- cleaned the bedroom
- started laundry
- and hung out on Facebook
All to put off writing this post. Scared, but nonspecific fear. There’s absolutely nothing to fear because no one even knows about this blog anymore.
I have been practicing Dance of Shiva and writing on my blog keeps coming up. Writing because I have so much happening internally and such a small mouth to express with.
I’m on this side of the movie screen and everybody else is on the other. I’d like to do some controlled merging.
What to do? Well, I can get my whole house organized and sparkly clean for free OR just start writing.
So, here I am at the keyboard typing.
I notice all the updates I need to make to WordPress and widgets and things. I have not maintained the site.
I notice a pattern of silence on my part. I’ve complained about being interrupted and talked over. I feel frustrated and hurt because I want to participate in conversations around me–not always the listener practicing active listening.
People talk to me about their stuff. And, in all fairness, sometimes someone will ask how I’m doing. I roll out that good old conversation killer, “fine.”
Or I go for the truth and search for the words to express the gi-normous shifts in my internal world. By the time I can come up with a sentence that isn’t too heavy for public consumption, the talking stick has moved on.
Possibly, there is a connection between my sense that no one is listening to me and (not) writing in this blog.
I’m denying my own voice, my own expression. And I’m getting a sense of what “you write because you have to,” means.
Writing out loud like this, could save my life.
Or not. I’m not really sure what I hope will happen. I just need to work through the scales on my heart so that I can open in love.
That sounds weird.
Truth is, I was reading old blog posts at The Fluent Self and suddenly felt as though I had permission to write for expression.
- Not in competition.
- Not to earn money.
- Not to inform.
- Not to master.
Writing as therapy.
Writing as beloved friend.
So cool. Thanks, Havi.