The curse - Of too many inspirations

Writer's block is a thing. I don't really care what they say about busting it. One can sit there looking through the window, scanning every possible thought in the head and every possible vision that meets the eye, but it eludes you, the ability to write. But I linger on the other side of the spectrum of this aforesaid block as we speak - What do we call it? The antonym of Writer's block - I need to cogitate on a name as I type about this unique predicament that greets me every once in a while.

There's something fascinating about turning life's pages. Yeah, I mean ageing. "Every experience, good, bad and in between is here to help us evolve" This isn't a personal insight though, if the source of this insight is to be believed, we have it all embedded within, every scrap of wisdom we'd ever need as we are none other than a replica of the infinite source in this finite form, interconnected in a web of coincidence. Well, I'll stick to the ponder and get back to the problem on hand. What does one do when every little thing triggers this epiphany of sorts...It feels like a ploy to remind you of your human limitations while ever so slightly hinting at the limitlessness inside. Tricky right? I cannot agree more. So every where I see, I see a unusual bird through the window, with an unusual tweet, or an unusual coloring or body shape. I see sprouts of greens from the germinating garden, I see lush, abundant blooms and random critters crawling around. I hear minute sounds. A rush of things I need to ponder about floods through the confused lanes of the grey matter and I sit here, multiple windows open, with multiple titles forming a hodgepodge of things that need to be said, that need to be heard!

I resort to silence. The sought after stillness, the aperture between inhale and exhale where the cosmic energy is supposed to be gathered, unraveling every answer we ever need to know. I seek solace in that very silence, trying to shut the thought narrative that runs in an infinite loop, but only succeed in temporarily pausing it. And then it seems to manifest itself again, this flood of inspiration - like something inside is unclogged and is running free flow. Pray, who would have thunk that nothingness could be so awe inspiring? And I get back to square one of the contra entry of the infamous Writer's block.

I know I have miles to go before I sleep, and bummer that I don't know how much time there is left to cover these miles..none of us know right? But as I look for an antidote for the antonym of the Writer's block, I decide to engage in an indulgence of wordage on my little cocoon in the vast virtualness. I make feeble attempts to christen it...

Presenting the Writer's unblock! (Thanks to my chamber of catharsis, this dear, darling blog of mine)