A beginning. A beginning. A beginning. Again. Every session is a beginning. Beginner's mind is a no-place space to learn something new, like the time I went to Penland to work with clay and ended up in the weaving studio knowing not a thing about weaving, wefts, warps, shuttles, though the walls of the colored yarn and wools filled me full of joy with every in-breath and pulled me through the week. It turned out not to be my kinda thing, though I loved what others created and the rhythm of how they created it.
How do I continue to believe in this passion as a writer when I can't even figure out the what?
I tend to write when words come unbidden, to work something out, to solve a problem, or work through my emotions to some kind of clarity. Simple declarative sentences saying it straight and clear. But to whom? It's easy when I'm in dialogue with myself. Isn't that what writing is about anyway?
Which stories do I tell?
Clarity is what I seek. So what do I want to say? Perhaps I can begin by just gathering together and sifting through all that I have already written? Already said.
Could I write my way through my gap of anxiety about abandonment?
Does that story still need to be told?
What is my vision?
A writing space that is beautiful where I can do my art and my writing.
My fear is that I will continue with my excuses or do that art instead of writing, and it's the writing I wish to do. Use those words. In song. In poetry. In paragraphs. In play. How about a long poem on transitions instead of a book? I like that idea. It seems more manageable. A long poem on the in-between. On not-knowing. On the transitional generation.
Perhaps this is clarity about the form not the subject matter. It feels like I can breathe. And I know my subject well.
Dare to do it, Ruth. Dare yourself. Make a calendar and carve out the time. This is a time for new habits.
Can you walk one-half hour a day?
Write one-half hour a day?
Dare to do it.
Dare to write stories and poems and thoughts and insights and stuff for kids and write through problems. Dare to go into old wounds and weep and sob and get to the center of your being. Let go and start now.
I have dared so many times -- perhaps it's another kind of block. Avoidance. And why would that be? What don't I know about that? Is it the alone thing? Fear of death -- alone -- thing?