(painting of the week, week #13)
So, for 16 days now I’ve been writing morning pages. Those Julia Cameron/Artist’s Way morning pages.
Well, sort of. They’re not always done in the morning, and once or twice I’ve typed them instead of writing longhand.
But I’ve done them.
And while lots of people have lots of stories about how miraculous and freeing they are, I remain a bit skeptical, but committed. Because I am really really trying not to judge to outcome. To just do them. To sit down every day with a notebook and write three pages of whatever nonsense comes into my head.
What I know, 16 days in, still holds true from other times I’ve tried to do this … I complain a lot — in these pages and about these pages.
But, on the other hand, at the very end of my pages yesterday, as I was sitting sweltering in my house, sure there was nothing much left in my brain to come out, I wrote the following words:
Tick, tock, and the red shoes on my feet.
Curtains sway in the sunlight.
The silence sucking all the sound from the room.
Outside, the leaves dance.
Inside they are only seen as reflections in pictures on the wall.
Hourglass sand slipping through time
And here I sit.
I’m not going to claim it’s great poetry. But it captured that moment. And I wouldn’t have written it if I hadn’t showed up and put words on paper.
Must be careful to not go the pages expecting anything though. Just show up. Just write. Anything that happens after that … bonus points.
And now, I have to go and write my pages for today! It will be hard on my hand, and on my brain, but I will do it, and be the better for it. And isn’t that reason enough? Miracle enough? I think so.