by Bela Johnson | Jul 7, 2017 | creativity, musings, personal, poetry, Uncategorized, writing
Quill pressed to vellum and the raven liquid bleeds onto the page, seeping into parchment as words impress themselves on minds of those who seek elucidation; There is no turning back save the alchemy of fire, while a mere century later, fingers snap plastic keys as a...
by Bela Johnson | Dec 27, 2016 | philosophy, relationships, Uncategorized, writing
All my life I’ve struggled with the spoken word. Anytime I engage in conversation, I’ve got a litany of words streaming through my head, Matrix-like, and must sort through them in order to ensure what I’m about to say lends proper weight, meaning, gravitas. At the...
by Bela Johnson | Dec 16, 2015 | lifestyle, personal, poetry, writing
Each time I am asked, my spirit is willing, yet somehow I still suffer from a sort of social malaise, and I cannot name where it comes from, save enormous overwhelm in situations where many discover delight. I know I may fool you, for I genuinely love people, though I...
by Bela Johnson | Jan 6, 2015 | musings, poetry, writing
You like it, you do not – I really don’t care enough to stop writing what comes through my hair straight into my brain, fixing there. When shadows collect, fester under the skin, they erupt like a boil leaking poison within. I would much rather offer my musings...
by Bela Johnson | Dec 2, 2014 | happiness, inspiration, mindfulness, musings, Uncategorized, writing
I used to be completely committed to telling the truth. In a way, I still am. What the requisites are, however, has changed. It seems the older I get, the more valuable incorporating other viewpoints becomes; for what, ultimately, is The Truth? Perspective must be...
by Bela Johnson | Jun 20, 2013 | nature, personal, philosophy, Uncategorized, writing
As a writer and an introvert, I need solitude. Lots of it, every day. Mental, physical, psychic, energetic space in which to recharge and to maintain balance. The older I get, the greater the impulse toward spaciousness, as if somehow my spirit knows that, by the end,...
