Writing Flow

I got to thinking about flow and this writing malarkey. If I want to have flow in my writing there needs to be flow in my life. There has to be clarity. If it's a struggle something is missing. Life wasn't meant to be a struggle.
I can't say that I am struuugling per say. I have the usual ups and downs, nothing too dramatic. It's the energy I'm talking about. The flow.
How come writing is the only thing I have not stopped doing since I was a child? And I used to be so crap at sticking to stuff. I just realised. I have yearned to do this t'ing my whole darn life.
So why isn't it happening? In terms of my writing or my life? Why am I not a big roaring success when all I do is read, wanna write, write, read?

Inner child

I was organising my paperwork and found a set of old photos. In it was a picture taken of me as a little girl. There I was frozen in black and white in the middle of Trafalgar Square somewhere in the 1970s. I was holding hands with my mum on one side and my aunt on the other. My mum looked all glam in what I know was a Burgundy suede coat and a short brown wig. She wore lipstick back then. She was smiling wide, her right arm outstretched with a flurry of pigeons feeding from her palm.

I was offered seeds from the man taking the photo and recall wondering maybe for a
spilt second, if I really should let those birds stand on me. Throwing my seed offering to the ground I chose the familiarity of my mother's palm, and my aunt chose mine. Whatever happened now, I knew I was safe.

"Fourteen years", he said.

I hated seeing him so broken. That was not how it was meant to be. He still stood firm tho. Arms wrapped across brown leather jacket, legs wide in faded Amarni jeans. Long white converse underneath. His hair was thinner now. Worry around his eyes that hadn't been visible before.

It's not that I want there to be a me and him. Of course I've thought about it, especially since his break up, but I can hold it down, trus' me. I had gotten used to loving him regardless of who either of us were with. One of those unconditional ones. Plus I'd want a soft, voluptuous, fine body to give to him. Not the one I've got. So hey.

It's all write again

It's so dreary having a dream and not daring to follow. Life becomes so dull. It's like having your essence removed. How can a star not shine I ask you? It just gets looong.

This blog is me reconstituting myself as a writer so I HEREBY PLEDGE....to take myself on. This is me embracing my writer child, my inner writer- call it what you will.
I read somewhere that "The strongest winds blow around the tallest trees". That's me right there. A tall tree.
Another thing is that I have recently become a Buddhist. A Nichiren Daishonin Buddhist to be exact. So that should help those strong winds to come with sunshine, with dew, with a full chior of birds singing in their wake!
I didn't see a burning bush or anything quite so prolific. What happened is I had booked