As artists living with the drone of commerce, we have forgotten that “rest” is a musical term, and that to hear the music of our lives as something other than a propulsive drumbeat, driving us forward as the war drums drove men into bloody battle, we may need to rest.

The ego hates to rest. The ego doesn’t want to let God, or sleep, mend up the raveled sleeve of care. The ego would like to handle all that itself, thank you. As writers, we must serve our souls, not our egos. Our souls need rest. This is something my artist-mother knew well.

As artists, it serves us to consciously find windows to the world of wonder – we must locate places that open the trapdoor in our imagination and allow the breath of greater worlds to enter our too-claustrophobic lives. You may find the window for your imagination in the upper cranny of your neighborhood library. There, tucked amid the rafters, amid the high and dusty tomes, you may look out an upper window and sense a world of other writers staring over your shoulder with you. Or you might find your imagination climbing aboard a Persian carpet in an Oriental-rug store, where the leaf-by-leaf turning of intricate patterns, like woven stained-glass windows, might transport you to bygone centuries. A clock store might paradoxically help you step beyond time as you stand amid a small forest of chiming and ticking grandfathers and magical cuckoos.

~ Julia Cameron, Walking in This World (Part of the Complete Artist’s Way, Creativity as Spiritual Practice)

Oh – the importance of rest, reflection, daydreaming, wonder and a moment with a great soul, like Julia Cameron, to whisper encouragement to the weary writers of the world. I didn’t even feel weary until I read this and realized how often I rush and hurry, and go from task to task, and forget to meander gently through the world.