“A writer’s inner life matters: it is hard to imagine that anything matters more. Nor is this inner life something that anyone else is privy to, unless and until the writer wants to share it. It is a private, secret hotbed of activity, an unruly, unquiet, unholy cauldron bubbling with the best and the worst thoughts a person can think.”
– Eric Maisel
What if it’s worn on a sleeve, pushing right through the front door, mask-less, the manner in which is said to be ideal? What if the owner of the door is blind to all things that do not fulfill expectations and visions of front door behaviors. Is taking what comes then, being naive? is it only understanding and taking in energy on the expected level? If all that comes with me that I express, shows each facet as I turn in the Sun a succession, an ever changing view as I breathe in and out, as I adapt to circumstance receiving, interpreting, and feeding back messages of word and of energy, appears to change because your view says stagnant, fixed, and boxed. Does that make me any less honest or even more funny–any less me?
Does our writer friend up there express facets of self in pure fiction to escape himself/herself? Does the friend attempt to determine what would be most of marketable interest to a particular target audience? Does the friend just talk to himself/herself and not care at all of these return impressions? When one limits the approach of a human by using words like ‘use the front door’, do they provide their own rules and expectations as such so that one may choose to provide or to refuse? or are they simply afraid to state their needs and tell you they are sizing you up with prejudice or fears?
Does this idea all go back to honesty? trust? valuation? weights and measures? Or, is it something else? I’m enjoying the ride and am glad for continuing to grow and to share my view. It is your choice to meet me or not.
–elisa
Elisa's Spot 