Chasing Stillness

In the night I woke with the anguish of feeling creatively stifled, despairing that I will never be able to write with the kind of flow and artistry my most admired writers do. I loved Louise Dupré’s prose in her short story collection High-wire Summer, and I think, why can’t I write from that low in the belly? Somehow, in my own estimation, I always fall short of that. And even though I felt the truth of what so many people have said, that art is given to us from out there, that we do not ever create alone, but are at best co-creators, I have not really felt anything come through me, try as I may, to be a clear channel for divine inspiration. Lying in the dark, in that half-way place, I was able to poke a little deeper, brush aside some of the stuff that obscured, and saw that there is only one thing I need. Stillness.

Stillness. That which cannot be grasped, because as soon as I reached for it, it is gone. It cannot be had or gotten, it can only be. This much I know, from all the trying and chasing I’ve done. My heart cried out then, why can’t I be still? Surprisingly, an answer came. I saw the black void inside my belly, pulsing and expanding. My bottomless pit of greed, lust, and gluttony, an insatiable hunger that drives me to throw one thing after another into it, all day long. And still, it’s not enough, and will never be enough. This I know too. I dared myself to look into the pit but could not ‘see’ anything in it. It was just one vast black emptiness. Then it hit me. That’s exactly what it is, an empty illusion. It is not real! It only came into ‘existence’ in my mind because I was told and taught I needed all these things to be somebody, to feel worthy, to earn points in life. The biggest lie is that if I don’t keep feeding it with those things, it will devour me instead. This alone has kept all of us shoveling, all the days of our lives.

I want the veil to be torn off this vicious hell of an existence now. I want to wake up to real living and real being.

Last night before bed I lit the red candle on my altar to greet my ancestors, to say I remember you. My eyes landed on the little feather Michael gave me, so I picked it up and brushed myself down, asking my ancestors to lift all that was not good for me. This morning I woke up thinking of returning some of the staggering amount of library books I’ve amassed, and there wasn’t much of the usual achy reluctance I would get when I’ve had to force this task on myself. So I thank you, my ancestors and helping spirits, for this gift of deep insight and healing, with all of my heart.

I feel a big, across the board, top to bottom, inside out cleanse coming on… starting with the library books…