I write in order to connect with the deeper parts of me that otherwise might remain hidden from view; even from myself. It is a powerful yet gentle way in which I give myself the precious gift of time to truly listen to me. The voice that reveals itself in the special space of silence and solitude that I award myself on a regular basis. My heart and soul rejoices when I do this, weeps when I do not. Sometimes it is for release and healing, other times, for dissection and exploration.
I connect with memories, thoughts, feelings and emotions, allowing myself to unite with each and every one as they arise from the depths of the well, which is me.
When I write in my journals, I can immerse myself in the fathomless depths of the pages that open up before me. A landscape that is waiting to be painted, but pens and words are my brushes and pictures. I began with a blank book, now I am actively filling that tome with my voice. It liberates me as no one else will see my journals; I write for my own eyes only so I have the freedom and gift to be completely honest.
Then I also write because I want to be published. And in doing so, I will leave a part of my heart and soul here on the earth plain, for the rest of the world to engage with. I will achieve immortality through my words and musings, my many writing voices that have evolved, spiralling sentences that weave in and out of the many pages. Writing liberates and validates me.
It has allowed me to safely analyse and work with my shadow side and give her expression. I sometimes release my ‘inner bitch’ and she enunciates that which dare not speak its name in real life. My pen transmutes into a rapier sword, cutting into the heart of the villain, releasing the protagonist from her shackles.
But not all of my writing is like this. Some of my short stories are ‘medicine stories’, sacred offerings to others on the altar of life’s tumultuous journey through the landscape of the soul. They become a balm for the soul; both my soul and I hope for other souls too.
They offer hope; the hope that others too can survive life events that threaten to overwhelm the individual and leave them with a detailed map of how to negotiate their way through the labyrinth, avoiding the Minotaur that lurks at the dark and murky centre. A signpost that can and will direct the wandering seeker towards the promised land of inner strength and deep knowing that they too, can survive. And will survive. The sun will shine again and the sky will be blue and cloudless, if we just give ourselves the gift of time to stop and be who we truly are.
Some stories are a celebration of rites of passage, especially the latter rites of passage that takes us women into the crone phase of our lives. It is not something to be feared, even in a western society that values youth, appearance and materialism above experience and wisdom.
My writing says ‘Be who you are and glorify that. For you are unique and show yourself to the world, unashamedly.’ Celebrate your power and uniqueness, be the Mad Woman who dances on the moors, and join me in my flowing skirts and dance!
This is a piece that I was invited to write as a 'guest blog', and will be published shortly.
I connect with memories, thoughts, feelings and emotions, allowing myself to unite with each and every one as they arise from the depths of the well, which is me.
When I write in my journals, I can immerse myself in the fathomless depths of the pages that open up before me. A landscape that is waiting to be painted, but pens and words are my brushes and pictures. I began with a blank book, now I am actively filling that tome with my voice. It liberates me as no one else will see my journals; I write for my own eyes only so I have the freedom and gift to be completely honest.
Then I also write because I want to be published. And in doing so, I will leave a part of my heart and soul here on the earth plain, for the rest of the world to engage with. I will achieve immortality through my words and musings, my many writing voices that have evolved, spiralling sentences that weave in and out of the many pages. Writing liberates and validates me.
It has allowed me to safely analyse and work with my shadow side and give her expression. I sometimes release my ‘inner bitch’ and she enunciates that which dare not speak its name in real life. My pen transmutes into a rapier sword, cutting into the heart of the villain, releasing the protagonist from her shackles.
But not all of my writing is like this. Some of my short stories are ‘medicine stories’, sacred offerings to others on the altar of life’s tumultuous journey through the landscape of the soul. They become a balm for the soul; both my soul and I hope for other souls too.
They offer hope; the hope that others too can survive life events that threaten to overwhelm the individual and leave them with a detailed map of how to negotiate their way through the labyrinth, avoiding the Minotaur that lurks at the dark and murky centre. A signpost that can and will direct the wandering seeker towards the promised land of inner strength and deep knowing that they too, can survive. And will survive. The sun will shine again and the sky will be blue and cloudless, if we just give ourselves the gift of time to stop and be who we truly are.
Some stories are a celebration of rites of passage, especially the latter rites of passage that takes us women into the crone phase of our lives. It is not something to be feared, even in a western society that values youth, appearance and materialism above experience and wisdom.
My writing says ‘Be who you are and glorify that. For you are unique and show yourself to the world, unashamedly.’ Celebrate your power and uniqueness, be the Mad Woman who dances on the moors, and join me in my flowing skirts and dance!
This is a piece that I was invited to write as a 'guest blog', and will be published shortly.
RSS Feed
