We are writers writing from our liberated hearts. We speak out against slavery but willing to submit ourselves to the power within that exalts us and commends us for our work well done. It preaches to us in its encouraging and sacred manner as it hides in the depths of our soul and comes out when summoned.
Unlike the apprentice slaving for the employer, or the people slaving for the tyrant who binds their necks in chains, fashioned by the demands of ignorance and greed, we are alone as the spirit directs us with its liberated tongue. Freedom is our master who we serve with the utmost reverence. It is she, Lady Liberty, who lives in our silent depth, that treasure chamber in the soul. All of what we know that we thought we didn’t, is waiting for us to uncover her wisdom and knowledge. Tyranny can’t touch it, because they don’t know about it. It is our secret. We writers belong to a benevolent slaver who looks out for our interest.
Our slavers give us the choicest words to write. They build us up through their reverence and selflessness. They shower us with their kindness and show us that verbal elegance can warm our hearts. They can strengthen our spirits and prove to us that words are powerful. They can persuade kings to examine themselves and remove the chains that bind their loyal subjects. They can describe the sunset as it turns the skies to a deep crimson. They can turn rhetoric into a beautiful poem. The silent poet that lives within us speaks with all his might.
We are discerning, we are. We know how to submit to the kind of slavery that makes it possible for us to put food on our table, and we can oppose it when it becomes too overbearing. We can live with it but not in it. We can separate ourselves from it in our minds, that high priest that dwells in us. It preaches to us to revere the spirit within and just roll with the punches that live outside of us. Living life is submitting to its demands, but life unencumbered is a roving spirit that gives itself unto itself.
We writers can make up stories that stimulate our emotions and make us laugh and cry. Our stories can put ourselves and the readers in a world that have never been imagined before. We can fantasize and invent new truths. We can make up new words if we want to. We can wake up the slumbering spirit and lift it up to where it can breathe again and where new horizons are formed to become invigorating again. Literature needs new concepts and ideas just like life that needs to move out of its stagnation. It is like a pond that smothers itself with algae and sits alone with no place to run to. It will never flow into the sea and lose its identity, wondering if it will ever live again.
Hope comes in the form of creativity. It is the blossoming of the seed that was planted in us, waiting for us to nurture it. We are all writers, but only some of us are bold enough to put it to use. It lives inside and whispers to our spirit. It has many beautiful and creative thoughts to reveal and need us to convey them. If we ignore them, we have ourselves become stagnate with no where to run to.
We are eager slaves waiting for our benevolent slave masters to give us more stories to write and ideas to expand upon. God bless us.