You’ve slip into another life, putting on their skins. You pick up on their words. Their thoughts and feelings float into you. You begin to appreciate who they are.
Surroundings emerge. The plot rises. Events become clearer with a sudden squirt. You’ve followed paths that you didn’t know existed. They twist into surprising turns. The characters become deeper than you’d known. Sharper edges develop on their worlds. Their love and pain quickens as their direction grows crisper.
You walk with them, feeling it all, wanting to cry, and sometimes laughing, standing aside as you witness their existence and embrace them. Insights into their relationships develop stronger pulses. Typing and thinking, picking through words, you strive to keep up the best that you can. Their lives and times overpowers yours, and then, you stop for the day and think with a soft, private sigh, I miss them.
And you wonder, will they be okay? What’s going to happen to them?
What’s going to happen?
You think you should know because you’re the writer, the artist behind these ideas, but really, you’re just transcribing. It’s all going on whether you write it down or not.
That’s what happens when you write like crazy.
Michael Seidel, writer 
Thank you. I feel less alone when others walk with me.
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Remember, you’re made of stardust, so you’re never alone. The stars are always with you.
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Hah yeah. I understand that cognitively. However I need be reminded in the physical sphere because I was punished and so I am trapped here. I only have the use of my body’s senses to perfect my once renowned skills of other worldly depth perception.
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Yes, it’s easy for the mud to rise, grab us, and pull us in. Difficult to free ourselves of the mire.
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I find music helps to lift me up out of the crap. Air is not as light as helium, but it’s a sure shit ton lighter than mud.
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Music is a good counter-weight to the mud.
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