Tag: writing

Why We Do.

When I was a little girl, I loved to write. Particularly sitting nearest the water’s edge, listening to the sounds of the creek coming to life.

The idea of wrapping thought into word both excited and intrigued me. As the ink flowed, I’d watch their tempoed pacing come to life on pages once barren to human view.

And in their wake, the gloriously unexpected – a sharing of heart through newfound connection. The impact of which might never be measured – for, how does one assess the effects of human kindness?

Though, would you believe a teacher once discouraged my course – humiliating me in before a class of my peers. “Ugh, why even try?” she droned with disapproval, “You know you’ll never amount to anything anyway…”

Truth be told, I nearly stopped writing – believing my thoughts not ‘good enough’ to be heard. Twenty years later, a dear friend pulled me aside – “You must write. You simply must.”

So, I did. And, everything changed – a community formed as hesitation relinquished.

That’s when I realized the answer was within me all along:

I try because I love. I do because it’s needed.

My darlings, in life there will always be these external forces trying their best to dissuade from this path before us.

That’s when the heart most speak louder, my loves. That’s when faith must carry us through.

Because, in the end, my dearest loves … it’s our actions which define us, not another’s ‘truth’.

In peace, my darlings ~ I love you all…

Namaste ❤️

What If I Forget How to Write?

Reprinted: October 2012

Sometimes I have the silliest of fears.

It started quite innocently with a monster under the bed—but as I grew older these thoughts grew bigger as well.

Today, I was worried that I might someday forget forever how to write.

I mean, what if tomorrow all of this inspiration was gone? And, what if these words just stopped flowing along?

I suppose it’s a panic that every writer feels from time to time—and every once and again that one day this magnificent gift of inspiration might just suddenly and forever disappear.

It reminded me of the very first time I brought my newborn son home from the hospital. He had such a rough first few days living in this brand new world—locked away in the farthest corner of a dimly lit Neonatal ICU. And I, a new mother, and not yet knowing what to do, spent every single moment, of every waking hour, slipping my fingers through that tangled mess of wires just to simply touch his hand.

And, when that day finally came, when I was able to bring my baby home—I was overwhelmed with gratitude at this gift of a most precious human life—that I literally spent every single night of those first few months sleeping with my fingers resting gently on his tiny little chest.

You see, I was so terrified that something might happen to snatch this gift away that I barely slept more than a few hours, if at all, with each passing evening.

It was the very first time I had faced the reality of impermanence—the impermanence of life and life’s most special moments.

Writing has become such a joy for me—that in some ways, I feel a bit like a new mother all over again…carefully protecting this amazing gift that has been so graciously shared with me.

And, when inspiration stops me dead in my tracks, urging me desperately to copy down these few short words before the magic of this thought is forever lost?

That’s when I find myself clinging intensely to that one thing I feel might soon be gone.

Perhaps, that is why I am here tonight with my fingers resting gently on inspiration’s chest?

And, as I look over to my son standing here next to me today, my heart is immediately calmed and my fears simply melt away. Because in him, I see all of the love and life’s lessons I’ve shared with him along this way, radiating brilliantly for all of this world to see. And in his eyes, I see a bit of my own spirit reflecting back to me.

Everywhere we turn we are faced with impermanence…but in some way, our spirit lingers on.

I just hope that mine may linger always through my words.

Discovering Our Voice Within.

“She withdrew onto herself,
First writing just for one,
Then touching thousands.
She incarnated ghosts, hurt, and joy
Into paper-and-ink stories of wonder.” – Deng Ming Dao

I’ve been feeling a little out of sorts lately; with body and mind settling into the abyss of ‘just slightly out of sync.’ It’s a desperate feeling, really – particularly for a writer who prides herself on being so intimately connected with her feelings.

And, so very distressing when it occurs, as it represents a dichotomy of monstrous proportions:

To hold onto the energy of the struggle, to live deliberately within it – that we ultimately become more aware of our ‘edges’,

or,

To release it immediately, that we may begin to slowly know the liberation of our pain.

With each, there is a choice, a unique path which only the soul may traverse. On one side, there is instantaneous relief – albeit, deceptively fleeting;

While farther off, over dusted trails and precarious terrain – there is this glimmering hope of awakening, and, the growing ember of possibility which may someday carry us forward.

Ironically, the choice is never easy, is it? Inevitably, we must acknowledge our willingness to stay – to reside in the uncertainty of the ‘what may happen next?’

How foolish we are to think it must be all or nothing. When, in fact, there must be room enough for both to grow. As, it is only through their contrast that we gain depth to our vision. The sharpness of jagged rocks, in time will yield to softer sands – but, only by way of the crashing waves.

This is the nature of our being – through ‘tortured’ heart we may begin to learn the true capacity of our human soul.

Each day we are presented with the callousness of our limits – intended to test, and hopefully, strengthen our resolve. But the road ahead is often littered with the scattered castings of doubt, forged by the insecurities we’ve held all these years.

To find the balance between the two ~ between the desperation of unknowing, and the thrill of unguarded discovery ~ my darlings, that is to have truly lived.

For somewhere in this balance we find our most authentic self – buried beneath the ashes of the fire which always burns.

And so, on this day, it is with gratitude, not trepidation, that I embrace these uncertainties… knowing that the true gift is somewhere in that ‘in between.’

My darlings, I write because I must – as it’s through these ‘oft jumbled words that I have discovered my voice within.