Skip to main content

Free Writing (Day 4)




so I’m don’t do a lot of free writing. but it is a good practice to introduce to my creativity. things that are flowing in my mind should be able to come out freely. one of my biggest challenges is my inner edtitor.  he is constantly thinking of better ways to say certain things I think about. most of the time I don’t write anything at all for fear of being misunderstood. I have to get over that and just write from a place of freedom and grace. I am going to offend and I will be misunderstood even if I do everything quote unquote right. so free writing must be a part of my growth process as a writer and a teacher.

I’m learning to give myself permission to explore my imagination and discover the areas of my untapped spirit. the part of me that’s fresh and new and exciting and sensual and intelligent and spiritual and goofy. there was a time when being cool and accepted was my goal in life. it’s funny that once I achieved a certain level of that, I realized that I didn’t need it after all the friends I had were my friends unconditionally. I’m grateful for them. now it that im older and wiser and I’ve overcome a lot of pain and rejection, I understand and value the freedom of exploring my inner self and in fact being myself. I need this freedom if  I dare teach and proclaim freedom to the world that needs to be free from the incarceration of their own self image

but enough about that for now; I want to reflect on why I am so grateful to God for his acceptance of me; it is his love and acceptance that has allowed me to pursue the life that he created me to live; a life that is filled with joy that is greater than happiness. a life that is abundantly rich even without the trappings of things that are shiny.  I don’t have to be sexy, which ironically is the greater sexy because my wife is the only one who needs to find me sexy. everyone else are just extras; she is my star, my jewel, my leading lady in this great adventure I love her for that and the way she looks at me when she is proud of me, the way she laughs at my jokes, the way she holds my hand, the way she kissing the top my head when im tired of the day; the way she caresses my shoulders the way she understand me even when I have nothing to say; she has this way about her that touches the part of me that I can’t reach. she has taught me about love by being in love. and no she is not perfect, but she is perfect for me; she is my fit, my soul mate, my gumbo, my etoufee, my bacon double cheese burger. ok that was a bit too much but I think you get where my heart is.  

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Watching My Step

I've always had big feet. It's true. There was never a moment in my childhood when my feet were not an object of frustration and ridicule. And those "dogs" were all over the place, facing the wrong direction, tripping over themselves, tripping over coffee tables, desks, chairs, other people. It was embarrasing. Watching my step was a full time job. Since becoming a man, I've mastered my former oppressors (my size 14's) and you would hardly noticed my attention to detail. However, today, at 40, I'm still watching my step. With so much experience and success with walking and watching my step, I've discovered that the same is true in my spiritual life as well. I haven't always watched my step in life and of course, it resulted in me finding myself in all kinds of traps, snares and dead ends. I've spent years tripping over my sinful habits and walking down dirt roads that lead to nowhere. To no one's blame but my own. After experiencin...

The Force of Divorce (Part 3)

If we as adults experience this horrific effect of the force of divorce, how much more do our children ache and groan from an unreachable wound? A wound that will fester and spread an infection, if at some point they never get healing. Even though I was blessed with my period of beforeness, the force of divorce crashed down on my little life, sending the foundation of everything I held as stable and true into a violent whirlwind. And I was one of the “lucky” ones, by the our society’s perspective. I was never physically abused by my father; never had to sleep under the bed at night for fear of what the night would bring. I was swept away in the middle of the night by my mother and a priest who rushed us to the airport. Somehow my dad caught up with us and I remember he had one of my arms and my mom had the other both of them pulling me in opposite directions. How about that for a visual of a broken family? My mother won the tug of war and I boarded an airplane...

She Knew Me. (My Tribute to Dr. Maya Angelou)

I didn't know her as one knows a neighbor a relative or a friend she was not in my list of contacts or photographs or yearbooks of a time long ago no, i did not know her but she knew me she definitely knew me she knew my pain, my struggle her words, songs, poetry they checked my pulse gauged my temperature measured my resolve her suffering leveled my consciousness she was quite acquainted with joy, pain silence, sound, standing, dancing stillness and marching on she defied invisibility and found her place centerstage I loved her for it no, I did not know Dr. Maya Angelou but she knew me she definitely knew me.