For a while, when I finished my daily writing practice, there was a sense of, ‘phew! I managed another page,’ which I thought was worth exploring. What I found, was this notion of having to contact a microscopic point, and then suspend myself, so that words could flow from this extremely precise place.
When I was able to recognise this, it took away the angst that I might not be able to ‘manage it’, because it explained to my brain what was needed. I had been experiencing the discomfort of my mind, not quite knowing what was being asked of it. Yes, I had committed to writing one page a day, but how was I going to do that?
Now, my brain fully understands there is a place within me that is connected to a creative reservoir. Before this, I had been worrying about having to ‘come up with something’. My focus was on the worry, which I know (as a Creative Coach) is never going to lead to paradise!
These days, knowing the aim is to make contact with this reservoir, I put my brain to a different use. I exercise its capacity for concentration, using all my focus to keep my eye on the page, watching the words lining up. The sentences look beautiful with their curves, their patterns, and here is where my love for writing is maintained.
I notice that sometimes the writing is synchronised with thought so that there is a sense of reading my ideas on the page before I even quite hear them. Then, there are the times when I am catching up with my thoughts, holding a paragraph suspended in my mind, until I can get it down.
And what about running out of steam? That concern that there will be a day when the page remains blank?
I know that this is merely a message that I have lost contact with that microscopic point and so I need to shift around a little in order to dip into that reservoir again. This is beautiful work, which I love to practice both with myself and with my clients.
If the words aren’t there, then I am not in contact with that precise place, I am simply in my head amongst all the thoughts of my life. This is not where the writing comes from, for me. I travel down, leaving the head, to find the heart, the soul, the feeling.
I imagine my mind like a word bank: all those thoughts in my head – every phrase I have ever heard, or read, and the stories I have heard, lived, imagined. Writing from here alone is only ever a choosing of what’s there, sorting through the mundanity of life, climbing around between fears, disappointments, catastrophes, rejections.
When I come into the body to find that microscopic point, I feel my soul, which is an unwritten destiny. Here is sensation, timelessness, wonder. I bathe in the physical experience first and then allow the words from my brain to match these unique sensations. None of these sentences have come before. They will not come again as no ripple in the ocean is ever the same.
It always surprises my clients when we do this work to find their specific source, that the finer we define it, the more abundant their creativity becomes. To me, it’s like the moment an image comes into exact focus. Blurred, there is nothing to see – in the way it is hard to write when we hold ourselves in that nebulous place of misconstruing our process. But, when the image comes into focus, there is infinite detail.