Unlimited

The only thing that would improve the quality of freedom that I experience from writing, would be if I were able to live in outer space. Unbound, able to to watch the Earth rotate around the Sun. Undisturbed by the things that thwart my focus and concentration today. Just me with an unlimited supply of paper, or just my laptop. I'm not quite sure if I would get good wifi reception from outside the planet. However, I am confident that Microsoft Word would still work. 

Just imagine, not a sound to distract you from your own thoughts and feelings. You are alone. Being able to swim through zero gravity and get an up-close gaze at a star. Or being able to have the closest view of the Moon. To touch down on the surface as Neil Armstrong did, and reenact the event that made history. To jump higher than you ever could, almost as if you could fly. To be able to do the things that you would imagine only superheros doing. Then you remember, you are alone. Solitude is only a blessing for an instant. It isn't long until you would crave the company and warmth of human interaction. If you are anything like me, you have people in your life that honestly make life more worth living. The people that bring you so much joy. The people that give you so much confidence and inspiration. Even though at times they may be annoying and get on your last nerves, living happily without them is almost impossible. 

I'm not quite sure what it would be like to get inside a space shuttle and be thrusted into what Star Trek refers to as "the final frontier", nor am I trying to become an astronaut here. Although, I think something can be said for the human imagination. That we have the ability to create new things. In this case, new things with writing. To me, the same type of wonder and freedom that exists in outer space can come to life inside a notebook of blank sheets of paper. 

It is as if the only feeling of omnipotence that I have experienced is when I pick up a pen, or when my fingers hit the keyboard. All that I am as a human being becomes irrelevant for a few moments, and all that matters is the brain inside my skull, the functionality of my wrists, and the creativity and imagination that lives inside me. I am able to bring my thoughts, feelings, ideas, and much more to life. All with the movement of my hands and wrists. It is one of the many things that I am thankful for. 

What I hope is that I never become like a pen that has run out of ink. Or like a chewed up piece of gum that has lost its flavor. To become obsolete and out of date. That is what I fear. The uselessness of my own desired craft and talent. What I seek is the exact opposite of an inevitable expiration. What I seek is the same thing that an uncut diamond would seek if it had the same consciousness of a lonely intergalactic dweller. It would seek to be polished and accompanied by the presence and skill of other life. I seek improvement and professionalism of great writers, thinkers, and artists. Furthermore, I do not seek to be the diamond that a king wears on his finger. I do not care to be. I wouldn't care more or less to be, if that was my purpose. I wouldn't care if I were a diamond that a homeless street dweller carries in their pocket. I am still a diamond. Made with a specific purpose. 

What I am saying is that I do not seek fame, or large amounts of fortune. Instead, I am seeking to fulfill my purpose. As a writer and as an artist. If it brings me attention from the masses and brings me large sums of money, then great. But it will never be what defines me. What truly defines me is what has already been done for me, by the one whose image I am made in. The one that put the brain in my skull, whose imagination and creativity far exceeds my own. I am the workmanship of the one who spoke life into existence. The one who was there in the beginning, and will be there in the end. The unlimited author of this novel of life.

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