It feels like months since I have touched down and wrote a blog post. In fact, it has been a couple of weeks. We’ve been on the move from Minnesota to Mexico to South Dakota. A few more days here, and we head for home. The good news is that we have missed a month of winter. I am already dreaming of spring, and soil, and gardens, and mud. My body wants to move and stretch. My mind wants to move and stretch.
I seem to get into some kind of zombie travel zone when weeks go by of non-ordinary routines and places. I can’t say that the zone is unpleasant—more like being asleep or being in the moment, not sure which. The one very positive thing is the freshness of returning and the willingness to review what I want to do next.
The only thing that is clear to me is that I yearn to get back to some kind of creative writing. The swirl of words and images coming together on the page is essential to growing my spirit. It has been a long time. This past weekend I taught two days of workshops. On the first day I could hear in the opening circle the deep desire we all have to create—and the common fear we have of approaching that creative space. We will get it wrong, do it badly, sell ourselves short, discover no talent or capacity for creating. There are so many logical reasons to avoid entering the creative space. I talked for a while about our universal fear of “approaching the throne of the creative” and my coordinator, Peg, suggested we name the next workshop that.
But a lot of things happen when we approach the throne of the creative. We come on our knees. We come with blank minds and restless fingers. We come carrying our old baggage, singing our old tunes. We come fearing disappointment–or worse–death. We come like beggars to a banquet.
It has been so long since I sat alone with a blank page, the whisper of a story floating somewhere in the back of my mind, that I am afraid I will no longer be able to do it. And then what would become of me? Is the rest of my life to be only about do lists and done lists and still to get done lists? I hate that idea. I need juice. The yogis call it “rasa.” It is the creative energy of life itself, I think.
I need a shot of rasa. I need that more than you need one more blog post from me. So, let’s make a deal. During the next week, let’s all create something—a soothing space, a painting, a story, a sculpture, a song, a dance, a vision, a dream, a new way of walking—anything. Just let’s create. Then let me know what you have created.
One of the things I learned is that there is not enough therapy or tools or techniques in the known universe to overcome the fear of first sitting your butt down in a chair and beginning. Just begin.
Just begin. My promise is that by this time next week I will post something wild and fictional that has never appeared anywhere ever before. I had an idea of a young boy who visits old ruins and suddenly becomes a part of their story. There, I committed myself.
See you next week. (I’ll be home at last.)
As always, you can register below to get my weekly (mostly) post in your email box. Oh, and about the image. This a picture of one of the pyramids at the Ek Balam ruins north of Vallodolid in Mexico. Milt actually climbed straight to the heavens.
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