A Vessel

My greatest pieces are always those that hit me.

Out of no where I suddenly have the need to write.

I can name every one of my favorite works, the best.

I can tell you where I was when it hit me and how I began jotting it down.

Sometimes my laptop is handy and it begins its life electronically.

Sometimes it's on the back of a scratch sheet of paper after an attempt to pass a biology exam.

Sometimes I'm in bed and grab a notebook or some loose leaf.

And sometimes I'm sitting cross legged, looking out a wall of windows at the snow.

But- when I want to write, when I sit down with the desire, the intent to make something beautiful, I can't.

I may get pretty close but it's never enough.

It's only when the words are being channeled through me that it becomes something of worth.

As opposed to when they are actually created by me.

If that makes any sense.

It's astonishing to feel as though you are an instrument, a vessel for something beautiful to enter the world.

Something that brings light.

Something that has you wondering how it came spilling out of your fingertips.

And why exactly it chose your fingertips to spill out of.