From Stray Journal Pages Sometime in December 2013

Pins and Facebook Images 8-30-2013 2-16-57 PMThey say I have cancer.

Challenge is good stuff, but I feel I am suddenly a tottering newborn trying to figure out how things work.

How do I know what I know?

Where did my wisdom go?

I like to be with people who are wiser than I am; who have some clarity of consciousness about the most important things in life like happiness, how to make a legacy of goodness in the world, or about living boldly within one’s ethics and dreams. I listen as closely as I can to anything they say. I consider how I might apply the wisdom they share to make my life more fulfilling and fun. I know what I know. I usually trust that. Its affirmed repeatedly when I see that  all my applied wisdom makes my life flourish. I am affirmed in my faith in what “real wisdom” is. I can remember my own until lately. It seems only in my stillness its tangible any more. I can’t see it so easily now. At least not my busy-ness. Not even with in my pen in hand. Will I write again?

In my creative life, there is a constant urgency to write, to produce, to never stop making words flow to a page.

Right now though. I feel full stop. Laurie says to write despite. I wonder though is it more important to babble out words just to keep the pen moving or is it more important that I give the empowerment of silence a chance to take firm root in me, without the distraction of words?

More to the point, I prefer to have any words I let descend upon a page absolutely not come from the babble in my head and heart that I am waiting out. Usually in times of great challenge, I am sitting here keeping silent company with the babble of fear, self-doubt, recrimination, with the projections of how life might suck soon, with obsessions about what I dream of “if only” things go well…

Of course the cacophony is with me now. Its loud, so loud.

If I set a pen to page just now, a cancer will come out. Sometimes I hatefully think to myself that’s the crap that comes out much of the time anyway. Some writing teachers would tell me that’s what needs to come out. I believed them for many years. What I got were pages and blogs full of complaints…and very little constructive stuff at all and in the mean time it seems my only product is fearful drivel. What good is that?

So I focus on getting extra rest, on time with loved ones, on keeping my house work done, on my meditations and I wait out the fearful drivel. I try to capture the crystalline moments when the wisdom under all this fear shines clearly. I try to capture those few words and to remember and affirm how I know what I know.

Mostly I am silent and no words come at all.

I am not writing.

I have dried up and blown away.

I am here too though. Just here.


Patient. Even smiling.

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