Lake Como, Italy
I love paths. The wonder of where they might lead, who has walked them in the past, who will walk them in the future. Paths are magical places leading to the realm of all possibility…
Bellagio on Lake Como, Italy
All paths are magical….cobblestone paths in small Italian towns…
On Lake Como, Italy
Narrow, wooded paths in faraway lands….
Whalebone Bay Nelson Island
Wooden walkway paths on one of my favourite islands….
Nelson Island, BC
Moss worn paths on West Coast Islands…
More Nelson Island…
East Coast Trail ~ St, John’s Newfoundland
Well travelled paths on the East Coast…
North Shore of Vancouver, BC
Flagstone paths in my own backyard….Magic and mystery are everywhere!
*Note: I know I missed a day of my posting challenge, however the intended discipline this challenge was meant to instill is being achieved – 1000 words/day!
Today was unexpectedly…..not rainy. We even had moments of sun brightening up the sky, which meant it was a perfect afternoon for hiking the trails of Lighthouse Park.
Moss and fern covered rocks…
A peek-a-boo view…
Spent some time sitting in a bay…
Watching a sailboat “motor” by
Breathing in nature expands my soul….
What treasures lay hidden right out in the open?
When I meditated this morning I asked for guidance on what was stopping me. The answer came to me from my beloved Inner Being who reminded me that writing should be a form of discovery. Just like when I’m onstage playing to be in the moment, not simply reciting the memorized lines, but instead, discovering afresh each new line as it comes to me. Memorize the words, do the work and then let it go. Let the audience see the discovery happen. This is what engages, connects and makes the performance so much more powerful.
Marion Bridge rehearsals…
I need to strive to do the same thing with my writing. When I know the story, because I’ve lived it, it’s the same thing as having memorized the lines of the play. I need to allow myself to wander through at random and not worry about what came first. The linear aspects of the story. Blurred lines and muddy waters. Simply swim through those waters and see what weeds get tangled in my thoughts.
Writing these days is like swimming in muddy water. Water full of word-tangling weeds that clog my thoughts as the slimey snakes of fear slither by. I hate snakes.
It’s ironic (or maybe it’s not) that so many sinks in my house are also blocked and when I think “there’s no such thing as coincidence,” I wonder if I can call a plumber to snake my word clogs too.
Snake my clogs. Interesting phrase that flowed from my fingers without my editing.
I look with a metaphorical eye at what I’ve written and laugh – snakes have long symbolized transformation. I’m clogged with transformation and now I love my backed up pipes. Patience, perseverance and practice will allow the water words to flow cleanly and with a little physical help the sinks in my house will drain as well.
Allowance is the key here. I’ve got to let go of the oars of trying and trust in the flow of the river. A slow moving river is still moving.
I just watched a video that a friend shared on Facebook. At first I started watching it on the small screen of my cell phone but almost immediately needed to see it full-screen on my laptop.
Adam Mordecai writes on UpWorthy, “Ash Beckham is awesome. She also happens to be gay, and she thinks it’s hard for straight people coming out of the closet. At 2:30 she gently confronts a 4-year old. At 3:30 she explains how hard it is for straight people to come out of the closet. At 7:53 she makes a hard decision. And at 8:56 she shares three rules about pancakes and life you should follow.”
A 4-Year-Old Girl Asked A Lesbian If She’s A Boy. She Responded The Awesomest Way Possible.
I was immediately struck by Ash Beckham saying we’re all living in a closet and it’s hard. Every closet is a dark and scary place and opening that door and coming out is hard, no matter which closet door is being opened. There is no relative. Hard is hard is hard.
It gave me a new image, a new perspective from which to view my marriage. I didn’t know at the time that I was stuck in the dark closet of a perfect marriage. I had constructed such elaborate illusions around me that it took my husband’s affair to open the door, and even then I pulled hard to slam the door shut again. What a gift my husband gave me when he threw the grenade and blew that door right off its hinges.
What closet are you in?……
Who’s knocking on your door?….
* I briefly thought of linking to the original video, but wanted to honour the site where I found it. A positive result of social media – an ever expanding awareness…