In the beginning

 What if Fear is the portal through which a true realism can be born? That which I long for.....

I am frustrated by the gap between my ideas and the actual coming together of Blog posts, of advertising and promotion of my work, everything

Is it because I can't find the way to write it down?

Is it because I don't know the boundary of how much to share, how much to bare?

Is it because I simply don't have the time, or don't Make the time?

Is it because I am crippled by self doubt and lethargy.....

And what if that self doubt and lethargy holds the key?

What if writing is essential for me to express whats going on deep down, and if I don't just begin, the pipe gets blocked up and here I lie stuck in inactivity, literally bursting with ideas

I write this for me, for now, for growth, for beauty

I write out of trust in my unfurling, in my birth

Which is ongoing

Frustratingly so, but how can one be born unless one fucking Speaks! Fucking speak.

It is not as if anything I have to say is New

I have a calling (I mistakenly believe) that I wish to help others

What if it doesn't matter what the calling is, the action is the part that feels better.

When I act, then it feels better.

Acting from the Belly, taking chances, spreading some kind of happiness, joy, boldness realness and honesty

There is a space for this, it is needed, it allows my flow when I speak out.

It will get clearer and purer in time, but there has to be a beginning, a start point, 

like the feedback on a microphone, no matter how Loud Irritating and Forced, it is a beginning. I commit.