I am a daily writer. I use a nib to place words onto a sheet of paper. Outside of the writing circle. I use a fountain pen. In using one of these instruments it requires bottles of ink. Yesterday I spilled an entire bottle. I call ink the blood from my soul. Kind of gross but to a writer where else do these words come from but those hidden away circles of energy. Because it flows it has to be the way I see. So I instantly wrote yesterday with ink stains on both of my hands "I've spilled Gods word on my hands." Writing while in meditation and or prayer is my way of bringing words forward. What thoughts didn't make it to paper? The ink was staining my hands not the veins of the living tree. Little things like this bother me deeply. Until I heard something in my heart, "To push things beyond the four walls of self. You have to spill ink. No matter who you are we all have moments of trips, stumbles and falls. We were born to make mistakes. But how many of us miss the lesson taught by instantly calling ourselves a failure?" Learn from your moments of spilled ink. There is always a message during your darkest of steps. Teach it so that others can locate peace.