I’m discovering my creative flow. As a result of all that led up to and culminated in the powerful shamanic rebirth experience I had at Healing Quest this past summer, I’m out of my way and into writing. My book, that is. One of several trying to come through me for too many years. So many starts and stops. With the past now behind me, I can finally be a vehicle for the flow of words.
This is what my life has been looking like since mid-August:
I go into a “cave of writing” as I’ve begun calling it. I usually don’t answer the phone (unless it’s my son) or see anyone. I might write at the kitchen counter, in the living room next to the fire, at the dining room table or in bed. When the weather was nice, I wrote on the deck. If I’m lucky, it’s raining; I really like to write when there’s stormy weather.
In the “zone” and at the beck and call of the spirit of the book, I begin around one pm. and finally, at one or two am. decide, “I have to stop now!” Whew. It’s unbelievable how quickly hours go by. I take breaks in-between to stretch and eat. Go outside and pull out the voracious scotch broom. Rake leaves and debri. Walk to the mailbox. Visit with the stars and moon. This lasts for three or more consecutive days. Then I begin missing people.
Luckily, a friend is scheduled to visit, healing clients are on the calendar and there are phone calls I’m ready to return. (Yes, I’m ok, no it’s not personal; I’ve just been in the cave.) The land of people awaits, and I emerge, ready to participate in Life.
Even though I’m not writing every day, that doesn’t stop the spirit of the book, a being of non-linear time, from speaking to me. I might be in the car, food shopping, in the shower or on the phone. Sometimes I’m lying in bed about to fall asleep, and there she is. An expanded awareness takes over, and I get up, turn the computer on and write. We’re connected, she and I; that’s just how it is.
The spirit of the book has a mind of her own, and she, in cahoots with my council and helpers from the other realms, feeds me knowings when I least expect it. Like the day I was organizing some papers and all of a sudden “realized” I need to include a chapter on coma. I had no idea! It practically wrote itself.
There have been times I’ve felt normal life in the way of writing life, but I know it’s not really true. They’re actually in a partnership. Like when Lisa was here and asked me a question about the content of one of the chapters. “Are you going to write about …………..?” “No, I answered, I hadn’t even thought about that.” But after she left and I was back in the cave, I realized – of course I am. Being with friends and clients allows me to receive the fertilizer for seeds I have no idea are planted.
There’s a lot of surrender involved in writing. Surrender to time, solitude, the agenda of the book, the ebb and flow of creativity. In the past, I was unwilling to commit to that kind of lifestyle. Now I feel good about it. On task. And a sense of freedom that leaves me unafraid of what people will think when they read it.
I’m living a flow of writing and discovering every day what that means. And I am so grateful to FINALLY be here.