The Empty Screen...
I sit at my desk and scooch my chair to the exact distance I can comfortably place my hands on the workstation without feeling suffocated. I pull the tattered throw pillow from behind my lower back, and fluff it, so it can offer the precise amount of lumbar support. My spine elongates beautifully like a giraffe. I inhale a deep “pranic" breath while opening my laptop. The reassurance of the start up noise is a morning seed sound igniting my system. I am prepping, reminding my spirit that I am ready to play. After offering thanks to the Great Creator, I ask that all spirits both known and unknown gracefully guide me through the forthcoming process. I gaze at the screen. Fidgeting in my seat, I look at my iPhone and check for Facebook messages. I stare back at the computer then close my eyes and draw an additional breath.
I am terrible at this. I didn’t go to school to write. What oatmeal will I eat after my morning session and should I have apples or blueberries in it today?
I fidget more attempting to locate the correct support.
How old is this chair anyway? I’ve gotta get a new one. New sheets would be nice too. Why did I study theater?
I look back. I write a sentence, and then another and another. I pause before reading them aloud.
These are shit! Ahhhhh! Keep going. Allow. Allow. Allow.
Looking out the large picture window beside me, I peer into my neighbors’ cluttered office littered with old chocolate candy wrappers, forgotten newspapers, and a lifetime of dirty clothing.
Why don’t they ever pull down their blinds? I want apples, definitely apples with cinnamon, today.
No one is listening except the Great Creator. I place my hands on the keyboard and let them type with wild abandonment, not worrying about punctuation, sentence structure, or even content. I abruptly stop, gape into space momentarily, take another breath and review what is written.
It is brilliant, sort of. Actually, it is shit, but there is one sentence that is worthy. This affords me the confidence to continue. I write another sentence; I check Facebook again; I fidget. Then write another lousy sentence that might eventually become satisfactory. My stomach growls loudly as I press away from the desk and stand. Knowing that tomorrow I will return to face that decent sentence, in that horrible paragraph, and begin the meditation again.
Exercise: Set a timer for 20 minutes and write without stopping or editing yourself. Record whatever comes from your brain, even the negative thoughts. Allow it to take any form or shape it desires.