What do you take from the prose of another? What moves you and reminds you of your deeper self?
Energy moves me forward as the nib of pen pushes against the blank page, my world opens up as the poetry begins to spill out and words and prose begin to mingle. The excitement of possibility bursts from the cells of my held in stories and the secrets that are yet to be made known.
I enter that other landscape where I only exist for the verse. As all else drops away and is no more for that moment.
My silver nib makes its mark time and time again, ink flowing and thoughts and sensations turned into the text that others might read.
I am sharing my craft, the wisdom of my heart, the truth of ages that have made me who I am today. There is no going back for that ink remains in textbooks of my life.
Even when I look back and wish for it to disappear it will remain and so I soften to that younger part of myself, I love her as she was back then and she becomes the heroine of my journey, to rewrite and recreate and help my ego to lessen the grip of needing that perfectionism.
We have all had to grow. We are all bearing hard won gifts and no amount of judgement will remove them from our existence.
For they are the fallen petals from the rose of our heart and soul, ever reminding us of our humility, which undoubtedly will become our strength.
We walk hand in hand, she the teller of the tale and me putting it down in a form of expression that will be accepted in the world of the reader.
As the reader opens the page I watch her eyes and lips, I see the body responding to what is shown.
Is she still breathing! Has my tale opened up a myriad of feelings and emotions that were never expected?
Does her eye well with tears as she recalls a broken childhood, or the loss of an innocence that would have taken her through gateways of creative expression!
Will she read on after that first gut wrenching description as her own experiences are mirrored back to her?
Will she dare to look further in order to find the solution that could also be her’s?
Turning away, recognising it is not my tail to know or to even guess could be happening, I continue to walk my own path, to weave the magic, the storytelling of my craft into being.
What opens up as her craft is yet to be discovered, I can only focus on mine. But one day, just maybe, she will tell me how it was for her and in that I can know the possibility and potential that is held within my own fingers.
Middle Earth Medicine