Long breaks between blog posts. Many reflections, but so much ambivalence about entering into conversation. Conflicting feelings about wanting and not wanting to be seen. Waiting for now.
Lately I've been waiting less. My teen daughter and I have embarked on three weeks of not eating sugar. If you don't understand what a torturous spiritual journey that is, I envy you. We are only on day five and we are still in hell. We have continued to run--me not as often as I hope, but still running, imagining we will get to 5k one day, but that's not the point.
I have spent some recent autumn days floating in fabulous NYC, then deepening inward at Kripalu, my home away from home in the Berkshires. Fell in love with yoga for the first time with amazing teacher Jurian Hughes. Immersed in an inspired writing workshop with author Dani Shapiro.
I swore to you that I would write about Dani Shapiro and Jennifer Louden in my last blog post months ago. The Jennifer Louden post is also in the works, and here is what I have to share for the moment about Dani Shapiro:
So far I have read her beautiful memoir Devotion and her memoir/writing companion Still Writing. Devotion appeared before me in the Kripalu bookstore last summer when I was there with my ten year old daughter.
Jamea had been dying to come back to Kripalu, but once there was alive only to the idea of leaving a short time into our stay. The summer crowds were too much disarray for her focused autistic mind, and her yoga camp meant alienation despite the best intentions--she was having a hard time with her "difference" even in a place of relative inclusion. She just wasn't right.
Her not-feeling-right-ness tormented me during those few days. They were the opposite of my hopeful expectations for the relief of retreat after a horrendous school year for my beautiful girl. I needed solace.
I abandoned my yoga workshop and instead devoured Devotion. The book echoed and deepened my own exploration of faith and spirituality at mid-life. The writing was true. It was lyrical. I felt not alone. I became more able to meet my daughter. We made it though the heat, the two of us.
A few weeks later I was in NYC, soaking up lovely Nolita in the sweetest cafes and most inviting bookstore rocking chairs I could find. I wrote the first piece of the project that was beginning to form (and is still forming). I worked one piece over and over in a way I would never take the time to do at home. Still Writing's wise guidance through the beginnings, middles, and ends of writing projects held me in my beginnings and allowed me to imagine that there could be a path ahead, a path through.
The workshop was filled with guided meditation; beautiful passages from countless writers; writing; and sharing. In the end, Dani signed my copies of her books and I left in tears. I had been battling my evil inner critic, who had been clawing at me with a vengeance lately, and during the workshop that voice had quieted. Instead a more tender voice had emerged, and she had sung, "I. Want. To. Write." And I had let her be.
Something just dawns on me as I close this. I can't believe I missed it all this time. Still Writing--not just continuing to write, but writing in and through, maybe even toward, the stillness. Of course.
