october journal, entry {twelve}

Some reflections on writing. 

I remember the spelling wall in grade two; everyone had a paper cowboy boot tacked up on the wall and for each spelling test passed the student would acquire one golden star. Mine was bare for the whole school year -- not one single golden star. I never excelled at writing, I never even liked it fact -- probably becasue I was truly so bad at it -- or so the mainstream school system suggested. That was until my grade 12 social studies diploma when I got an actual 100% on the essay portion; I figured it was a fluke.

Alot of the discovery of my talents has shown up much later in my life. I would have never been able to pin point what I wanted to be when I grew up when I was in grade school. Back then I lacked talents -- or so it seemed to me anyway. I struggled to keep up in class -- even though I tried my hardest and I felt like I had two left feet in dance class -- even though I attempted to give it my all each and every humiliating class. Mostly I just fumbled around trying to gain balance in the internal dark and angry world that I lived in inside of my own psyche.

When I was about 17 or 18 I went to a psychic -- she was the same one who predicted my fathers death -- and she asked me if I ever write; she continued on to tell me that writing would be a way I would channel my Dad's energy or voice. This was the birth place of writing for me and although I have never contacted my Dad -- or any of the dead for that matter -- via my writing, I have continued to be amazed at the therapeutic effects it has on my life.  

Something happens when I write, I'm not sure I will be able to describe it -- but I'll try. 

Writing is a ritual for me; a sacred connection to the deepest parts of my soul. Each and every time I sit down to write I pray to the Universe (to me, that is God and Mother Earth) and ask for guidance.  If it is a piece solely for my own eyes, I pray for the highest good and if it is a piece for the world to see, I pray for the highest good. I always put some from of music on -- usual a fav song that I brutally listen to on repeat! -- and then I start to type. My fingers move fast, emotions flow and I start to uncover bits of information or clarity or words or places that I have never heard of before.... something happens when I write -- it's like it's not me writing, but of course here I am and I can see my own fingers typing. It's a hard thing to describe. 

I know I do not write conventionally nor do I follow any 'writing rules' -- it doesn't matter; this is a sacred process for me and one of the biggest and most profound sources of soul medicine. 

As some of you who read my words frequently know, I have a book that is in the percolating process of birthing and actualizing -- I have more than 200 pages already written -- read to go.  I have a story that I want to share with the world; a story my soul feels the undeniable need to tell. It is one of the most intense stories of my lifetime and the lessons I learned from this story are absolutely sacred to my soul and my wellbeing. The story is dark and really hard to tell -- mostly, it has been unexpectedly hard to face for the intensity of it all surprised me.  I had to put it down back in June because I was sinking into that old dark place and the whole thing was swallowing me -- I had to take a break to heal and gain strength before I go back in to finish. I've asked myself over and over again, WHY?

Why am I revisiting this?

Why do I insist on sharing this story?

Why am I purposefully re-entering such profound darkness?

It feels like a complicated answer but at the end of the day there are two reasons for the publication of my darkest hours. 

One: writing is my medicine -- I write words to heal my heart. Above all this book is for my own healing journey. It is for the healing of my own heart and the forgiveness of all the darkness that happened. It is about showing up and owning my story and grasping it into my arms to say: "I FORGIVE YOU" and "I RELEASE YOU". I feel a deep need to get this story out and then have a giant sacred burning ceremony to release the grasp that it continues to hold over me.

Writing is my medicine and this is my process of release.  

Two: stories heal. I have seen it a million times over -- when we are shattered and broken into a million seemingly never-to-be-put-back-together pieces and we are isolated and alone and gasping for breath while loosing all hope and we share that intensity with another human and they look back at us and say, "me too...." or they say, "I see you and I see your pain and I still love you" -- nothing heals like that. Nothing heals knowing that we are loved even in darkness. Nothing heals like knowing that we are seen and valued and heard and ... not alone. It totally rattles me up to even type that -- I can not help but cry for this is one of the most powerful forces in the world. 

Stories heal; they are the medicine to human connection. 

My story has been left un-touched for a few months while I regained some balance into my heart and a little more strength to re-enter for the final phase of this particular process -- I want to say "for the final phase of forgiveness of this story" but, I know that my brain does not get to dictate to my heart how much time it will take. I have learned that this may take a life time or only a few moments... either way -- it requires the space ad patience it needs to heal. 

And so, I show up and honour self. 

I honour self through the words I write for it is my gift -- I may have discovered this gift late in my life and it may be really unconventional --  but I have no doubt that this is a part of my personal sacred contract to the world -- words are my service to the people. 

Thank You for being here. 

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