When I write, I lose myself in the present moment. I tap into the muse, put pen to paper, and all else disappears.

Then, some indeterminant time later, it ends. I don’t exactly know what it is: inspiration, flow, creativity, but all of a sudden I wake up to myself, finding the present moment, along with some words on a page expressing a moment in time, or a thought, or beauty.

That, or a palimpsest of healing. Words written by myself, about myself, for myself about finding myself…