How It Feels to Write One of These Things

Every time I begin a new post, I feel the fear come up and wrap itself around me so that it is virtually impossible for me to express in a natural way.  The grief of this interior blockage- of a frozen self that covers over a warm and generous woman who desperately wants to write and dance and sing and speak- to express openly- is huge and threatens to swallow me whole.  If it takes the rest of my life, I will free myself from these bonds and find my voice. I will accomplish this... whatever it takes.  Sounds dramatic but it's real and I am determined.

The block is physical, energetic- I can feel it at my throat, in my arms and hands, in my mid- section, my pelvis and legs. Feels sometimes like someone is standing behind me- holding me in a vise grip- forcing my head down and commanding me to stop- stop what?  Talking?  Living? I did stop- I stopped for decades, pushed it down and now it's all coming back- there is no choice.  My meditation practice is churning the depths, dredging my psyche and bringing up the unlived, the unresolved, the unexperienced material from my past.  I have no idea how to be fully present with these sensations and feelings but I know that I can't run, hide, hold them at bay any longer.  Being in this body right now is so exquisitely painful and there is nowhere to go to escape.  Even as I sit here writing, I feel frozen with fear and physically as solid as a statue made of marble or granite.  Not fully alive- as if someone cast a spell on me decades ago and finally there is some small movement. The mind says relax, but I can't relax.  I don't know how to relax this contraction.

The block is mental, too.  Many disparaging thoughts telling me not to write, I don't have anything of value to say, who do I think I am, anyway.  No talent, so why bother writing at all.

For months I've been aware that I have nothing to offer- no creative ideas, no brilliance or wit.  Nothing but this tension and a wild desire to open.  Into what?  I haven't a clue what might be possible so I have to keep going to find out.  I am writing every day- writing in circles- they lead nowhere but the need to write doesn't diminish so I keep at it.  God, I'm tired.

Freedom Sometimes Appears Wearing Rags

Since the ending of a brief but significant chapter in my life, (approximately two weeks ago), gifts, small and large have been showing up in unexpected ways and strange places.  I am filled with gratitude for answers to prayers I didn't realize I had made arriving in tattered  garments, arms outstretched, seeking acceptance and sanctuary from me.   Disparate parts of myself, my own past, finally able to come home and rest here.  The mystery at work- I needn't understand to receive these offerings.

How do I Rest in Midair?

A quote from Susan Piver's blog-

"... nothing can really protect you from the joy and sadness of being exactly who you are.  They're both equally uncomfortable..."

I don't do uncomfortable without at least some measure of fear.  It is so boring to be so afraid.

I would say that Ms. Piver is my hero.  A mentor who writes often about fear and who may never know that she is inspiring me to fearlessness.

Today has been about bouncing in (which seems like up) and out (which seems like down) of sadness and ... well, I wouldn't exactly call it joy but something resembling joy.  It occurs to me that if I find a place to rest in the middle I would simply be suspended-  for however long- in midair.  Not such a bad place to be when I consider the alternative- bouncing as thought lifts up and then comes crashing down- over and over.  I think it is time to do some resting in midair. Meditation sounds like an idea I can rest in- breathing out long and loose and the inbreath just flows in without stress or strain.  Minutes pass and there is no resistance to bouncing but gradually the up and down motion lessens- like a swinging pendulum that comes to rest, slowly, on it's own.  No effort required.  Even fear- in and out until there is just resting in what is already here.

How Did I Get Here?

Recently came across this prayer by Michael Leunig

...We struggle, we grow weary, we grow tired, we are exhausted, we are distressed, we despair.  We give up, we fall down, we let go, we cry.  We are empty we grow calm, we are ready.  We wait quietly.

A small shy truth arrives.  Arrives from without and within. Arrives and is born. Simple, steady, clear.  Like a bell.  Like flame.  Like rain in summer.  A precious truth arrives and is born within us.  Within our emptiness.

We accept it, we observe it, we absorb it.  We surrender to our bare truth.  We are nourished, we are changed.  We are blessed. We rise up.

For this we give thanks...

I don't know how I got here but for the moment I will accept the charge and let this blog exist.  No way to find out where it can go if I keep putting it into the virtual trash can.

...raising my glass to all the bloggers out there who don't shy away from writing the post and then hitting publish...