Natalie Goldberg--the writing life

Every time I pick up one of Natalie Goldberg’s books and read a page or two, I’m inspired. Mexican Hat--Las Vegas NWR, Las Vegas, NM

I had the pleasure of experiencing four days of study with Natalie Goldberg and Sean Murphy, along with ten other participants. In the whole of that time we devoted ourselves to quieting our minds; and we wrote, and we read aloud, and then we wrote some more.

I had already read three of Goldberg's books prior to this experience but there are more—eleven altogether. If you are a writer or if you are interested in discovering more about who you are, her books are a dream to read, short chapters, gritty, inspiring.

I opened Wild Mind, Living the Writer’s Life this morning and read: “Writing is the act of discovery. If I knew everything ahead of time, why bother writing?”

And that's exactly it. Not knowing is so key to writing and to life. If we knew how to do everything, why bother? So go all out and make mistakes. Try something new and unfamiliar. Discover who you are and what matters. And write. There’s a whole wide world out there to be discovered --both inside and out.

The Silence

Clearly the most profound experience of my stay at Rose Mountain was our teachers, what they taught us about writing (and about living). Both Natalie Goldberg and Sean Murphy are talented and powerful mentors. I am fortunate to have experienced their wisdom and that it lives on in my mind, my practice and in their books. But I have wondered what aspect of this experience made it so difficult to re-engage when I returned home, so much so, that it took a full two weeks before I could feel my feet firmly replanted in everyday life again. I have concluded it was the silence. The silence of the mountain, the silence we observed just after meeting each other--thirteen of us inclusive of teachers, the silence of meditation, of walking, of writing and of listening. There was nothing superficial, shallow or pretentious to occupy our minds. Everything around us was real and pure, the air we breathed through our nose, the earth squarely solid beneath our feet, the whisper of the wind in the pines. There was nothing in the way of our opening up.
Without everyday distractions and demands to hold you to the surface, as your pen moves across the paper, what bubbles up is what matters. And what matters comes from a deeper place. And when you go deep you heal and become open to who you are.
As we read what we had written aloud to each other, this bubbling up was honored with silence, reverent, affirming silence. No reassurances bombarded you. There were no attempts to repair your composure or make your voice go away. No criticism or ‘fix it’ responses, no rushing in to make you feel better. There was only listening and silence. And how does this feel? Uncertain at first. It’s unfamiliar. But what follows is a very settling and strengthened certainty that you have honored who you are. You have listened deeply and heard what you had to say and in the midst of that profound silence, you know that is all that really matters.

The challenge then becomes, how do you hold on to that when you return? How do you incorporate that into your everyday life despite all the surface clamoring? The answer is, you practice.

Cordilleran flycatcher—the one note songster

Each morning as we ate our breakfast, meditated, walked and wrote,
a small olive brown flycatcher with a promient oval eye ring, perched outside the meditation hall and persistently rang out a one-note version of his song, 'tweep'.

I found him on a perch in this same area each morning, which was also the scene we looked out upon as we walked in meditation around the deck. This was a meditative writing workshop, a sit, walk, write workshop with Natalie Goldberg and Sean Murphy at Rose Mountain retreat near the Santa Fe National Forest in the Pecos wilderness of New Mexico. The photo below shows the deck where we most often walked. We take our feet for granted. At least, I have. Our feet ground us and balance us and they feel. I am not a barefoot person in general, but this slow walking, this meditative way of experiencing the moment in movement, grounded me in my feet. I felt the cold puddles of water after the rain, the firm cracked surface of the boards, the forgiving lump of a tiny pine cone, the uneven board edges that moved, the nails that my feet rolled over without injury. This walking grounded us to the earth and back into our senses after our minds had been quieted through sitting mediation. Aware walking--one of many profound experiences.

There is more to a flycatcher's song than just one little note but this was the note he repeated over and over again, spaced out and persistent. You can hear it with less pause beween notes at the end of Cornell’s recording of the Cordilleran flycatcher. Bird identification for some species is complicated, especially from a distance. It is the song and the location of the bird that often settles the matter. In the case of the western flycatcher, the species has been divided into two kinds according to breeding location and feather details that can’t be seen casually. And so, I will offer this identification as my best guess.

Our little flycatcher friend was all fluffed up the morning of these photos because we had thunderstorms and rain during the night and the morning air was brisk. In fact, we were all fluffed up a bit.

Kindness

“The most difficult times for many of us are the ones we give ourselves. Yet it’s never too late or too early to practice loving-kindness.”—Pema ChodronAmazingly, this is one of the hardest things to teach and to learn—kindness to ourselves. Kindness is not the same as self-indulgence or determination. It is the act of treating ourselves in kind ways, with kind thoughts and kind words no matter what mistakes we make or what fears we face. It is not self-improvement or self-image. It is relationship. It is the ability to value intent and to regard with understanding. And it’s the ability to try again when something is important and approach it with encouragement.

Harshness cultivates harshness. Kindness cultivates kindness. Be kind in all your relationships. Be kind to the chair, to the car, to the lamp, to the door knob. Be kind to the earth, the wind, the butterfly, the sky. Cultivate kindness in all that you do—and kindness will become you.

Tiger Swallowtail--I loved the way she dove into that blossom.

Witch Hobble and Practice

“Don’t be afraid to answer the questions. You will find endless resources inside yourself....Even if you are not sure of something, express it as though you know yourself. With this practice you eventually will.”
--Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down the Bones Witch Hobble is a common name for this variety of viburnum, a native shrub that grows mostly in the northeast but extends as far south as east Tennessee. Each intriguing blossom is like a factory producing a whole village of tiny flowerettes, all of which, are encircled by graceful, snowy white petals. Witch Hobble? Don't you just wonder about the story behind this name?

Your Best Friend

Of writing, Natalie Goldberg says, “…it is your friend. It will never desert you, though you may desert it many times. The writing process is a constant source of life and vitality…. it offers me a chance to touch my life which always softens me and allows me to feel connected with myself again.”

I sometimes suggest writing as a way of sorting things out, gaining insights and restoring calm. Recently, a young woman brought me a page she had written. She had written it in a moment of feeling overwhelmed. She handed the page to me with embarrassment, saying, “this isn’t my best work,” and yet, I think it may have been just that, her best work. It was spontaneous, pure, open. In less than a page of words, she had expressed her fears, corrected the false assumptions that fueled them and restored calm. And that is beautiful. That is your best friend speaking to you from within.

Practice Finding Your Voice

Natalie Goldberg’s, Writing Down the Bones, is one of my favorite books. I keep it on my bedside table so I can open it whenever I want and read a few pages. Not only is it full of two-page gems about writing practice, each lesson also speaks volumes about living life.

Last night I opened the book to the section entitled, “Make statements and Answer Questions.” In this section she brings to light a study that shows that women and minorities often use qualifiers in their statements, words that ask for reinforcement and encouragement, rather than using a clear and affirming voice. She writes: “After I read the article, I went home and looked at a poem I had just written. I made myself take out all vague, indefinite words and phrases. It felt as though I were pulling towels off my body, and I was left standing naked after a shower, exposing who I really was and how I felt. It was scary the first time, but it felt good. It made the poem much better.”

We all know what this nakedness feels like. We know it best in the form of early encounters that caused fear or humiliation and these experiences often shut down our voice at an early age. But truth is, there are no constants and opinions are as varied as the autumn leaves. We each have our own unique way of seeing the world and of creating and expressing ourselves. No one expression is any more valid or valuable than another.

Drawing and writing practice can help overcome the fear of exposure. To expose your thoughts and feelings on paper can be unnerving at first. To present them to others, even more so. But with practice, you will find your voice. You can’t help it.