When was the last time you were still as a writer?
How did it feel? How can you be still today?
THE PROMPT
Take a deep breath. Then breathe it out. Take another.
Exhale it. Where are your shoulders? Are they tensed
over the keyboard? Loosen them. Is your neck tight? Let it
relax, bowing over your fingerpads which are feeling the
texture of your keyboard or the scrap of paper you
write on.
In a moment, I want you to close your eyes and begin
to write. But first, breathe in clean air, tasting it as it
passes over your tongue. Exhale the long strands of

14 Prompts
cobwebs that tie up your spine and clutter your brain. Big
breaths now. Watch those spider webs disappear into the
air. Nothing exists but your spine and your breath and
your fingers hovering over keyboard, holding all potential
in their tips.
When you’re ready, close your eyes and begin to
write.

What a concept. Closing my eyes shifts my focus. My head tilts back and my eyes close. With a deep inhale, I notice the air passing over the back of my tongue, wow! I get my first taste of air. I taste whatever is wafting nearby. As I draw in a deep breath, my inner eyes watch as my nostrils suck up the tasty vapor. The nearly invisible vapor has disappeared but reappears as a flavor once it shoots to the back of my throat. As it does a fly by over my tongue, it deposits the sweet hint of patchouli incense… Or am I beginning to taste the meal-kit my husband is preparing?

I know keyboards, intimately. I have been playing keyboards for many decades. They come in all sizes, shapes, and colors. Some light up while others are just a dark matte experience. Some keys jump back as soon as you press them, while others seem to absorb the energy of my tapping fingers and slow my roll, if you get my drift. I know there are what seems to be a million typing mistakes because my mind is telling me so. Splendid thing this is is just a beautiful writing exercise and no one will see just how horribly messy my current endeavor is, but there may be some lingering beauty to hiding in my mess.

My words are never a waste. They just have to find their right home and once they take up residence, then the lights blaze from every window. I fill my tiny house with words of treasure. Some of my words will make you think strange concepts, while other words will make you ponder interesting subjects. Some of my words will make you see a crooked perspective, maybe even offer you a significant change. Some of my words will make you laugh, while others will move you to tears.

For what is the purpose of my writing? My writing is to you and for you, you know. I want you to hear me. I want to help set another soul free to soar. It is an outstanding thing to be unique, otherwise what would be the purpose of adding my voice to the cacophony of sounds that compete for our attention?

This is what it’s all about. Grasping a moment, listening but not hearing, noticing but not seeing, yet now I notice that my mouth is a little dry. I need water. If my medium of choice had been a piece of paper, then I could hardly keep from balling it up and aiming for the garbage; but messes can be beautiful.

Typing with my eyes closed allows me to dive into an unfamiliar mind landscape. Here where all my words are filling and overflowing in their filing cabinets. Yes, as if they were right in front of my eyes, I see my gray filing cabinets. There are even bits of paper spilling from many of the drawers.

Suddenly my attention is shifting focus. My chest is lifting, expanding and filling up like bellows. So many involuntary processes happening simultaneously that I’m incapable of keeping track.

I write therefore I am.

A moment carved out of time. A moment of stillness.

Peace. My body is warm but there is a slight breeze from the floor register because my right shoulder is feeling the light touch, a gentle barely there caress. Ah, with my head tilted back, I take a moment to twist a little to the left and stretch out. Feels good. With my movements, I have lost my way on the keyboard. I confidently move my right hand until it feels the pointer key which has the raised line on it. Now, I’m optimally positioned over my keyboard, ready to do as my mind commands.

I love this. I love to be still. Although this exercise is to be still, my mind is aware of the difficulty in completing my task and remaining still.  This semi-stillness, though, allows me to be aware of what is happening outside and inside my body almost simultaneously. In my mind, I see my tucked up feet almost hidden under my chair. My body is leaning back on the straight-backed dining chair, while my head is resting on its high back. With my eyes closed, my lungs are continually moving air in and out. Inhale and exhale. My fingers move as the words leave my mind, running down my arms, through my fingertips and spilling onto this surface, marring it and leaving behind a permanent record. How exciting is that?

This closed-eye perspective is energizing and has me thinking of unorthodox ways to describe feelings, movements, everything!

Happy communicating peeps!