Revisions are underway! And a poem

Writing is such an interesting process, for me at least. I hope that something I write will be enjoyable and benefit other people, but first it has huge benefit to me. I continued to be amazed at the things I learn and the ways in which I grow as a person.

Writing this novel last November really taught me to trust matters of the soul. That’s not an easy thing for us humans. There are so many outer things to distract us. So many expectations, so many worries, so much change. We so desperately need to pay attention to the internal things, and yet it seems life makes this more difficult all the time. It’s like the world around us has been systematically designed to distract us, to keep us outward focused, suggesting that peace is just an illusion.

This novel I wrote suggests peace is not an illusion. I find myself working at it day after day, at least a little, sometimes more. Just as the original writing of A Matter of the Soul was something I felt compelled to keep at, so is this next stage where I am making revisions.

At the same time, I have these worrying thoughts in my head that it’s not really a great story and people won’t enjoy it, or it won’t mean to others what it meant to me. I just keep pushing them aside. They’re just thoughts, just worries. I will keep working on it regardless.

As I write this, I’m about halfway through making my first revisions. Then I’ll export it to an electronic device and read it through again myself. Once I’ve fixed anything that stands out to me while I read it, I’ll seek a few readers to help me out. There are always things you can’t see when it’s something you’ve written yourself. I don’t want to seek perfection, but I do want it revised well enough that it’s a pleasant read. I don’t want mistakes or awkward writing to get in the way of the story.

In the meantime, my day job gives me time outside with children. Often, it’s outside, in the presence of trees, where I find inspiration. This week I wrote a poem I’d like to share with you. By way of explanation, Ringo is a dog who lived with us recently and taught me so much. I miss his bodily presence but rejoice in his being-ness.

Right before my eyes
On a cold winter morning
Woodpecker flits
From branch to branch
I glory in the view
Red patch
Loud contrast of black and white
I ponder the food it finds
Completely invisible to me
I rejoice in its liveliness
In its alive-ness
I smile
I grin, ear to ear

It’s the soul of the universe
Manifest in this little creature
Manifest
In the bumblebee I watched
Hovering over tiny flowers
In the cut grass
As I sat alone
Bereft of Ringo’s bodily presence
Manifest in every dog
In every creature

The soul of the universe
In Ringo
In you
In I
Connecting us all

"A Matter of the Soul" -- Draft complete!

Another November has passed, and the busy-ness of “Christmas” is now on its way out. I’d like to reflect upon my Nov 2019 writing, to share some of the process.

My last post was written on the first day of November, before I started my novel. It was an unusual post for me, written quickly without much thought or revision. Once I’d written it, thinking it was just for me, to get me started, I realized it needed to be shared, so into my blog it went.

November is a special month for me, because it’s the one month of the year I give myself permission to put writing ahead of anything I’m able to set aside. That keeps me focused on writing, and pretty eager the whole month through.

This past November was different. It was, like the title of the story I was writing, a matter of the Soul. I felt this strong urge to get the story written, and a sense that the story came from deep inside me, not a product of my mind's imagination. It reminded me of what I’ve read about some painters: they are driven to keep working at a particular project and they need to keep at it until it is done.

But unlike painting, writing requires a person to get very involved with words and thoughts. And, for me, life still had to go on as usual. My job requires my full presence. Our family needed to eat and have clean clothes and such. So it was necessary for me to ensure that I stopped to breathe deep and centre myself. I often found myself repeating the reminder, “it’s a matter of the soul.”

I started writing on the first day of November, without a distinct plan other than a sense of what I needed to accomplish with the story. About mid-way I stopped paying attention to my word count. I had already told myself it didn’t matter what the numbers were, but still, it was getting in the way. My goal was to write a story, not to reach the 50,000 word goal that is built into the NaNoWriMo system. It helped to ignore the count of words. I kept writing, and when I worried about getting done or where the end of the story would be, I reminded myself that the story was coming from within and it would happen as it needed to. The story was finished on the last day of November!

During December I set the story aside, although I kept feeling it calling me back. I have work to do before I can share the story. At the end of December I took a quick look at the first scene, ready to start the process. I realized, as is true of every novel, that the beginning needs to be revised. But what I really need to do first is read through the entire story. I need to let it settle back into me, but now with some of the distance of being the reader and not just the writer immersed in the creative process.

I have written every November for the last eleven years. In that time, I have written novels, short stories, and poems. Some of them have been shared with a few people, but other than the poems I have posted here on my blog, nothing has been published, either formally or informally. I have the sense that everything I’ve written so far has been a part of the process for preparing me for this story. This story will be finished and shared, for any who wish to read it.

NaNoWriMo 2019

So many ideas, none of them a story. A childhood without a muse, without fantasy, stuck in boxes, hidden deep, knowing only what is outside. Years later, learning to be, to dream, to sense, to be truly alive. So much to unlearn. So much seeking. So much change.

And now, embarking on the hidden novel. The novel that will be formed from my thoughts and feelings and sensings and dreamings. From my musings. A novel that will come from within. Not from the recesses of my mind, where forgotten details lie. It will come from within my soul. From the womb where the little girl hid her fantasy doll. From the deeper womb where the little boy hid his entire self. It will be born of magic, magic of the soul, of the universe. It will be born of great things, greater than I can comprehend. Greater than any mere human can comprehend. For we are so limited.

I sit here, not believing I just wrote about greatness. I’m just me, little old me.

But, from Jan’s post:

I claim this!

I have all the power within me. And I intend to do all I can to access that power, to let it be the driving force in this novel. My mind is the supporter. My fingers that type, my eyes that see the words pop onto the screen, my ears that listen to Loreena McKennitt, they serve my Soul.

My Soul. Our Soul. The heartbeat of the universe.

My poem from last November:

Breathe
Deep
Slow
Let your diaphragm move down
To your stomach
Down to your intestines
Stop and listen

Feel the stillness
Of that place
It is the stillness
Of a wise old tree
It is the vastness
Of the universe
It is the limitless space
Of your heart
It is the Soul of you
Inseparable from the Soul
Of all

Breathe
Out
Slowly
Release your breath
As your diaphragm moves up

You cannot keep
All
That vastness
That stillness
The Soul
To yourself

Breathe again
Whatever you take in with your breath
Discomfort
Your pain
Others’ pain
Anxiety
Is being transformed

Breathe deep
Again and again
Into your Soul
Allow yourself to be transformed

Release yourself
From the collective conscious
That puts human intellect
At the centre of everything

There is no centre
There is the heart of the universe
The Soul of all
In which you are
I am


Amen.

Metamorphosis

We live in a world full of rules. Most of them are unspoken, unnoticed. Women always shave their legs.  The economy always grows. Children must be in school in order to learn. Dying is to be avoided at all costs. White people are first. Getting things right must come before connecting with people. It’s not proper to think of pets as having as much value as humans. The list is endless.

We are all expected to keep order, to follow expectations. We’ve learned to feel very uncomfortable if we don’t. We just assume it’s imperative that we “fit in”. So we go about our lives doing our best to make everything okay.

And then suddenly, despite our attempt at being orderly, something forces a change in our lives. And we never seem to be ready for it. Even when change upon change happens, we continue to be surprised. We grit our teeth, figure we’ll endure it, get through it somehow.

In this we can learn from children, the very young ones who have not yet been impacted by the world of rules. They build and break, build and break. They live in the moment, with no need to preserve their creation, to make it permanent.

A few years ago I witnessed this and in that very moment wrote a poem:

Towers at Two

Higher, higher, higher
Reach up, build the tower
Tumble it down
Make it again

Higher, higher, higher
Smiles grow bigger
Tumble it down
Big wide mouth smiles

Higher, higher, higher
Working together
Tumble it down
Make it, make it.

Granted, if we tumbled down all our buildings we would have no shelter. So of necessity we learn about permanence. But most of us have lost the ability to flow with things, to enjoy the very moment of putting one block on top of another.

I’m reminded of the Tibetan monks who painstakingly made a mandala with coloured sand, only to wipe it away when they were done. If you’re not expecting it, the act of wiping it away can seem quite shocking! Perhaps it’s a worthwhile thing to practice, intentionally changing something, intentionally breaking a rule that wasn’t really that important after all.

We live in a time that makes us all stop and wonder at it. The rich get richer while the number of poor people increases. More and more throughout the world, the people in power show no care for the earth or its creatures and instead cause harm. No matter how much we as individuals want to make things better for the planet, the situation keeps getting worse. There is so much that makes no sense to us.

We’ve tried. In so many ways, we’ve tried to make everything right. Surely if we just want the best and work for the best, won’t it all work out? We’ve followed the rules and we’ve tried so hard.

Metamorphosis

Get ready for the change

A caterpillar does not know
It will become a fluttering butterfly

Yet it trusts the process
Spins its cocoon
Leaves the world it knows
To awaken with a new consciousness

Does the soaring butterfly remember
It once crawled along a leaf
Munching its way
In slow, small steps?

Perhaps not
It trusts the process
That brought it into the skies
On thin-scaled wings
That leave the heavier
Duller
Self-conscious humans
Gazing in admiration

The caterpillar
Crawling along the plant
Did not envy the soaring butterfly

It is the speaking
Thinking
Creating
Humans
Who long to soar with the butterfly
Yet fear their own transformation
Hide from death
Grit their teeth
Against change

Be still and know
Human intelligence
Does not exempt you
Be willing to change
Trust the process
That lies within
Metamorphosis

Window to My Love

Most of my posts in this blog have been about my writing projects. But I am more than a writer, and I think it’s time to open the window to my soul a little wider.

This past weekend my spouse and I celebrated our 30th anniversary, counting from the time we first committed to love each other forever. It was a wonderful celebration with a short service that could be considered a renewal of our vows.

There were some who were invited and could not attend. There were many we wanted to invite but were limited by the resources we had. It is especially for you that I share here the poem that I read.

To My Love

I loved you, my friend
From the beginning
When our lives were separate
And we just talked

I admired you
Sensed your compassion
And integrity
Wanted to know you better

We shared a home
Shared laughter and tears
Never had I cared
So much

No one ever mattered
Like you did
You put your hand in mine
And touched my soul

Our sharing and caring
Became a lover’s love
Something so unexpected
And so wonderful

We couldn’t deny our love
It just didn’t fit
In the closet of bad things
Of harmful and hurtful things

So we made a special closet
To hide our love
We were lovers in the closet
And friends outside

The closet was stuffy
Lonely and shameful
We could hardly breathe
Leaving was scary

When we came up for air
Soaking in the sunshine
Rooted in love
We grew stronger

We lost some things
When we left the closet
But now we are richer
Than ever before

Twenty-three years ago
We stood proud and tall
Shared our vows
Rejoiced in our love

Love, a thing of the soul
Transcends time and space
Transforms words and actions
Informs and inspires us

Today we celebrate
And re-affirm
The love we’ve known
More than thirty years

My friend, my lover
Through the end
We’ll talk, we’ll laugh, we’ll cry
Connected, you and I