A friend suggested this and it was worth the 20 minutes. I was struck by the similarities to my own process. I’ve just gone about it in another way. She is a researcher of Shame and Intimacy. She spent years knowing “about” the process as a way to objectify and control her own insecurities but finally discovered the key. She is funny and smart.
Freedom
The Sower
StandardThe seeds are sown and await the judgement of circumstance
The soil, the birds, the weeds will all have a say
The weather will be what it will
The sower sows the seeds but the Creator makes them grow
It is out of his hands now
Words, his seeds were sown into new and unknown soil
There are no guarantees, the seed must die, no strings attached
The illusions of yesterday and tomorrow call like Sirens toward the rocks of stagnation
Don’t become stranded there perishing, thinking, wishing, wasting
Action, risk, Being is required
To utterly fail is a success and is no shame, it is shame’s illusion that binds and enchants and seduces calling the soul towards slumber
Cast into Now, that space between the ticks of time, let go, no clinging
Risk the loss of a seed in hand for a hundredfold return
Open the hand to give, empty it of the old so there is space for the new
A new garden is needed, the old no longer sustains
It has become dry, worn, and overused
Take the best seeds and cast them into the unknown
Do not shrink or draw back in the face of it
Speak your words boldly, sow them with generosity and care
Fret not about the ones which do not sprout, let them go
Look only for the ones which do, attend and care for those
Waste not yourself on what is Not
In the end your task is only to sow
Intention and creativity are yours
It’s the Creator’s grace though that shapes what will be, in accordance with the true desires of your heart
And remember that even the seeds are not your own, they are gifts too, why would you horde what was intended to be given away
Stir up those gifts, bring them into the light, sow them freely
Give them away so that you may receive back the bounty of the One who is the giver of the seeds
Bare Feet Running – Missing Her (Audio)
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Boy, shirtless, bare feet accustomed to the earth, shaggy chocolate locks lightened by the sun
Favorite ragged cut-offs tentatively hang on narrow hips
The slap, slap, slap of his stride down a well packed earthen path
Something slows and stirs and calls him to leave that way
He lay in a field of deep spring grasses
The warm earth held him, he made a bed between the sharp stiff stems and the soft grasses beneath
The buzz of insects, the call of birds, cow mooing in the distance
Grass and flower and Oak and cattle hung warmly over that place, moved about by the wind
No one had suggested it, there was no Youtube then teaching Westerners to breathe
Perhaps it was the connection of his bare feet to the soil and Her children
Perhaps it was the warmth and the buzz and the fragrance and the light and the tastes on the wind that called to him
His senses connected with the earth created a space there under the wide sky
He breathed in and out without thinking, without knowing that he matched the rhythms of Her
He felt Her pushing back holding him aloft as he lay still as a heavy and ancient stone
His mind began to sleep as his awareness awakened
Gazing deeply into the worlds that exist only in the white shifting shapes above him
He thought things that could not fit or be contained in a word
He thought, he felt, he knew without effort, it just was
He felt connected to Her in a real and material way, the boy was still, yet aware that he moved
She moved, the Earth turned and he turned with Her
He lay there out of time, floating, spinning, senses outgrown by the depth of him
Then, another call like a voice through water claimed his attention
The spinning slowed, the heaviness of him lightened, he remembered the warmth and the buzz and the fragrance and the light
Soon the slap, slap, slap of his bare feet on the hard packed dirt, all he thought was “That was so cool.” . . . bare feet running
He grinned and continued on his way thinking to return there someday.
He just remembered, feet no longer running
Perhaps I should
Perhaps I should have long ago
The Second Half (Audio)
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I have skills
I have intelligence
I have proven courage
I am creative and imaginative
I have an easy way with people
I am moderately attractive
I am strong in action
I have access to resources
I am healthy
I have led
I have followed
I am experienced
Yet I sit
I am not lazy
I am accustomed to work
But now even marking white screen with black symbols is an effort
To what end
An act of faith, or a shot in the dark
I have
I have
I am
I am
Yet it all seems a mask, paper mache
Wire, paper, glue and hollow inside
Or perhaps a game played but no longer interesting
I seek a calling
A reason
A vision to manifest
A vocation to which I will submit the second half
A new reality on which to focus what I have and who I am
That I may be remade, renewed, restored, and redeemed
I want to be alive before I die
In submission to the true calling of my Soul
I will find my freedom
Drifting – Twilight – Spirit – Calensariel (Audio)
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Drifting, the current carries me
No oar, no rudder
Surrendered to the flow
Destination lies over the horizon
Rest now, adventure awaits
Twilight, time between times
Sacred space
Stillness, surrender to the muted light
Listen, Wisdom whispers
Sophia is your lover
Spirit, link between
Flesh and intellect
Feeling, sensing, knowing
Interpreting groanings too deep for words
Time for speech is approaching