My last Bali teacher training is done as of 2 days ago and I finally have space to sleep in or at least have insomnia and know that a nap can happen later and more importantly my precious morning creative time is back. I’m hard wired to wake up and meditate and practice…in a very creative and energetic way…but one thing I’ve done these past few months is get honest even more about how and where I’m spending my time. I have this book I’ve wanted to birth for a couple of decades and now it’s knocking on my uterus telling me it’s ready to come through and I know it’s time. Funny how I suddenly am making new excuses. I just gave birth to a yoga training…even the hardest and easiest ones are still easy to birth so am I willing to step into this new arena of creative birth? I sit blank in front of the computer and have started so many times this writing..this morning I was inspired by my friend Claire who’s an international best-selling author of two books (and a dear friend) who wrote about her and her two writing friends and the dedication it takes to write and their morning pages. So I took out my notebook..and while I can barely read most of my handwriting and I doubt any of this will go into “The Book” I’m going to write…here’s some nuggets…(and I love writing long-hand and wish my letters were more legible)
Do you think it’s possible that we’re not being delusional when
we consider love and that the fact that our bodies fit so
perfectly together and ignite almost immediately over and over again means that Yes there is a person out there who’s an easy perfect match and No I’m not half without you or even whole with you but WOW can
the cosmos collide into the sigh roar purr deep release of Everything and for a moment Nothing Matters because Everything Matters
This is more than just an orgasm this is God speaking through our cells saying “I love you, Let go of Everything and Feel This.”
“I love you,” I’ve said two thousand times already in my head but the 1st time I say it out loud I know I will blush and want to put my head under the covers until you say it too and can I be okay if I love you and you never say it back because I know you love me, you gave me sunflowers and your favorite sweater and you touch me like I’m the most sacred present of all time.
“I love myself,” sounded like foreign words that somehow I needed to understand. I taped this phrase all over my room and especially my bathroom – over the sink – the toilet – hoping that somehow this would make a change to the daily madness that kept me starved and bone thin. I dealt with this silently; I don’t know where my parents were in all this: scared? Exasperated? From day one on the planet, I presented a challenge to them – a strange creature from an alternate universe. I never wanted to be here and now at the age of 17 it was official – I wanted OUT – and I will punish anyone who gets in my way.
Maybe writing is like playing the piano, you can’t expect the very best piece to come out immediately, you need to play it over and over again and change the chords and tempo and tweak the refrain and once you find the right chords and rhythm and even have some of the other musicians who are the perfect fit, you can allow that surprise slide to come in and extra beat and suddenly everything falls apart and God who was waiting patiently at the side can finally step in and begin to sing and the pen just follows and follows so diligently never getting in the way and just lets the words come through.