The Judge

Every writer’s archenemy

I am a revolving door for stories. That is what I tell the universe. I ordain that I am an empty vessel through which stories may flow through. In pure passive receivership I allow the stories to come through me.

I try to never judge the stories. I try to have almost no influence over them at all. Sure, after the stories come through that confounded editor in my noggin immediately goes to work. There is spelling and punctuation and grammar and basic rules of storytelling.

Sometimes I practically completely rewrite those stories that come through the revolving door. Other times I leave them just as they are. Sadly, I feel that I must somehow become involved with them.

I must admit that I am not a very good empty vessel. My vessel is constantly impinged upon by a seemingly non-stop noggin. That fucking editor keeps stepping into the empty space of the vessel I’m trying to be. There is only one thing worse in the entire world than an editor and that is the personal editor within our own noggins.

Many, many years ago I worked professionally as an editor. I hated it! When I quit I swore that I would never do it again. I only did it for a few years but I was never so relieved as when I quit that for good.

How dare I judge someone else’s writing; that which comes through their heart? Through their revolving door? But then I finally realized; how dare I judge the writing that comes through me? It forced me to ask the question, Who is doing the judging?

I realized that it was a part of me that prevented me from being an empty vessel. It was the part of me that wore black robes and sat on the high court. It was the ‘Judge.’

There comes a time in every writer’s life when they stand up in court and tell the judge to go fuck himself. They decide to blow off the rules and let what is inside them come out. They decide that outside judgments will no longer overshadow what is at the core of their being.

They decide to sing no matter what. Their only audience is the Universe. And if the singer does not judge themselves then they can connect to the Universe. If their singing is directed at the Universe then neither they nor their human audience do not matter as much as what is sung.

Does a bird singing sing to the human who happens to be listening on their porch? Or does that bird sing to the Universe? Why do humans ignore the Universe and sing only to a human audience? Why do humans ignore the birds? Why do they ignore what the birds teach? Why do they restrict their voice?

No matter how we sing, no matter the popularity of our music, no matter how any human receives our music, who are we singing to? Do we think about who is hearing us? Or do we just sing?

Do we sing to the Universe, no matter if our singing is with voice or writing or any other expression? Who are we singing to?

It is when we sing to the Universe that the Universe and all parts of it hear. It is when our singing becomes unconditional. It is when our singing becomes pure. It is when our singing is heard. It is when we connect to the Universe.

When we release that judge within us, we are no longer singing within a courtroom. We are singing on a mountain top. And we are singing to the entire Universe. And our singing is no longer constrained. Our selves are no longer imprisoned. Singing to the Universe sets us free.

Copyright by White Feather. All Rights Reserved. Stories by White Feather

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