The state of flow.

It’s an easy thing to name – less easy to accept, less easy to internalize, less easy to imbibe.

Yet sometimes, it comes; unashamed, unyielding, ever-asserting.

Do we say that this is a state of flow in execution, words articulating themselves through the moving spirit of a universe pushing through me?

It’s tempting to say so – yet I realize that even in these moments, where the words seem to come easily, the urge to edit and go back remains; the old instinct to self-correct and look back at the past while binding the present stays – an abusive partner there to gaslight and to chain, to press down on the ground, never allow to see the Sun.

I imagine a state of flow as a time when that bondage is not present – where ideas spring forth in the executions of dawn; where each letter, word, sentence, and thought in formation begin and end in the company of the divine muse that awakes from within, pushing forward each word, sensory impression, idea, as a small forward push in the universe.

I imagine it as a time when order arises spontaneously from an ordered mind freed from captivity – constantly breaking the rules yet reposing in perfect knowledge of those rules; a realm where skills are nature and nature is skill, the attainment of which rests in that perfect capture of capacities in the otherwise formless and directionless void.

Who are we really, and what are we for?

I often wonder – but I imagine that at least part of the answer lies in creating what you saw here and today, each word drawn out in my mind by an animating force that stood beyond my comprehension.

The words came from the deep – who provided them, and how they arose, however, is an entirely different story – a different part of the stream that arises from the flow, yet a constituent of the greater whole.