On Writing and Having Faith

Elizabeth Gillbert once wrote: "I never promised the universe that I would write brilliantly; I only promised the universe that I would write."

For me, writing requires Faith. And persistence. But mostly Faith. And also some discipline. But largely Faith. OK, so it takes lots of things, but first, for me, it is always Faith...that whole believing in the unknown. Since I rarely know where I want to end up it is like walking towards something without proof that it exists. Trusting in what you cannot see. Creating the sidewalk under your feet as you go.

Frankly, Faith is something I have never been good at. Faith in others, Faith in the world, but mostly Faith in myself has been the hardest. Which, for me, translates into an inability to write consistently with confidence. I question myself: "Do I even know what I want to say? Is it really something worth saying? Is my writing good? Why bother, its all been said by someone else. Don't write something unless you can write it well. Why do I even do this?" Or this can simply be translated to: "You are just not good enough." I give up and push it aside having a complete lack of motivation to write anything, when I can't find faith. The irony is it is probably then that I need to write the most. If I can just figure out how to let go of the perfectionist enough, I might be able to get to it. You know move through it to get to it? Yeah, baby! Faith is just the beginning. The proverbial tip of the iceberg. Move through doubt, (which is small compared to what lies below), to get to that little inner voice and allow it to sing for all its worth.

Faith is believing, beyond all the uncertainty, that there will be something there: that this empty pottery wheel will in fact contain something in the end. I, myself, have a hard time creating something from nothing. I like: directions, instructions, a blueprint, if you will. When I have a plan, I can follow, even mimic, but starting with nothing and molding it into something without a desired outcome as to what it should look like, for me: HARD, HARD, HARD! You might as well be asking me to do surgery on myself! How do I begin? What if I do it wrong? When it isn't easy, and faith is elusive I wonder why in the 'H - E - Double Hockey Sticks' I even thought I was good at this or even like this, I struggle to begin, the words just not coming, sheer force of my will or even self-deprecation cannot make me fill the space. I close my eyes trying to summon anything but usually all I find is a mocking "I told you so." and then silence. Sad, but also, somewhat relieved, I put the scalpel down and walk away.

Of course there are times when I am faith-filled I write as if I am the tide and the page is the sand. Believing I have something to say, not sure of a good way to say it, I keep putting down one word after another, not even knowing if the outcome will be intelligible to anyone but me, and I don't even care. I keep working, I keep writing, I keep reading and re-working my words, crashing over the sand again and again in an unstoppable rhythm. THAT, my friends, is faith! Not seeing a picture in my mind of what I am trying to construct, but faith that if I keep putting down words a sculpture I will create. OK, probably not a sculpture, but maybe a bowl, or a vase or something. I will have something to show for this.

Faith....which today seems to have taken up residence in me again. Most days, I can't recall even what it looks like or when was the last time I saw it. But today faith and I are having coffee and sitting here together as if he was always here. So much so, that today I can say here: I am a writer. Maybe for no one but myself, but it is part of me - of who I am.

But even with faith I find I get stuck. It's that in the hurry of life, sometime I can't find myself and my inner voice. Cluttered in my mind among the to-do lists, chores, the constant worry and the 50 million other things I must remember is that small voice, lost in the busy crowd of competing thoughts. In all that disorganized chaos clamoring for attention how can one find even one complete though, let alone a string of them that makes sense? "Hush!" I tell them, "I am working my clay." Oh if it were only that easy!

Sometimes my inner voice speaks so eloquently to me at very inopportune times like when I'm in a place where I cannot scribble down what is being spoken. Taking me on a ride in my mind that is magnificent. When I do finally sit down to write I cannot summon this voice to talk. Like a stubborn child with its arms folded across its chest and mouth clamped shut. His eyes are beseeching me, "Come on I dare you to try to make me open up!" And I sit.... trying to recall that blissful train of though that I rode as it came up over the mountain and upon the most beautiful valley of words. But that stubborn toddler will not cooperate. Yes, I admit, I can't make you remember or revisit the earlier trip we took. I imagine this toddler mad at me for my lack of attention when he was ready and willingly spilling his secret.

Writing comes in fits and spurs. I would like to say if I disciplined myself to write everyday that somewhere in that I could sift out the good, worthy part from all the rambling that would surely be the result of filling pages with my daily thoughts. Truth is, my voice speaks when it speaks and them is silent when it's silent. So I don't know if this would be a worthwhile habit to force.

And there in lies the perplexing issue of discipline. What drives us to do anything? Because if you don't have a reason, why then how do you convince yourself to keep moving through the stuff that is hard? Finding the reason that will cause you to do the work. Not just a goal. Quite frankly, I am goal driven, like: "Do A to get B". But this is a process, not an end-result kind of thing. The goal moves and changes. On one hand I can see that having discipline is not completely the answer, but I can also see that I don't want to use lack of motivation as a crutch.

Quit worrying about being good enough, or saying the right things. Just write. Quit giving up and pushing aside what is hard. Trust that your heart has something to say and if you let it is will state what is contains. Because even at it's worst, your words are just that: yours.

“The idea is to write it so that people hear it and it slides through the brain and goes straight to the heart.” ~ Maya Angelou

Addiction

Reading a new book called Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gillbert. Absolutely LOVING it. As in I am devouring each and every word, absolutely gulping them down like a tall glass of water. My head tilted back, eyes closed, trickles of water running out of the corner of my mouth and down my face.... not wanting to waste, not wanting to finish with out savoring, but can't quite slow down either. Yeah, it's THAT GOOD! Here is one excerpt that I am addicted to (no pun intended):

"Addiction is the hallmark of every infatuation-based love story, It all begins when the object of your adoration bestows upon you a heady, hallucinogenic dose of something you never ever dared to admit you wanted - an emotional speedball, perhaps, of thunderous love and roiling excitement. Soon you start craving that intense attention, with the hungry obsession of any junkie. When the drug is withheld, you promptly turn sick, crazy and depleted (not to mention resentful of the dealer who encouraged this addiction in the first place but who now refuses to pony up the good stuff anymore - despite the fact that you know he has it hidden somewhere, goddamn it, because he used to give it to you for free). Next stage finds you skinny and shaking in the corner, certain only that you would sell your soul or rob your neighbors just to have that thing even one more time. Meanwhile, the object of your adoration has now become repulsed by you. He looks at you like you're someone he's never met before, much less someone he once loved with high passion. The irony is, you can hardy blame him. I mean, check yourself out. You're a pathetic mess, unrecognizable even in your own eyes.
So that's it. You have reached infatuation's final destination - the complete and merciless devaluation of self."

Oh boy....

I imagine sitting in a room. A fan slowly whirling above me and the circle of faceless people. I stand and say:
"Hello." and I state my name "I am an addict"
The group of faceless strangers reply back, "Hello..."

Maybe I have always intrinsically understood I was prone to addiction. Afraid always of needing anything. But somehow, I let myself want this. Didn't even understand that I wanted it let alone that I could come to crave and need it. Now fighting that feeling of loneliness that comes when the high wears off.....

Which brings me to one of her excerpts about loneliness. When she finds herself dealing with loneliness she tells herself in absolute resolve (that I am so jealous of):

"So be lonely, learn your way around loneliness. Make a map of it. Sit with it, for once in your life. Welcome to the human experience. But never again use another person's body or emotions as a scratching post for you own unfulfilled yearnings."

Oh my f-word-ing Gad! (Opps, I apologize... lordy, should probably not be so profane... especially when the book is about gaining spiritual insight). But is that not beautifully, beautifully stated? Yeah... goosebumps.

Winter in Oregon

If I don't get some sunshine and blue skies DAMMIT I will have to resort to this....

Angel

Spend all your time waiting
For that second chance
For a break that would make it okay
There’s always some reason
To feel not good enough
And it’s hard at the end of the day
I need some distraction
Oh beautiful release
Memory seeps from my veins
Let me be empty
And weightless and maybe
I’ll find some peace tonight

In the arms of an angel
Fly away from here
From this dark cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
You’re in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort there

So tired of the straight line
And everywhere you turn
There’s vultures and thieves at your back
And the storm keeps on twisting
You keep on building the lies
That you make up for all that you lack
It don’t make no difference
Escaping one last time
It’s easier to believe in this sweet madness oh
This glorious sadness that brings me to my knees

This song reminds me of the ever present discontent that hides in the shadows most of the time, but when things slow down this time of year, seems to capture more time in thought than it should. Spending time in our minds thinking and rethinking all that lay behind us and before us. Sometimes all I want is that distraction to pull me out of the depths of my own madness. To not be so consumed with second chances ~ because all that is done is just that: done.

Silent Reverie.....

Back 2 Good

"Back 2 Good"
It's nothing,it's so normal
you just stand there

I could say so much But I don't go there cuz I don't want to

I was thinking if you were lonely Maybe we could leave here and no one would know
At least not to the point that we would think so
Everyone here, knows everyone here is thinking about somebody else
It's best if we all keep it under our heads
I couldn't tell, if anyone here was feeling the way I do
But I'm lonely now, and I don't know how To get it back to good

This don't mean that, you own me
This ain't no good, in fact it's phony as hell
But things worked out just like you wanted too
If you see me out you don't know me Try to turn your head, try to give me some room
To figure out just what I'm going to do

And everyone here, hates everyone here for doing just like they do
It's best if we all keep this quiet instead
And I couldn't tell, why everyone here was doing me like they do
But I'm sorry now, and I don't know how To get it back to good
Everyone here, is wondering what it's like to be with somebody else
Everyone here's to blame,
everyone here gets caught up in the pleasure of the pain,
everyone hides shades of shame,
but looking inside we're the same, And we're all grown now,
but we don't know how To get it back to good
Everyone here, knows everyone here is thinking 'bout somebody else
It's best if we all keep this under our heads I couldn't tell, if anyone here was feeling the way I do
But it's over now, and I don't know how, it's over now
There's no getting back to good