore her splendor? Do I let her in and permissibly consent to her lead, or do I succumb to life’s inevitable shackles?
Which way do I turn lest I lose myself completely?
Only Awareness knows.