I have a deep love of written expression.
My heartbeat quickens when I write.
Oft times my skin tingles.
I’m convinced it is the sheer freedom of releasing the creative
essence swirling in me that causes these visceral responses.
Even now my cheeks are gently pulsing and I feel the heat of flush upon them.
Yet lately my inner poetess and writer use her voice differently.
The external writing has been slowed down and sometimes paused completely for days.
The writing has gone inward and still the visceral responses speak to me.
New poems and books are being written on my mind and heart.
It feels like parts of my mind and heart are being transformed, some with gentle strokes, some with ferocious piercing.
And I love every moment of this journey.
I love the achy feeling of self-confrontation and ‘aha!’ moments that clear away more debris of unhelpful beliefs which have long hindered.
I enjoy the sheer pleasure of learning to love myself well, finally.
I love how the wrestling with religious and spiritual beliefs over the past few years has not once impinged my intimate relationship with God. Oh how I love him, deeply, dearly, forever.
I love how my love for God has only grown deeper and become filled with even more appreciation for who he says I am even as I reclaim gifts that well-meaning people said were ungodly.