My writing assignment for this week was simply to write about the process of writing. What comes up for me when I sit down to write?  As I explored this I learned a lot about how I live my life.

 Of course I failed utterly before I even began when I woke up at 5:00 am -- two hours before intended -- crafting opening sentences in my mind because I couldn’t wait to get started.   A big, white blank screen loomed in my imagination, seducing me from my slumber and calling me to come play.

 Now I sit here aware that it’s not unusual for me to put the outcome before the experience when it comes to writing.  I need to have the theme developed and the inspiring closing in mind, and understand how this writing is going to be of service to others all figured out all before I even touch the keyboard.
 
 To not know where this article is going feels a lot like hopping on an airplane not knowing its destination.  What to pack for the journey?  What will the weather be like?  Do I want sexy shoes or my climbing harness?  Which parts of my self will be expressed? 

Is this a tendency to control outcomes or a natural part of the craft of writing? I suspect it would make me a terrible novelist. I’d have to decide what the ending is before bringing the characters to life. 
This is completely opposite of what I treasure about life – the capacity to be here now and to experience life fully in this single moment - because despite all of my plans and intentions, I don’t know where life will take me.  I find tremendous richness is the spontaneity of life where I am treated to unexpected sensations, aromas, feelings, sights and experiences.  There is a time for planning and delivering on that plan, but there’s also something cherished about living the unplanned life.  Someone wrote that the worst fate that could befall a person would be to arrive at the end of their life and realize they had never experienced living. 

So as I write I wonder about what it is to be in this process of writing rather than thinking abstractly about what the words are building. Rather than wonder about where the words are going I begin to wonder - where are the words coming from?

On one level it’s simple – they come from my intention to sit here and write, to open my stream of consciousness, to let language flow from my fingers. The energy of this isn’t quite like anything else for me - the words move through me at different levels.  I hear the words in my inner voice, they flow as electrical impulses through my efferent nervous system, down to my fingertips, where my fingers stroke the smooth surface of my key board.  Then my eyes see the words on the monitor, and my attention again moves back in to myself to hear what the next words may be.  It’s a fluid wave of electricity.

  Beneath that wave is me – that voice that is coming through – what I’m curious about now is all of the myriad voices that could be present, all of the dimensions of my own self, the passion, the peace, the energies in my body.  From where in my experience of self am I writing?
 Initially it was my good student writing - up early to do my homework assignment… but now I feel like it’s more the voice of my inner life coach - that part of me that is just holding space and very curious about what is present in that space.  What is the texture, the taste?  The viscosity?  I pause to consider the beauty in this space of writing, and my inner voice grows gentle and I smile.

  

Add Comment