where the writers are

August 31




It’s a full feeling to be a channel.  Only an empty feeling when it’s blocked at the base of my spine and God can’t go to my head.  The river flows through me and my banks will hold.  Excuses dam me up and leave a dry and lifeless basin, with tributaries taxed for usefulness.  Staying in the groove conveys my Higher Power’s will without need of my furrowed brow.  A hose with no water running is a place for spiders to spin.  If I shut off to service, I am a breeding ground for creeping sadness and shocking misery.  Compliance allows me the view of flowing strength and rushing joy, the greatest of which is living with intent.

  Repeat until you chant.