I’m a devotee of Morning Pages, dear reader. I encourage all my friends and course participants to take up the practice.
Three pages of foolscap, free fall, stream of consciousness writing every morning before ANYTHING ELSE.
I light a candle, sit down and write. Usually before dawn.
To say it’s cathartic is an understatement.
It’s more often a lifeline.
Of late I’ve tweaked my approach.
I now have TWO journals dedicated to Morning Pages.
Book One: Reserved for Magickal Thinkin’. Strength, positivity, courage, wins, plans, insights, magickal moments. Pages and pages of my own shiny brilliance (ahem)…
Book Two: Reserved for moans and groans. Petty whinging, selfish handwringing, irrational whines, confusion and grizzles. My Eeyore Book.
It’s all relevant.
It all counts.
None of it deserves to be hidden or suppressed.
Drag it out into the sunshine of reason and healing. Get some air around your shadow.
It works, dear reader.
This morning, the line between my two books was harder to spot.
This morning there was severe spillage.
From Magickal to Morose.
From Hopeful to Defeated.
From Confused to Enlightened.
Back and forth I went.
You know the state of mind?
Of course you do.
Here’s part of what I wrote:
WTF Can I Do?
The thing is, despite the world being in meltdown, and unprecedented levels of fear exploding the Richter Scale, the moment I turn off the TV and the socials, life reasserts Her grandeur and Her gifts.
It’s hard to feel frightened or depressed if I live In The Moment.
Does this mean I lack compassion?
I honestly don’t know.
It troubles me.
In order to demonstrate compassion should we be depressed and fearful? Should we join the ‘moan and groan society’, feasting like mangy old buzzards on the lies and mistruths being tossed our way?
Is that how we showcase our empathy?
By allowing ourselves to be overwhelmed and scandalised by fear and uncertainty—so much of which is manufactured, speculative and sensationalist?
As a practitioner of Green Spirituality, I feel I should be more grounded than that.
More alert to deception and hyperbole.
More connected to my surroundings and the everyday joys that are still available — right here, right now, every day.
Have I triggered you?
Then stop reading.
You have a choice.
Never forget that.
You have a choice.
I understand there are others in intensely precarious situations.
It hasn’t taken the Corona virus to make me aware of the world’s pain.
But, in the face of such tremendous upheaval, I find platitudes tiresome and intensely irritating. I’m sure as hell not going to hand them out here.
The ‘mask of positivity’ is about as useful as a unicorn in the Melbourne Cup.
On the flip side, I’ll admit I enjoy an enraged, articulate, erudite rant.
A gutsy battlecry.
An impassioned call to action.
But sometimes I suspect the battlecries and the platitudes sit at opposite ends of the same, slippery, fear gamut.
At one end we have self-righteous rage. At the other end, defeat and despair.
So I ask myself, where is MY truth in all this?
The Taurus in me is looking for the middle ground.
Always searching for the middle ground.
The truth is I’m hurting.
I’m hurting. But I’m not suffering.
I’m not miserable, depressed or anxious. And trust me, I’m familiar with those states.
Moreover, when I don’t feel them, why should I feign these feelings?
How, on a practical level, does that help anyone?
Should I feel guilty for having a blessed life?
Should I coyly define myself as privileged and therefore irrelevant; unable to contribute to the conversation in any meaningful way?
I ask myself, every day, what am I DOING to ease the suffering of others?
Isn’t that the key question?
WTF can I do?
I can stay home and keep my nose clean…
I can donate $$$$.
I can check on the elderly in my community.
I can buy local, be intensely discerning and keep my needs simple.
I can cook for my neighbours.
I can volunteer. (Yes, our little library is still open. It’s a crucial link in the chain of our community.)
I can PLANT more FUCKING TREES! I can do that. I can, I can!
I can be there for my online community. I can hover over them like a dodgy little ill-qualified angel, anticipating their needs, absorbing their fears and triumphs, providing a soft landing place where they can find friendship and nurturing.
Above all, I can resist the bullies who tell me how I should act and feel. The bullies who would have me frozen, disempowered and infantilised.
I’m not smug.
I’ve chosen to be an adult about this.
I’ve chosen to embrace the educated, privileged, blessed adult that I am.
That way, I can step into my power, speak my truth and DO, DO, DO.
You can to.
Claim it, dear reader. Claim YOUR power.
In whatever form it presents itself.
Hold on to your truth.
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