Been feeling mucked in mud lately. It’s like somewhere along the way I tossed my hands up and said, “I’m done, what’s the use. What is all this creating even for?” Because for awhile now, months or so it seems the flow I was swimming within stopped. The time I spent moving my hands became shorter. And with it the days fell flat. My being was missing something....badly. The longer I stopped engaging with this space of not knowing the more I felt shitty. I began to grasp for some form to be formed without being in the forming. A reaching for some something that would return that flow that sense of joy and delight in writing or drawing or playing with materials without actually engaging in it. I don't even know if this is making any sense but atleast I feel I am swimming again. Even just a bit. Moving my hands. Exercising that connection of process to reveal. To give space for that one line. When time seems to open and something I couldn't have planned or thought or imagined appears, that is what it is for. There is deep nourishment in the attempt to try and communicate the experience at the moment of being the person I am today. The ideas I have swirling around and have begun in notebooks all over may never come fully to be in this world, but I must I must I must continue. And if you are reading this...than you too. Even in a hidden place away from the social network of comparison, find that one line. It will give you a boost. But don't coast too long. The practice needs to know you are committed to it's magic. Take notice every day to what feeds the creative spirit and what drains it. Turn towards what opens you. And thanks to finding this Alice Walker poem printed out in a pile of papers I found next to my computer this morning. The resonance was strong. It made me remember and propelled me to write this.
