An impulse is enough to remind you of what you love and truly cherish. In the recent years earning income from my writing has become so necessary that at moments I forget what it is to write for passion; to give in to the urge inside which at the very moment that I want to doze sends a flurry of words my way, sending table lamps crashing as I scout for the book to jot them down hurriedly.
Re-reading letters to a young poet, I remind myself of the necessity to go within. ‘Search for the cause, find the impetus that bids you write. Put it to test: Does it stretch out its roots in the deepest place of your heart? Can you avow that you would die if you were forbidden to write?’ asks Rilke.
I asked myself that again last night and the answer was an overwhelming yes. I found my heart pound as I read those words and knew why I write. Reading the book did one amazing thing yesterday. It took away my need for people to read my poems or even this blog. In its place is a joy as I type and see each alphabet make its appearance on the screen. It is not just my hand that’s talkative- my soul is quite chatty too. From where it sits, it sees newness in everything old and magic in the discovered new.
And now I find joy in all the writing I do. Whatever it maybe. Because once I am done taking care of the responsibility-writing (writing income that manages financial responsibilities) it is time to be responsible and write for the sheer joy of it.