Despite heading off to bed for an early night with a hot water bottle full of good intentions, sleep eluded me last night.
All the ideas, the dreams, the hopes, the revelations – they created a big barrier to restful slumber. So I got out of bed to take action, but all the excited and chattering creative birds flew away. What they left in their stead, well – it wasn’t pleasant. It wasn’t hopeful. It wasn’t colourful – it was guttural and raw – sinews were exposed.
Eventually, the demons were sleepy and I managed some shut eye. Until morning proper. When I couldn’t leave the bathroom for all the tears.
But I did leave the bathroom – to take the next step (she reminds us to keep moving.)
I sat down to morning pages. I have this pretty debilitating case of tendonitis right now, so I’ve been doing much less writing and arting this last week.
But what happened last night was the revelation : step into the fire and feel the flames/let them burn. When you’ve stopped skating around on the surface and your wish is to go deeper – in search of breakthrough – then you have to know that it gets way messier, dirtier, darker and burnier than ever before.
So, I’ve been working on that. It isn’t at all pretty. I’m hurting. It’s hard to talk about (shame, fear – you know …) After writing out the pages I didn’t know if I could leave the bed. I didn’t know if I could leave the bedroom. I was undecided.
It could go either way. This release. This sinking deeper (there is no choice but to go deep).
What actually is the difference between absolute, free, wildly creative abandon – and insanity, despair, dysfunction? Is it the outcome, or the process – or the ability to capture it and share either?