Empty

So, I’ve been in a place of mind that I don’t entirely understand. It’s as if my passion to create – anything – has completely left me. I’ve felt the need to take photos (not the desire to do so) and have in turn carried my camera with me to-and-fro, resenting the weight pulling on my sore shoulder and making my neck and back ache even more than normal. Then feeling nothing but guilt when arriving home, not a single photo has been shot, not a solitary moment captured.

My writing has suffered the same fate, the attempted placement of words on the page or screen has been met time and again with the barrenness of an empty heart, the dark, blank void where expressions of emotion and the language of life once lived and breathed but now there is nothing, only a quiet, vacant echoing cavern.

I read recently that when the passions desert, one needs to let them go, willingly, but with trust that they will return in good time. I’m letting go and doing my best to trust because forcing the issue is just not working and I so long to feel the pull and genuine desire to create again.