Healing Stories

"I am writing this story and it kicks me in the gut, it brings me to my knees and swells my eyes with tears. This is not an easy story to write. It is about who I was and who I am. It’s about trying to figure out what makes a good person good, trying to figure out how to fit in, how to give myself permission to be who I am--to let myself become without society or church or my neighbor or a husband, telling me who I am, what I should think, how I should act or where I should go.” Morning pages, May 12, 2008Columbine

Isn’t that what we're all trying to do--become our truth? We tell our stories a snippet at a time, at lunch, in emails, in letters, in conversations. We tell the funny ones mostly. And then there are the deep ones, the painful ones that we save for precious moments and precious people. Telling our stories connects us to all of human kind and stories heal. They are an act of love.

I am close--less than ten pages from finishing my novel. It is a work of fiction but no matter how much fiction one creates, truths flow out. The unconscious is an amazing part of the mind and body. It is ever busy, ever working to help and to heal.

And so soon, maybe tomorrow, you may hear me singing from the tree tops and the words to the song go something like this: “it is finished, it is finished--all of it is truly finished!”

Out Loud

“If you ask me what I came to do in this world, I, an artist, will answer you: I am here to live out loud.”--Emile ZolaAzalea

We are all artists. We come into this world to create. To create our lives, to crack our doubts wide open, to live our stories. There are no mistakes. There is no time wasted. There are no failures. There is only our becoming and our dreams and our stories. So take a deep breath. Lift your voice high and live out loud.

Nostalgic Saturday

I couldn't resist Abby's Nostalgic Saturday invitation and am posting it early because its already Saturday in Australia. So here are a few old photos of favorite places and people. Images that go deep to early beginnings for so many things. So thanks Abby for the fun idea. The timing couldn't be better. That's me on the right clinging to my sister and my Dad feeding the orphan piglets.
My two early best friends. Me (left) and my sister on our pony, Cutie. I learned to ride at age five on this pony. When I fell off, my feelings were hurt and I didn't want to ride anymore. Knowing I was okay, my dad just laughed and said, "get back on" and I did, but only after he agreed he wouldn't make her trot this time. Me on the right with my sister. The tomboy in us is smiling through the frills.