Exercise #1 – from “What We Ache For: Creativity and the Unfolding of Your Soul” by Oriah Mountain Dreamer
When I write I feel honest.
When I write I see the truth.
When I write I discover myself.
I ache for the feeling of completeness.
When I write I feel connected to my emotional core.
When I write I see the places that I’m afraid to visit.
When I write I discover roads that I didn’t know were there.
I ache for firm footing.
When I write I feel vulnerable.
When I write I see the many layers of life.
When I write I discover newness and oldness holding each other tight.
I ache for loving arms that hold the new and the old in an enduring embrace.
When I write I feel the touch of a larger world.
When I write I see a horizon that is otherwise obscured.
When I write I discover the secret to the maze.
I ache for the belief that all those right turns will truly set me free.
I write because I can, because it is my truth, my touchstone, my attempt to live a life that is not about skimming the surface. I write because I am not content to stay in shallow water, only wading to my knees, feeling the temperature of the water, but nothing more. I write because I am a person who needs a connection, if not with people, then let it be with words. I write because I must, because if I don’t, I cease to be and the world around me becomes small. I never wanted life to be small and limited. I write so that my world can be large and limitless and filled with possibility. I write in order to dive deep, to feel the current, to do something other than tread water.
I don’t know the difference between good and bad.
I don’t know how to deny and turn my back on all the things in between good and bad.
I don’t know if there is such a thing as an unbroken promise.
I can forgive almost anything if it comes from truthful and loving lips.
I can’t forgive the silence that is slipped to me like arsenic, knowing it will cause a quick and certain death.
There are always enough excuses to exonerate the missteps.
There’s never enough courage to say what is true.
I don’t know the place where I am.
I don’t know how to forget.
I don’t know if remembering is a punishment or a gift.
I can forgive the fact that I’ve lost the map, that I’m lousy at orienteering, and that I’ve overshot my destination.
I can’t forgive being abandoned or those who pretend I am strong enough to figure it out alone.
There’s always enough advice.
There’s never enough direction.
© Kelly Tweeddale 2012