>Feeling out of sorts this evening, couldn’t think of anything to write about. I had a surge of ideas last week and a productive weekend doing other things entirely, but came home with an empty head and feeling like I had hit some kind of wall, mentally, and was fretting and feeling somehow not right.  But you know, the universe has so many connecting tentacles,  so it almost didn’t surprise me to learn just now that an old friend —someone I only knew online, but with whom I’d corresponded quite a bit in the last three years or so — had died. And then, minutes after finding this out, talking to other people online who knew him, someone directed me to his blog and to this post in particular:

Grasping for Something to Say.
There are those times when I am inspired to commit my thoughts into some kind of permanence, whether etched in electrons or with ink on paper; when the words flow like a stream fed by snow-melt on a warm day — and times when no words will come, like a lemon that has been squeezed too many times, and now must be cast away. After a giddy burst of creativity, its disappearance pains all the more.

I had such a period of creativity last week. Each day, by the time I had awakened and quaffed a mug and a half of coffee, words danced in my head, eager to assemble themselves into sentences and paragraphs, effortlessly tumbling forth. And then, …. nothing.

I have some observations about what was different on those days on which I was especially prone to write — but some of them sound rather silly, looking back. The Moon was closer to being Full, though I know not what that suggests exactly. Astrologically speaking, the Moon is my ruling planet, and a key to my personality and intellect, for all the store one may set by that. Reflection, the chief component of the Moon’s luminosity, is indeed central to my understanding of things — and I shall not deny it.

I tend not to pray formally, as I never know whom I am asking for what, precisely. I cast suggestions and hopes into the tides of the Universe, and try to take things as they come back to me. 

He could make even writing about having nothing to say something beautiful.
I will miss you terribly, Plantsman, even if we hadn’t had the chance to talk lately. Thank you for your friendship. I know that life had never been easy for you, but you still made a lot of people feel like they were at home in your presence. Peace. 

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