Hiding as usual

I have been pep talking myself all morning. I need to do the rough draft, no matter how bad it will be. But I keep dodging, and finding cover. Four books, sit beside me on the floor, each designed, to motivate in a different way. But whatever they make me feel, that aren't a passage-way into the story.

I just finished, one of those, if you could do anything and not fail, question essay things. Over the years, my answer is always the same, which I guess is good, I feel deju ve (sp?) (oh, dejavu) while writing out my responses. I wonder, where is the action which should come with this insight? The point of knowing, is to be doing.

In these responses-
I am always someplace warm (I am cold right now), I can see the ocean from my window, the flowers in my yard. (girl no time, you just wrote the whole thing elsewhere, paraphrase). Anyway, writer, it is always writer. I paint too, that is always there too, but the writing is the title, the definition, where the meaning of me, comes from.

The thing that did surprise me this time, was that, as it said to list many things, that you would do, if you could not fail at them, I found, I wrote, fall in love. If I could do that and not fail, which in my mind, means be successful at it, which means he would fall in love with me too, and it would be a sustaining sort of feeling, then that is something I would do. Strange that it is something I have never done, not even unsuccessfully, it would be easy for me to imagine myself falling in love with someone who didn't love me, but I haven't even done that. My husband thinks I am damaged, broken, unable to feel certain things. I don't know. I really don't. I guess part of me, must believe that, otherwise I would have made different choices. Of course then again, there is more to it, it isn't just, whether or not I am able to. I usually choose to believe that I would probably be able to, but that I have chosen not to.

I am not one to take risks. (the risks I have managed to take, have merely been the result of not paying enough attention, not realizing I was taking them, or have been the sort that go along with breathing, and therefore are fairly impossible to avoid. There are also those risks which one can avoid but only with a great deal of aggravation, and thought, I don't usually bother with avoiding those, that is just too much work. ). My point, since as usual I went on and on for no apparent reason, ..I am not one for taking risks. Not for dreams coming true, certainly not in romance, but (what drives me crazy is) not even for writing. Not even alone on paper. It is hard for me to take risks; but what would I be risking there, a paper cut? And on the computer, less risk than that even. Maybe just that I would be wasting my time (feel foolish). But I do plenty of that anyway, so, so what. No, I say to myself, the risk is far greater than that, and you know it. The risk is the death of the dream. The realization of emptiness (of being empty), or of being filled with crud instead of beauty. Of not being able to pretend anymore, and being left alone, inside with feelings of, I am no more than I am now, I will never be more, there is nothing great inside me (there is no, could be), nothing of value to add, no gift to give, nothing to unfold, to discover, to unearth, all is what is already there on the surface. I must need to feel more, to believe in more, so I pretend there is more. But what if, when I search and dig, nothing of value is found? What will I do, if that is true? To unlock so many doors, to work out so many barriers, crawl through such a labyrinth, over and under, till I get through, to the heart, to my core, and only then to see, I wasn't protecting something delicate, and special, sheilding out the world. I was instead hiding my own barreness from my eyes. (stark, bleak, wasteland, empty). I don't want to peer into such darkness, such a void, and call it my center, the substance of my being. It is one thing, to go through life with, could have been, but was a big chicken, and quite another to go through it with, had nothing of value to offer.

Silly. Then I say to myself. You may very well be a sucky writer, but you know very well that you are not filled with emptiness, or even sucky things (well maybe some sucky things. But isn't everyone?). You may never be able to share the good things, to recreate them in such a way that others can feel them, but they do come, you feel them, you know them, know they are there (and there are scenes and lines, which mean a lot to you. Ones you consider gifts, presents, whispered in your ear. Don't deny that). . Yes, there is murkiness, and some muckiness, in trying to take an idea, from the realm of spirit, and make it corporeal. But it is certainly worth trying. And when you get over, all your stupid fears, you like trying. Like trying to catch a butterfly, that isn't really even there, till you do catch it. You are the only one who can see it flying around now, but as soon as you net it, it becomes something visible, and anyone who looks, can see it. Then you let go of it again.

and anyway, maybe that is the point, to go through the barriers, unlock the doors, figure out the labyrinth, open the door of center, look in, and deal with it, whatever it is, and whatever it isn't, maybe that is the reason why, you feel the call to do this, the struggle to try and write at all, maybe it is so you will take up this quest. And find/face, the heart of the dragon, the dragon at heart. (whatever be its form or feeling). Are you afraid to look at me? To confront me? To deal with me? You'll never be able to come up with a workable life plan, and a strategy to create a life you want to live, if you are always hiding from me. (you will forever muddle about, and feel frustrated). You can hide from the world, I will always let you do that, but not from me, I wont let you hide from yourself.

Don't worry about not being of much value to the world, there are many ways a person can be, and there will always be ways for you to contribute, you don't have to worry about not being smart enough in that regard, you couldn't be of zero value, if your intention was to be of use, of service. (Yes, you would like to have a talent, a special gift to offer, but lack of that, doesn't mean lack of value. It just means that specific area isn't your way to give, there will be other ways).

You are still sitting here!! WTF for? For goodness sake, don't be so idiotic. Ugh! We only have 1 hour left. No, you aren't hungry! No, you can't exercise till after you have done some "real" work. Okay, I'll let you, just do the master copy thing, were you go over what you already have written (safe, easy), and weave it together, straight through, beginning to end, holes and all. I'll let you listen to your ipod, and wear the peppermint chapstick (special just for writing), (it is in the studio, just like all your papers, and boards, go to them). Go.

I live in the words

You will find me there

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