My Daily Bread

Writing is an unfolding of what's going on inside me as I talk 
to myself on a pad of paper or a computer.
~Parker J. Palmer

For the first time in so long creativity is flowing out of me. Even more, many mornings I do indeed~ miraculously~wake up eager to get up and see what wants to be created. (On the other hand, sometimes I lay awake in the middle of the night wondering the same thing!) Even more, I am so in awe as new and completely unexpected things are showing up, taking my photos in fresh, long yearned for directions, and sky rocketing me out of the creative rut I've been in for so long.

It either happened by itself (which a former long-time spiritual teacher insists is true in all happenings, even if it seems as though we made it happen), or, it's a combination of intention, work, and possibly most importantly, stopping my compulsive consumption of hours and hours of political podcasts daily, a habit that developed since Trump became president. The thinking was that when there's a monster in the house, for peace of mind, it's good to know at all times where it is and what's it's up to. But what tracking the monster actually did over time was rob me of my precious time, precious life energy, and keep me every single day on the cusp of hopelessness and despair, many days, especially lately as the news keeps getting more and more dire, falling over into the dark abyss.

But while photo after photo is birthed, I can't seem to write. After a conversation yesterday, I'm seeing that even though I've given up podcasts, to make the art I make, I'm either on my laptop or my phone~and often moving at a fast pace between the two~which means that my device time has actually grown, and by a lot. It's well known that the internet and time on our devices wears new pathways in our brains. We become less able to focus and imagine and dive deep, less willing and able to just be, which is vital for the creative juices to ferment. And, those little red icon notifications on the social media platforms (I'm using Instagram for my photos) have been shown to provide dopamine hits to the brain. It's well calculated and works like a charm, like the lab rats to the sugar, we can't help coming back for more.

If creating photos is my joy, writing is my daily bread. As opposed to taking and editing photos, to write, I need access to deeper parts of myself, the river that runs at the core of my being. The quiet place that is home. The space where the mystery lives. The deep well where I find my most true self and also, what is real, what is most alive.

Right now I am submerged in the healing work of trauma, and some days it feels as though my entire world is shaking itself apart. One thing after another emerges, I never know when or why or what, or whether my four-year-old, my eight-year-old, my twelve-year old, or my adult self will show up longing to be seen and acknowledged and loved. It feels chaotic and I often feel powerless, survival itself feels threatened, and the fight or flight response is activated. All which make it harder than ever to remain present and simply be, near impossible to actually do the things that I know can always help me find true home again, and can help to fill the depleted well.

After a few days when they were quieter than I'm used to, the birds have been singing this morning. Right outside my window one seems most insistently trying to get my attention, and the moment he gets it and I start to write about him, he moves on. Creating again has made the daily despair but a distant memory. I cannot be more excited about all that I am learning and exploring creatively. It all feels gentle and soothing and healing; inspiring, invigorating, jubilant.

And also, I have to take care. I've seen how the compulsiveness in me, the need to distract from the pain and sorrow and uncertainty, can take something like this and run with it into unconsciousness. I feel it as it's happening. I feel the urge to pause mid sentence as I'm writing to check for those inane red icons (does anyone like me?!), to pull out my phone in the middle of a conversation, to mindlessly work on a photo while waiting to be called into the dentist (maybe actually not a bad thing given my anxiety about the dentist). And daily I sit down to write and find emptiness.