Confused the Source With the Self

I have pushed past the point of comfort and found a room I wouldn’t have discovered if I’d stopped and surrendered with the pain itself,
I have persevered through the initial energy waned, the middle demanded a different, more challenging fuel, and the distant ending remained unclear,
I have stayed with it at borrowed time, and in the margins of days committed to other things, staying in those conditions produced something with a different, sometimes truer texture than staying in ideal ones,
What am I working on that I’ve been leaving before finishing because the initial excitement has worn off, and I’m waiting to feel it again before returning,
I have stayed with it and staying past the point where it made sense was the most important creative decision I’ve ever made, I keep forgetting this when I feel the pull of early stopping…

I have let the spark fade away by leaving too soon and returning to find the same materials in the same arrangement, voided the vitality they possessed when I left,
I have tried to reignite the spark by returning to the same place, time, and mood, but found that replication of the experience isn’t the same as return, the most original moment’s uniqueness prevents perfect reconstruction from outside,
I have let the spark fade and realized too late that what I held wasn’t an indefinite beginning but a living, perishable thing asking me to finish it before it changed,
What would have happened if I had followed every strong beginning to the end in that same sitting, instead of treating the beginning as a promise I could cling in later with more time, energy, and a better plan,
I have allowed the spark to fade, dwelling on the ghost of what could have been, It’s always more magnetic in my imagination than anything I’ve actually created, which is precisely the kind of thinking the staying was designed to prevent…

I have been at work where the initial direction led me somewhere unplanned, and I’ve been asked to follow i, I haven’t always trusted myself to go where the work went when it always deviated from my original plan,
I have been at the place where the rough version was calling to be finished now, rather than perfected in stages over the next few weeks, now I chose the stages, building in layers,
I have stayed at a place where I had to rearrange my plans for the day around work demands, sometimes I can still feel the difference in the outcomes of those days,
What would I make today if I prioritized the current task over all other obligations my life set in motion,
I have been at the place where work demanded everything, and I’ve given it everything, sometimes less, I’m still collecting evidence I want to have made when I reflect on this period…

I have confused gratitude for the transmission with pride in my work, holding it tighter than it deserves,
I have mistakenly equated my intelligence with the spark and took credit for events I merely attended, this led me to focus on my capability rather than the specific quality of openness,
I have mistook the inspired hour for my usual productivity and spent the uninspired hours comparing my progress inaccurately, which discouraged the inspired hour from returning,
What would change if I viewed the days without equal significance as it changes with it, rather than perceiving them as evidence of a problem with me or the work itself,
I have confused the source with myself, the truth has always lived somewhere in between, where gratitude replaces pride, humility quiets despair, and I finally remember that I was never meant to be the source—only the steward…

Watchwords:
Found a room past the comfortable stopping place,
Replication is not the same as return,
The ghost always more magnificent than what I'd make,
Giving it everything versus giving it less,
Confused the source with the self again...