I’ve spent my life learning and forever seeking.

Sometimes I followed one school of thought, a teacher, author, leader. Then I’d change course when I couldn’t find the happiness I was looking for.

Happiness wasn’t exactly the goal. I just wanted relief from pain, and I couldn’t find it.

Pain showed up in symptoms, but symptoms wouldn’t tell me their secrets.

Then I began to read Marion Woodman, attended several women’s 9-month Body-Soul Intensives, writing groups, workshops and retreats – and a new awareness began to emerge.

Slowly, and without a goal.

So slowly that the impatient me didn’t have a chance to notice the years because I put no pressure on this process to have an outcome.

Can you imagine? No. It seems impossible.

One day, I learned that if I listened, words would come onto the page. And as I allowed them to form and took dictation, they would lead me to ideas and writings and advice that I wouldn’t have come to with my mind.

In listening, I would become relaxed and watchful, trusting what would emerge, the images and stories, and even glimpsed into the symptoms that in the past kept me miserable.

I came into a relationship with myself and with kindness.

We look outside ourselves for peace in so many ways. We can barely avoid the messages of our noisy world with their promises of momentariness. (Is there such a word? I hope so.The thesaurus tells me yes.)

We do everything we can to avoid pain. I know I did. Addicted to so many behaviours and at one time alcohol. Wanted so much to drown the roiling, self-critical mind.

How is it possible that writing can answer so many questions, calm the nervous system so deeply? What is its magic?

Over time, I came to trust my words, my inner wisdom, and what the different parts of me needed to tell me.

With the pain, I always wanted to run and get away from it.

But with enough gentleness and patience, allowing the words to rise from that mysterious sacred space of the unknown, I began to trust that I could stay still and look at all my parts without running, hating them or judging them.

There, I found compassion for the human and I also found mystery.

Whatever your way or your art may be, as you listen and express what your heart sees and knows, you will find a self that will astonish you.

A self that is beloved and vaster than the “I” you think you are.

There is meaning in your unique human unfoldment from acorn to oak tree. Don’t misunderstand and look for the tulip where there is none in you.

Come closer. It’s friendly here, and your way of being the oak tree matters and is necessary.


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