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- earthdancer
- Kings Park, New York, United States
- Author Suzanne Wells is a writer, singer/songwriter who writes poems and instructs in the yoga and Ayurveda traditions. She teaches, writes and sings so as to seat the seeds of ancient wisdom deep in the heart of students, readers and listeners; so they may shine forth brilliantly. She hosts "Life as Art” on BlogTalkRadio, and her work has been published on the internet on numerous sites, in blog feeds, and in magazine and book print. Her coming books: “One Wing - the Book” and articles music, poetry and lyrics can be viewed at her sites.
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I tried to write a book...I did.
I swear! I did try to write one! I saw it whole and complete, with orderly sentences and neatly squared paragraphs! There were logical chapters parading on its pages - one after the other. I saw my book - in hardcover, hanging out at Barnes and Noble; hobnobbing with the other prominent books, proudly parading their slick cover art and glossy jackets - all puffy-chested and proud.
- Image via Wikipedia
I saw my handsome, inspiring, organized, well written book, and I saw you too...reading it. It was all there...in my mind. But, as has been my experience in this journey: so much of my mind operates on theory. So, without getting into the whole sordid mess: life gives you what it gives you - which is on occasion; messy, chaotic, misspelled, and random. That is what happened to my book - at first.
It’s getting better now. I've fed my book. I've listened and prayed to the benevolent "Cosmic Writing Gods". I've listened within too - for the sparks of a fire. I've nurtured, caressed and coo-ed to my book, and shaped and sculpted its word-shapes. I've tended to its fires, so that it might bring meaning to you - dear reader, and en-kindle your fires; so the world might be brighter.
So here it is. I present it to you - as is, flaws and all. Good luck with it. She stands on her own (or with you) - my book. Less standing actually - more sitting - on some fluffy internet cloud secretly wishing for a pair of eyes to touch Her carefully crafted word-body so that She may offer a ray of Her light to gazing faces. She floats along patiently...waiting...in hopes of en-kindling an inner flame, or percolating a vague chuckle in those who happen to graze upon her strange limbs that stick at weird angles.
I worry about her sometimes - floating out there - all vulnerable and messy like that. But then I remember that we too are floating - all disorganized and maddeningly imperfect at times, and I feel she'll be in good company.
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