Nothing to Say

I sit here with nothing particular on my mind. I just enjoyed a small bowl of beet green soup and feel my satisfied body soaking up the deliciously simple nutrition. I think to myself, “No better time to write than when I know I have nothing to say.”

Of course, everyone who is acquainted with me knows I always have something to say about anything. But, in this moment, my scripted self is somewhat offline. I watch words magically form on the iPad screen. They seem to appear from an invisible hand disconnected from me. My usual background narrative is less involved with the process.

Most of the time we communicate with script in hand. This script is written by all our stored responses to past experiences. Therefore it is very difficult to truly ad lib because that requires a kind of spontaneity which frightens us out of our habitual thinking. Who would we be without our script?

This is precisely the question we are born to answer.

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