Oh how I miss you. Your were my refuge, my safe place. The place where I threw caution to the wind and just let it rip. And then I cheated on you with Facebook and Twitter and, more than ever before, I am worried about who might find what I have to say.
I remember when I started you that that was precisely the point – to take the risk and find my voice and say whatever I needed to say, no matter who was reading. I find it necessary to censor myself in status updates, but I don’t want to carry that energy over here too. I love writing about whatever is on my mind, and boy is there a lot on my mind.
I also know that once again, what I really want to write about has the potential to hurt other people – some I should care about, some I shouldn’t. Not that I shouldn’t care about hurting people, just that if not hurting them is at the expense of not being free to tell my story, I don’t care. Ya dig?
I went to a storytelling workshop a few weeks ago. It was very interesting and, for the first time, I found courage to play around with fiction. I don’t read much fiction, so I’ve never really considered stories from the storyteller’s perspective. I’ve never considered it such a spiritual process as I found it to be, storytelling. The workshop was led by Nancy Mellon and I bought her most recent book Body Eloquence. I’m hoping it will encourage me to tell the story my body holds in whatever way it chooses to come out.
The following weekend, I went to another workshop that connected the somatic experience with writing, rather that allowed the somatic experience to drive the writing. Writing is a core component of my spiritual practice. I never imagined it would go the way it’s headed. But I’m gonna follow my muse where she leads me.
I’ll be back to you real soon. I really miss you.