The Uninspired

I woke up after a long night’s sleep, laid in bed thinking as I always do, checked instagram, watched random youtube videos, made myself a strong coffee – nescafe gold, low on sugar, no milk.  Then I drew open the curtains and watched the sky from my bedside window – a self-confessed sky gazer.


For some reason, the sky calms my anxieties, the sky lifts the sadness.  Watching the sky makes me feel that there is a void out there that is bigger than the void of a human life.  As for me, not feeling inspired or feeling creatively blocked and stagnated is my idea of void, at least in the non-quantum, non-metaphysical, mortal sense.

On days that I am utterly uninspired, I look at the sky as if for inspiration, which is weird because aren’t we supposed to find inspiration down here – amidst the people, chaos, relationships, heartbreaks, libidos, life as we know it, where the mind is stimulated?  In the past I have written some of my best stuff when I was a train wreck – all the pain became my muse and words would just flow in.   And then the words stopped – cold turkey, no warning whatsoever.  I cannot singularly remember the day I lost my inspiration, my mojo, but I remember the morning I realized I didn’t have it.  Like losing a precious earring – you look everywhere, ransack your whole house – you feel that you would find it one day.  You try forgetting about it, secretly hoping it would pop up as soon as you forgot it and surprise you.

It has been four years to that wistful morning when I realized that I had lost my mojo.  Four years – this number has a large part to play in my writers’ block, but that would take us to a whole other tangent, so I’ll keep it for some other post.  For four years, I have felt this thick fog in my mind that refuses to lift.  I look all around myself to find a ray that would clear this fog.  I observe people keenly – their nuances, demeanor, appearance, hoping it would trigger a flow of words, but no.  Zilch.  Sometimes, thoughts do trigger at inopportune times like when I am in the shower or when I am driving.  I quickly make a note of those thoughts, hoping to build on it later.  When later comes and I sit down to write, my mind fogs again.  I play a song in the background and doodle instead, but words refuse to come.  Void.

Yes, void is where we started this post.  Void, the oxymoron.  Void, the polysemant.  Void, the negative.  Void, the positive.  Void that half the world fears.  Void that the other half is trying to attain.  The void of the sky.  The void in me.  What makes the void of the sky so calming, whereas the void in me so distressing?  I may have the answer, but I can see the aforementioned block creeping in.  Oh that familiar smirk on his face!  Here he comes.  Okay.  He’s here.

I must give in and let him have his way with me.

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