Sometimes writers don't write
for a short spell. This does not discount their validity as a writer.
The great news is that we can
always start again, picking up the pen and beginning to scrawl. But please
don't wait too long to make that first word birth itself across the page; the
sooner you can do even a sentence or two of journaling, the more easily it will
flow.
Gratitude helps. You can even
put into service this gratitude you have for your beautiful home, your
stunning natural surroundings: write it onto the page.
The miracle is that the words
of gratitude will carry you back to the heart-full core of your story.
(Love message to a dear writing mentee
this morning…)
* * *
I have listened to more than a dozen conversations in the
past few days – the content of which was driven by the confessions, fears,
concerns, or self-care issues of the people I spoke with – about this very need
to find one’s self squarely in the pulsing center of their heart’s passion. These
clients, friends, acquaintances, colleagues, sisters and brothers, seek the silence
and stillness that will swaddle them back into the haven of the practices that
sustain their heart’s work.
We are called, sometimes moment by moment, to renew our
commitment to those passions which beckon to us for expression. We are nudged to
find our equilibrium in the face of the imbalance we live between the demands
of the day and the inner hearth around which we long to sit, cuddled in warmth,
a sense of wellbeing, and serenity, pursuing the deep call of our lives.
We must cull a bit to meet the call. This does not necessarily
entail a complete renovation of our outer lives; often it is the simple,
heart-focused work of shifting just a few little bits of our day in order to
realign with that deep center. We can rely on the sustaining practices (not routines; not
resolutions; not regulations, laws, guidelines or rules – but practices) of self-care. Caring for
self. Not selfish but self-focused. We cannot offer balance, love and beauty to
the world if we are misaligned in our own tangents of fear, anger or
distraction.
The promise is that we can return, over and over again, to
our practices. At any point, we can start fresh. The beauty of practices that
sustain us is that they are always there for us. We can walk away from them, or
we can move forward into them with a full and generous spirit. When we do swim,
fall, or crawl on scabbed knees toward the sustenance of practices, miracles
can happen.
All blog images created and/or photographed by Jennifer J. Wilhoit unless otherwise noted.
