Out in the Creative Field

I’m still negotiating with myself. It’s 10:18 am on a Wednesday morning. Today is the day, I told myself yesterday. No more research, no more distractions, no more preparation, no more avoidance. You need to come forth now. It’s your birthday. You are ready. You are ripe. The World is Waiting, takes courage to write.

This is the beginning place. The threshold of the unknown, where resistance is at its peak, confronting the new impulse, the new gesture of creation, the great movement of life. It is Embodiment, It is Story, It is Truth. It is Emergence. You are It. It is Life. You are Life. Life is You. Pushing, being pushed or maybe it’s not about pushing at all, but listening, being attuned to the invitation from your becoming.

I want to communicate and share. I want to listen and learn. I want to grow, to bloom.

I want to write from a place of freedom. To not over-analyse or figure out what others want and need. How can I ever know? I am of this world of Overwhelmed. So I am making a new gesture, in the intention of liberating myself… despite the fear of opening the door to the monsters in my head. My monsters. My head. My life intersected. And they are not monsters. They are real. Human beings dancing, dancing, dancing, running, running, running with their own. What are they? Who are they? Why are they? Where are they? Where do they come from? When do I summon them? Are they really monsters? What am I truly afraid of?

I’m in my head now. I’m analyzing. Going down the wrong path… inviting the Trolls, the Experts, they are knocking at my door. I can hear them hurling their mighty words at me, criticizing, condemning, arguing, and then I’ll have to adopt the same posture in order to defend myself. I’ll be on the defensive. It will be up to me, alone, against them, to explain myself, to tell them just who I think I am, when I am open and vulnerable, while I’m still figuring me out, trying to articulate who I am for myself… I am open and growing, vulnerable, to being pointed at, scolded, shamed, ostracized, ridiculed, demonized, dismissed, and publicly humiliated. I know I am no Expert.

The floor, the world forum is for experts only…  am I stepping into the ring? Do I want to stand as an expert in this new field? I don’t know, is my answer, which I think answers that question; to be an expert is to know. Maybe it’s not about the Experts. Maybe it’s the field. Maybe the field is calling me. C’est le champ qui m’appelle. I am of this field it says. In fact, I never left.

What I have is a lifetime of experience, stories, like everyone else. I turned fifty this year and I still feel like a child; curious, connected, an interactive, living life force.

I was listening to the trees this morning, thanking the chickadees for their laughter as they danced among the branches. I was moved to tears. There were no words. I am only realizing right now, by taking this time to recall the moment, that what moved in me was the effect of witnessing the relationships about me in the forest this morning. The trees supporting the squirrels and birds and the reciprocity of the creatures, the chickadees… The fir tree nursery, a second forest to be, nourished and protected by the tall jack pines; stewardship and care is the benevolence of trees. My tears are movement and affirmation of what we humans need.

I think I just want to be a tree: in community, vital, connected, supportive, resilient, rooted, creative, expanding, persisting, flowing inside and out with the water and the breeze… this is me, a moving tree. Growing, sowing, becoming free.