You might have read some of my stuff here at Void but I don’t think you really know me.
It’s not your fault, it’s mine. Since I started this blog I’ve kept out of view a lot more than I used to at my old blog.
Creating this space has been partly a reaction to what I used to write before. I let it get too open, too personal, and I lost site of the original intention I had for that place.
That’s ok because it needed to happen.
In the end, the process of writing became the purpose, and things I had not foreseen when I began it came to the forefront. Like the joy of connecting with other lovely people, and becoming part of a community of creative, intelligent women. It was so much more than just spinning out words on a screen.
But. Still. Something needed to change. And though I can slip into living my life quite publicly for a while, then I will swing back and claw back my privacy and isolation with fury.
The challenge for me here has been to find a way to write with authenticity, without opening up the deepest parts of my life and my soul for all to see. I’m not sure I’ve found a way to do that yet.
Often I’ll sit down to write for this place, with a head full of clever ideas and words, with references to this and that, and a whole debate taking shape in my mind, but when I start to type it out, it sounds hollow. Showy but empty. And totally flat.
At best I’ll feel just a little disappointed with my work, like it’s missed the key note I was trying to strike. But at worst, I’ll feel completely disgusted by it. Ego! Ego! Ego! Why am I even bothering to write?
I think all writers and artists have times like that. You can’t live without doing your thing, but the doing of it can often make you miserable, if you feel out of alignment within yourself.
For me, it always requires the litmus test of authenticity. Why am I doing this? Is this the real me speaking now? Am I still aligned with my True North?
But when your life and the landscape around you is changing, it’s not always easy to get a true reading from yourself. Besides, I’m not a balanced person. I’m like water; pushed and pulled with the tides, the cycle of the moon, or some such ephemeral force. I expand, I contract.
I think I’ve found my level and then the ground shifts again. You can’t contain me.
Don’t ask me for a simple answer to a straight question. Most of the time you won’t get one. I don’t work that way. I live in another language of feelings and impressions that have to sift and filter through my senses and perceptions before I know anything for sure.
If you push me or rush me, I’ll snap. I need time to arrive at my own conclusions, unfiltered by others’ opinions.
So, I’ve needed my space and my privacy back in order to go deeper into the void. It’s like a retreat. You find yourself withdrawing from the old places and groups, in order to nurture the birth of something new within yourself. It’s a chrysalis phase.
And every time I’ve thought that the transformation is done, I’ve found that I’m not quite finished yet. Even still, I think I’m not quite finished yet, and I don’t know when it will be through.
Maybe the journey will never be done, because this is my journey into my Inner Artist’s world. And the Artist’s Way is an endless path of learning and transformation.
If I rush it, I feel I will come out half undone, with my stitches gaping and my wings hanging off. Not quite the butterfly I should have become. A little bit crippled, unable to fly.
I’ve told you before that I’m an impatient sort, but this time it’s different. I draw deeper into my cocoon, knowing I have to hold back on the urge to leap and surge forth.
Maybe that’s why I’ve been so very very tired? My body’s way of putting on the brakes? There really hasn’t been any other choice. And through it all, my interest in blogging, and following, and commenting, has waned. So much so that if I’m to continue I shall need to come back with a different outlook, I think.
And so I take a break.
I reflect on everything I’ve learned since I started to write publicly. Too much to sum up in short words now.
But this remains, one perfect quote, and the acknowledgement that being ordinary, or trying to be like everyone else, will never be enough for me, because it means settling for being mediocre, when we should always be striving to embrace our authentic, sparkling, crazy selves. Like Jack said,
The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!”
(Jack Kerouac)
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