mmm, the process of making things. invocation, ingredients, inspiration from the weather and kitchen conversations. this is a picture from a collective drummaking where my role was to serenade. the pot on the fire, constantly brewing – that’s what i am tending.
i’m no stranger to writing, but something truly unlocked in me, in giving myself divine permission, divine request to just write, and not just in snippets, about everything i’m excited about. i feel like i’ve cleared a dam to a great river i never even noticed was clogged before.
“You may as well free a few words from your vocabulary.
Why and how and impossible”, booms Rumi as he tops up my cup of tea.
this all started when I glanced over a handful of articles I wrote years ago, which made me pause. The writing was truly beautiful. It had reached so few eyes.
I offered up a simple prayer, that this dormant skill be a vehicle, a hollow bone for something gorgeous. I then sailed on and forgot about it.
i watch the pages multiply, in this endeavor to speak the unsayable. to just fucking give it my best shot. The focus pouring into it, night and day. The thrill of this new discipline – to write from the mystery. to let ever word surprise me. and they sure do.
i’m tingling all over while I pin down impressions about sex as a doorway to god, keeping up as the thing writes itself.
great idea joy. love you. thanks for making life so exciting.