RenPen
Everyday that comes and goes leaves its indelible mark. Chapters of living experience, as portals of change, rolling into a scroll of memory.
Tailing right along with gratitude for a joyous life, I cannot escape the deep pit of unrest that I harbor. A soul-calling to write a book. As deep as this yearning runs there appears a seeming obstacle.
Why do I interpret book-writing as such a dreaded task? Despite many wonderments of where that unfortunate thought originates, I have only one clue. A past life. A distant memory faded into bleed-through bits and pieces offering no help.
On the flip-side, I know a fair amount about soul yearnings to understand that they trace back to our ancestors. Like a baton, we pass on, or pass by, the pathways of opportunity set before us.
Sounds like another one of those ‘go for it’ soul-agreement adventures!
What it comes down to is a here and now choice. Laughing to myself, I already know the answer. I choose to heal and give life to the cast-away author held hostage inside my bones.
Now is the time for ‘discipline.’ That ominous word I promised to stand by, and learn from, in 2018. February is nearly gone, and there’s no time to procrastinate. If I choose to live the remainder of my life without regret, I must find a way to create a disciplined life alongside an inspired life. Sounds like a marriage to me! The forging of cooperation and balance between left and right brain hemispheres.
Over the last 5 years, free-spirit road travel, with my journey partner, and growing a small handcraft business, have been my foremost focus. These realized dreams continue to inspire and feed me.
Recently, I met with a new friend whose skill is creative organization. As I began rattling off my long list of projects, he jotted down a time management outline that thrust me out of the ridiculousness of my fantasy.
All my life, I’ve been stockpiling a huge and heavy bag of creative vision. My friend, Dave, never once said, “Get real!” He didn’t have to. Through his balanced well-spring, and non-judgmental approach, I was able to adjust my artist’s eye to the nuts ‘n’ bolts of practical. How very sobering.
Time management has never been my thing, yet with the passing of every day, I feel the spaces in between that call me to pen my passion of story, and the passing down of personal experience.
My Writer’s Voice allows me to birth what lies beneath the surface, to give back my wisdom of life experience. Most of all, however, it is a way of honoring my vision and voice during this time of Great Turning.
Of course, there is no accident that I just happen to be living with the greatest example of discipline. My man practices his craft, without excuse, without fail, several hours every day. The writing is on the wall as clear as it could be. My 2 least favorite words in the English language (discipline and practice) are staring me in the face saying, “Take a seat, my dear. Procrastination leads only to a dead end.”
Speaking of dead-ends is fortuitous. Making peace with the here and now, as well as the end of life, matters to me. One thing is for certain, we never know when our Earth-time is up.
Thirty years ago, I was posed the following question. “If you were told that you be dead in the next 15 minutes, what would you say to the World before leaving?” In response, I stood before a large group and spoke freely what was resting in my heart. It mattered not that my knees were knocking and my voice trembling. What mattered was the choice of speaking up or remaining silent.
Once again, I am standing at a similar precipice of focus and fearlessness.
