Morning Pages, When I Have This Book I’ve Wanted To Birth
Maybe writing is like playing the piano. You can’t expect the very best piece to come out immediately. It takes dedication to write daily morning pages. Only playing it over and over again, changing the chords and tempo, tweaking the refrain until you find the right chords and rhythm.
My last Bali teacher training is done as of 2 days ago. I finally have space to sleep in or at least have insomnia, knowing that a nap can happen later. More importantly my precious morning pages creative time is back.
I’m hard wired to wake up, meditate and practice – in a very creative and energetic way –
One thing I’ve done these past few months is get even more honest about how and where I’m spending my time.
I have this book I’ve wanted to birth for a couple of decades.
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. Like “I just gave birth to a yoga training”. Even the hardest and easiest ones are still easy to birth. Am I willing to step into this new arena of creative birth?
I sit blank in front of the computer, having started this writing so many times. This morning I was inspired by my dear friend Claire, an international best-selling author of two books. She wrote about the dedication it takes for her and her two writing friends to write their daily morning pages.
I love writing long-hand and wish my letters were more legible.
So I took out my notebook. 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 are some nuggets.
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? 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. The first 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. 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.
[You may also enjoy reading… Let Love In: Maybe It’s Time To Stop Fighting]
“I love myself,” sounded like foreign words that somehow I needed to understand.
This phrase was taped 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; where were my parents 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 morning pages is like playing the piano.
You can’t expect the very best piece to come out immediately. Only playing it over and over again, changing the chords and tempo, tweaking the refrain until you find the right chords and rhythm. Even having some of the other musicians perfectly fit, you can allow that surprise slide to come in or an extra beat. Suddenly everything falls apart.
God who was waiting patiently at the side, can finally step in and begin to sing. Then the pen just follows so diligently, never getting in the way, just letting the words come through.