Most of the time when I sit down to write, I am asking myself, “what does my soul want to say today.” This can be a really transformational experience for me. I start typing and the flow of words unfolds its revelations and memories. By the end of it, I’m left with a new perspective, or even a redeemed experience. A sense that I’m part of bigger story. It’s not always as easy as all that though.
I Am A Visual Person
There are times when this process is smooth and effortless. It feels great. Then there are other times when it feels a little bit like learning to drive a stick shift. Jerky stops and starts. Sometimes a little squeal from the tires. On these trickier days when I come to the end of a post, it is with great relief. I can feel the flexing of discipline and focus. Those muscles getting a good hard work out and stronger from the burn of it.
When I’m sitting at my desk preparing to write, I try to focus my attention on what is happening inside of me. And I am a very visual person. My heart space can be the center of a garden with an overgrown trellis sheltering a cozy ring of fire. Me sitting peacefully with whatever spirits decide to come and go.
My brain, however, is the Seattle freeway during a Friday rush hour. Lots of things needing to get lots of places all at the same time. It is also a strong-willed child. Stuck and overwhelmed and tantrum-y. As well, a restless, opinionated, middle-aged adult. It can be a great challenge for me to convince my brain to take a little break. To come on down into the sweet spot in my chest. To be open and cooperative.
Room For Everything
When that happens, though, there is a connection and a communion that rolls through the inside of me. It feels like I’m looking into the eyes of someone I love who loves me. It is safe there. There is room for everything.
This is a space where pain is allowed to speak its mind and there is love to sit with it in comfort. Dark memories get to surface here in the light of kindness and healing. There is fresh air for breathing in perspective and peace. For allowing and release. There is room to honor the hardships and sacrifices and to notice the fresh soil where germinating seeds of newness and hope are unfurling.
The flow in this space is so nice. As words roll down my arms and out my fingers, I find myself smiling. Or crying in relief as old wounds are rinsed and redeemed and the language of it bears witness to the journey. I think about my connection in the world. How I’m not alone. How the grace and honesty of others has affirmed and reassured me. It is an exquisite and incredible space. This space in me is where I get to tell my story.
Generally, when we look at people, we see their human form. We see how they’re presenting themselves in terms of what they’re wearing and their hairstyle. If we happen to look them in the face, we might see if they are happy or sad or grouchy. But another thing that’s true about humans, which most of us don’t see, is that their physical form is a doorway. And through that door is story.
The tale of an entire universe of traffic back-ups and garden fire-rings. Storms and droughts and wars and sunrises. Each person holds within them discovery and history and loss. Dawning and greening and seasons that ebb and flow.
For certain we are fearfully and wonderfully made! And this is never more evident than when we are connected – to ourselves and to each other. When we are open and present to our stories. Anything is possible here. Including love and healing and freedom.
If your story is one of love or loss or adventure or introspection, please tell it with your life, and let’s be friends~