I write because it is in my blood. I write because it is part of who I am. I write because it is the one gift that I can give that has truly come from within myself. It is the gift that I can give that is worthy of the gods.
Sure, I can crochet, knit, spin, or otherwise manufacture something physical. Something more tangible then words, I suppose. That, however, is the art of manipulating something that someone else has produced. My words are strictly mine.
I struggled with the idea of my writing being considered good enough for the gods. Then it was made clear to me that it doesn’t matter if I feel that it is good enough. It just matters that I do it. It is difficult to step around my ego and simply let the words flow.
It is a difficult habit to break, this self-judgment. Still, I try my best. Some days I am more successful at suspending my disbelief in myself then I am at others. It is not an easy task but my Beloved husband made an excellent point one time when he said that nothing worth doing is easy.
Acts of devotion for any faith are not supposed to be easy. They are not supposed to be formulaic or rote, something performed by way of muscle memory with out any aspect of the thinking mind engaged. Acts of devotion are supposed to challenge us. They are our outpouring of our side of the relationship with the divine. For some people, reciting a litany of prayers is difficult and it forces them to focus more upon their unique relationship with their god(s). For other people, different acts of devotion are required.
This is not because these other acts of devotion are of greater or lesser value compared to each other. This is because each person is unique and their acts of devotion must be tailored to their own unique method of communicating with the divine.
That, however, is just my late evening ramblings upon the subject.