The Perfect Wor[l]d - 17
Supporting me in this practice are some of the books I have read and re-read often. One is “The Right to Write” by Julia Cameron (of course) and I empathise when she describes writing as staring at a distance, looking at something or someone moving towards us from a long way off. We squint our eyes imagining things to come, people and events, and we wait for them to come into focus.
This is how I am feeling now. When I was writing about expectant alertness: this is how I feel when I write. I have many questions of course about the future and what it holds for me. I am wondering if writing these mini-essays or blog posts is going to be enough for me, to satiate my thirst for words and communication. At this very moment, this is part of my recovery.
Because I am in recovery: for not having written in such a long time, for having mocked, criticised and at times hated my desire for creativity as if it were something that would have brought me pain, anguish and disaster; a life in a constant status of upheaval. For not having listened when people were telling me, already years ago, that I should have gone back writing. For all those times I have been asked to translate Oltre la Nona Onda. For all those people who asked me: are you writing? What about the blue room at the back, isn’t it your studio now? Are you writing? Are you writing? What are you writing about?
Now I am also recovering from the pain of a breakup. While writing, I can make sense of what I feel: I can observe, let the emotions arise because the body knows best, and then write them down and in this way, they take a shape and a depth which allow me to work on them and to grow from them as an adult human being.
[look at me, pretending to be fully functioning!]
When sitting here, or in my journal in the morning, I observe, I pay attention. To me. I do not expect anyone else to pay attention to me and to work on my own growth on my behalf. Once I lay them out, I can feel a shift happening: either I embrace what I feel - whether I like it or not - or I can feel anger, denial, and victimhood surging within me. Hence, whether I have to make a decision about my personal life, or my work life, or my writing life itself, I do sit and write. I walk a lot, too, to be honest, and rearrange mental cupboards and drawers and then I sit and write.
And it doesn’t matter, now, if I don’t feel like writing or the mood is not right, or I have other things to do. I do find the time, now. I might not write these posts, which are a new thing for me and will come to you – uncensored? - but later down the time-line. I still write in my journal. I jot down ideas, in a stream of consciousness, or prompts; and I feel free. Because there I can write anything, and about anybody, by using any epithet and it doesn’t matter.
If I don’t, I know.
And then the people around me will know. So, I better sit here and write. In these pages I can dive nose first in any issue. I can daydream, I can hate, I can write silly things, I can be childish and stubborn and controlling. And extremely judgemental. And then I observe; and write about the observed. And then I am free to decide if the controlling and stubborn side of me, or the egoistic and selfish side of me is worth taking out of the pages and into real life. And at times, I say yes. Because I don’t class myself as stubborn, egoistic and selfish but as determined and self-caring. And very protective of who I am, and especially who I aspire to be.
And when the drama in my life becomes too much, I am reminded to look at all the things I love:
Grilled fish
Raspberries
Watermelon
Omelette
Candles
Incense
Long hot baths
The smell of printed paper
Books
Adventure
Packing a backpack
Walking in the rain
Shall I…
[everything is getting a bit boring now… so, I better stop. I am not convinced of what I am writing. I don’t feel grounded. I have lost me. There is a void in me. I can feel and almost touch this void. This void is calling me, and I need to address it first.]
The body knows best.
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© mtomat 2019 - written on 13.07.19 - no reproduction without permission.
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