Why Do I Keep Writing?

I wake up every day at 6:30, sit by my computer and hunger for my soul, my voice, myself. I find the color, tone, images of words, the story within the story, the characters, the poetry and find myself in a world that I created from my imagination, soul and purpose. Why do I write? Without writing I would be an ant without a hill, a swan without a pond, a bee without its honey, a flower without a root. I write because it is the thread of every cell, muscle and organ, it is my blood, my guts, my life to the sun gods and moon gods and the gods of my ancient being. I write because without it I would die...a slow death, where my lungs would collapse and I’d break away like a frigid piece of ice hanging off the limb of a tree. My writing is the intensity of the prana, air as food I eat. If I don’t indulge in this meal, then life will eat away at me, like vultures over a dead carcass. I’d crawl through the desert, dry-eyed, cottonmouth, searching for an oasis, a place to cool my weary bones, the bones that are connected to my ancestors and their stories, their voices, their generations. I write because if I didn’t write the world would crumble under my feet and I’d fall into an abyss that has no ground and I would forever more float among the stars, gravity taking me away beyond, into eternity without my spirit, empty, alone and lost.