Showing Up

Field of Seven Houses

This morning I made it to the writing desk by 7:30. I sat. I wrote a vision statement for the year. Then I dabbled out a circle of affirmations and intentions. I sat some more. Watched the field and the rain and the cat. I felt listless and a little put off that there were no fireworks in my writing at sunrise. Only gray.

I left the cabin after two hours of sitting and listing, mostly drifting inside. Personal clarifications came out of the pen and onto the paper. But nothing appeared that seemed worthy of this online journal. I traipsed out to the barn and began to shuffle through a reckless pile of scrap and beams and insulation. I addressed clutter that had languished for eighteen months. As the dust was swept and the shelves set up I began to sing a little. I felt my body dancing with the pleasure of working and sweating. By dinner time the floor was clean and the wood neatly stacked.

Now it is late night. And I have a better view of what the writing process is for me. The creative process is not served well by forcing a product to come forward. Many times just the act of showing up brings clarity. Perhaps the true face of writing is not bound up in the screen or the text. My day of writing was spent clearing out old scrap, then seeing the potential in the raw material I'd organized. And I found a touch of joy by surprise.

I walked out into the pitch dark of drizzle at 9 PM. I was so quiet in my steps that I could hear the creek moving through the forest far below me. I could feel the silent wings of my breath moving in and out. The vision statement I wrote this morning became a heart connection with this land and with my day.

The soul of the few words I'd written this morning became me.

Became Me? What does that mean? It doesn't matter if I can express it clearly. I found a better clarity. I hope that sweeter vision seeps out onto the keyboard as I write to you over the next few months. I hope that the colors of the field ride onto the computer screen, even in the dark drizzle of a winter night.

The simple gift that comes with creating is the act and the process of the creation. Not a product or recognition. My insight is to not expect poetic wit and passion in the words. Just show up. See what happens. And even love what is born in a simple act, even if that means cleaning out cluttered barn.

RSS

(c) Richard Sievers, January 2010, All Rights Reserved