The period at the end of the first sentence is a sweet drop of honey water on my creative spirit.
The warm liquid pours down my being, as the letters tick out of my fingers, being woven into words.
The words synchronize—releasing my fluidity—freeing my mind.
When the mental stagnation melts away, my spirit animal opens her sleepy foxy eyes and flicks her tail in sync with my rhythm.
She begins to dance, feeling her skin tingle as the beat picks up.
A call goes out to her soul group to join her in flowing into the throbbing inspiration.
She moves with different companions—asking them secret questions, devouring bites of their wisdom.
Slinking from one dancing partner to the next, she travels further down the trail.
She is scared—she doesn’t know where this journey will end or how she will get there, but she dances anyways.
A knowingness flows through her and I—that the journey to the last period will stoke a hot fire of release within us, melding our essences into one.
The words are the kindling for the fire.
The sentences are the flames licking our heart.
And the full body of the story is the warmth that surrounds us—protection from the darkness—or at least a light to guide us.
When we’re cloaked in this fiery warmth, we are free to taste the layers of sweetness in the pebbled moments on the path.
The sugary salivation when a warm hug lingers, spilling into more.
The candied joy in an unexpected smile from a curious stranger.
The saccharine drops on the face when pure connection pushes the eyes to release their nectar.
How lovely—for those sweet moments are what will ignite the next outpouring of words.
And if the sweetness on the trail sours, there is work to be done.
Deeply satisfying work masked in frustration.
This is the treacherous element of the journey.
A climb through glaring blank pages, vapid air, sticky nothingness and half-ideas dissolving into muck.
How lucky these times are.
For what is more triumphant than clawing out of the muck, to find the buds on our path still blooming—their rainbow roots seeping down into the pit from where we came—making that space just as beautiful as where we now stand.
Each time I sink under, then travel back to the surface of creation, I become more apt at finding my way back—and more courageous during my time in the unlit nothing.
Because I now know that beauty accompanies me in the nothingness, even if it is hidden from sight.
I savor all flavors of the journey—but do so enjoy the candy-coated warmth when the kiss of the flow of words finds the lips of my soul.
Author: Bailey Gaddis
Editor: Yoli Ramazzina
Photo: Unsplash/Dustin Lee