· Words need not be prompted to send me forward into my assignment from where I attach myself. Every word I have written has found expression without drill or duty for finding open forums, filling pages. I am here in my dreams of possibility. Never having had to be given scheme’s without being constructed in free form. With spirits direct wishes for more possibilities. Would I be more accomplished if I didn’t ramble out stories without the direction of a mentor; taking me by my hand and saying do this. I resist the temptation to move into a dream. Wondering if my direction will find its way? Anatomy limits so much writing that has been written before. Stories and scripts. Sensualities of just living in all of what has found me in my world of memoir.
Am I able to now take the assignment I have given myself not to be resistant to executing in writing the life I have had so far. Will I honor the universe that has paper and pen in an antiqued, textural rhythm that connects me to speak of myself or whomever might read glimpsing at my un-assigned notes and thoughts. A design giving myself radical self-acceptance and love without judgement. This assignment finds in tonight's form forgiveness of what I found in yesterday's editorial. Ahead a continuation of my muse. Here I am writing with only a nod from a gesture I call my own trusting a smile from my teacher. Thoughts find an open part of a freedom to continue unfettered with abandonments, the topic becomes nothing more than a flotation device for my dream. Nativity marching forward, forming without an assignment into a world for amusement not saying much: “I have no writing assignment.” I am writing for myself.
