One of Those Colds

Is it okay to claim to have writer's block when you're not really a writer? And what is a Writer anyway? I mean, the people who somehow seem to write with a capital W etched on their souls. I have no such etching; at least, I can’t claim that I do. What is writing? Is it something you do to make a living? An activity with financial rewards? Segments of events that take up considerable amounts of time in one's life? Or simply gestures that make the person feel alive? 

I feel alive when I write. I experience the rushing movement of lightening that illuminates parts of my mind and flows through my entire body. Every time when I feel my chest fill up with the bulk of tediousness, lethargy, and existential meaningless of life, I write, and then I feel okay. Regardless, as someone who has yet to receive any other sort of reward (such as money, fame, influence), to call myself a writer makes me feel like a self-indulgent imposter. 

I'm am currently going through a strange episode that gives you the sensation of one of those colds that make every piece of your mind and body feel like it's pressed into the earth beneath you; even the air you breath feels heavy. I feel I’m on a path but I don’t know where to; I think I may become something other than what I am now, but I’m not sure what. 

Need to read Hafiz’s The Place Where You Are Right Now again for the hundredth time. Maybe this is why the world invented poetry.