Some nights you will awaken in stirs.
Your bleary eyed vision of the room around casts you into a vortex of imbalance, confusion and dizziness.
Aim left of center.
On the somber mornings, when cloud cover follows your shadow. It is then that it is always hardest to look forward to the day. No sunrise to watch,
unaware of the setting sun apart from the absorbing darkness.
It is this time that trees bear themselves to the world. For they shed their cloth.
And this fine linen of the earth lay in tatters.
Discoloured, drab
The search for inspiration in itself seems tiresome. Motivation seems twelve times harder to engage.
Unquestionably, it is the event that casts the inspiration which truly is the holy grail. Sometimes unattainable. It comes with the currents and rescinds like the tide. It is passion that brings inspiration about. In my time it was thrown into girls, sports and books. All of which led me apart from the other. Nothing truly united this or remained permanent. My inspiration had hung in flickers.
It could be a miraculous notion to find permanence in existential elements.
The gloomy days that I describe can take complete wind out of your sails.
Their needs to be the constant, truly unconditional inspiration that keeps you going, barrelling through life, getting better, running stronger. Don't seek this in anyone else, seek it from yourself.
Nowadays, I see how you think. I watch you search. What's inside, impacts the outside.
For everyday that nature casts its sad eye on this world, you are still whole.
There is always a parade, always a funny clown and the heavens that shine down its stars upon you, whether veiled or unveiled.
