I'm not sure any more, right now.
I'm not sure why I'm blogging and why I share, or wanted to share, or what it's for.
Is it just for me, in which case I can journal more?
Am I writing for my book?
Or is it just because I can't NOT?
Well, that's what I used to think and was impelled to do, immediately, often. Something would just make me get up - sometimes out of bed at night - and WRITE it out that second.
And I'm getting the same compulsion but without the feeling that it has to be shared too ... oh what IS this all about?
Doubts doubts doubts doubts.
I don't know why ... does my writing help anyone, does it just help me?
DOES it help me to share - I thought to - it was like I couldn't stop writing when the words just came - and the words did just come sometimes in fully formed sentences.
I don't know.
Is this part of the same change these last couple of months - calmer, softer, quieter .... and what is it I need to do and be.
My stepping into and being and living graceful, playful.
I don't know but I'm sharing this now, because sharing was my compulsion and now that the things I'm being called to write and think about are quieter, softer and I'm not sure if I want to share ...
Maybe right now when I question it ...
Maybe I DO need to continue to just write it out and ...