Creativity, the Breath of Life

I'm trying to read more for leisure. One theory as to why my interest in writing has waned is because I don't really read anymore. I don't read things that fire my imagination. I don't titillate over word play or ponder over profound metaphors. I've lost interest in romance presented in literary fashion. I don't let myself be swept away with impossibilities or paradoxes.

My brain is bored.

I think that this lack of reading will be detrimental to my personal practice in the future. I need to remain creative. I need hobbies that exercise that part of my brain. I need to expose myself to things that can help me be spontaneous in a session with clients.

I need to keep abreast with the human condition.

Sitting on my ass staring at various websites doesn't achieve that.

Learning piano is giving me a pleasure not felt since I was 9.

Ignoring the current tragedy in my life because I still don't know how to adequately share it. I don't know how to present it in service to others. I don't know how to present this wound so that others can heal. I don't know anything. I know nothing.

Nothing.

Zero.