The following piece is from an old journal entry written when I was practicing the free-form writing advised in such books as Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg, which I have referred to with appreciation before. While this method has been helpful at times, I share here my reflection on the changing of my mind in the creative process. It has been too easy for me to have anxiety in my writing induced by my own “monkey mind”, the racing thoughts that arise when a writer practices free-form writing without self-editing along the way. I am now at a stage where I am no longer doing unedited journaling, because I have come to realize it is ultimately not the constructive mindset I want to cultivate. Ironically, the value of a constructive and sane mind in writing is taught by Goldberg in her book, so I continue to have a great appreciation for this part of it. While free-form journaling does produce some scattered gems, these gems are still emphatically scattered. This causes clutter in my writing archives that I don’t currently have the solution to editing. It leads to more somewhat anxiety-inducing primal chaos to wade through when going back to edit. It is paradoxical that by practicing a form of journaling which is beneficial to some people, in learning to let out their thoughts unrestrained, this method has become to me more of a burden than a help. But I would not have known this had I not experimented with it… and I am admittedly cheered to rediscover this journaling piece.
Don’t try to watch or only look from the sides just reporting what you see because you’ll never be there, really telling exactly what is. Be standing in the light and speaking from the inside of the dream where the power and love spirals. Be standing and writing from in the inside of the holy waters, holy rivers who flow down without giving up through the desert valley. Desert valley’s still loved and don’t you forget that. Mother waters mountain to the east have work to be done. It’s coming from the chaos that life happens. The earth was formed by magma. By fire and thunder, how frail we are here below. Plate tectonics cray insane volcanos roaring into life as fire make energy, this is how the earth was formed, and from this heat all life has come into being. Get out of its way. Beautiful! And what a tragedy especially when the feminine won’t by lava create.
See the magic here is too much, maybe like monk sitting in snow, a lot of distraction but keep quiet mind in the midst. Yes you want not too much of one way and a balance with the other. No rules, just energy. This way when you write with the truth, the truth doesn’t have to sit tucked up inside you threatening you. You get to look forward to all of life, ever in the in-between moments of everybody because it’s there that the power lives and you live with it, you conduct it in conversation with it, you begin to see that the raw pieces of another wise disoriented or disconnected or unfulfilled life actually do make sense after all. You begin to see you live in sacredness, you walk in communion with a tribe of the sacred and even a strip mall will not hurt you, or sap your vital energy. The power is sneaking in around everywhere and it’s the in-between moments between one place and another that she comes to you and whispers “I am here” and you are not alone. Your own small life is in her. You live in praise. The call to give praise in the core of our beings is the call of the bright mind, the writer’s mind who doesn’t know one holy place from another. To return here yet with the eloquence we have learned later on the journey is the task of the monk in the snow.
Sometimes the mind goes very fast. Thought becomes enormous and many splintering visitor-spirits in a modest country hut where you live can’t contain them, unaccustomed to such a commotion. They knock on the door of the back of the head at the base of the skull, at the top of the neck and say “enter”, for a human mind lives here. Traveling down your arm, first thoughts, the many spirit ideas get bottlenecked somewhere between your shoulder and palm. It’s what happens when you don’t know what to say next because you have so many visitors and this is why you’re never bored. “That’s exactly what it is,” said a fellow creature I met on a hot afternoon. She was an artist of pictures, this fellow creature, but it is no different. There’s a traffic jam getting stuck somewhere south of my elbow and that’s why I get a numbness sometimes north of the place where I figure out how to say what I need to say. I got to shake out my hand to get the traffic of word magic spelling its spells again.