the silent halls of my mind

she’d been wandering so long,

down the silent hallway

her footsteps clicked in minutes

she went right up to the oaken door,

pulling at the handle…

“Are you absolutely, positively 100% sure there are a bunch of words inside?”

“Yes, I know you suffer from writer’s block.  I can’t diagnose exactly what kind of block you’re suffering from.  But, I can certainly try to understand.  It might be a basic fear.  You may simply be incapable of moving past your inhibitions.  Consider your family.  Do they stress you out?  No, don’t answer that.  It was a rhetorical question.  On the other hand,  you are probably not working hard enough.  Just write enough to fill up a page.  Have you tried self-help books?  Or blogging?  You should just work harder.  You may be unwilling to face certain emotions.  This is obviously a deep spiritual quest that I think you need to undertake.  Perhaps it is a lack of faith on your part.  Believing isn’t just a 9 letter word.  Or, and I say this in all seriousness — perhaps your desires have nothing to do with writing, and are about the deep psychological recesses that lead to general dissatisfaction and an inability to create healthy relationships….

…Hmmm….Is this helpful to you at all?”

“No, not really.”

“I see.  I don’t usually like to tell people this, especially those who come to me for help, but there’s really nothing I can do for you.  Why don’t you put on a warm sweater and go ahead and open the door?  Let me know what’s inside when you get back.”

“Sure.”

 

 

The story goes that there were roughly one hundred and one words waiting for her on the other side.

She was very happy.

When she returns, I will let you know how it ends.

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