Day 20: Teaching

I visualize the sun beating down, crusting the water-soaked earth.  Turning saturated muddy rivulets to dust: a deficit of imagination, ceasing to flow. A discipline that begs words to arise and string together, forming cohesiveness. What do you do in the face of a creative slowdown?  In an archeological dig beneath my skin, peeling back the ribs, cutting through the mess of muscle, I ultimately reach my heart, where the answer pulses with certainty in my chest.  I process the beats like Morse code. 

In.  This.  Case, it says.  You.  Must.  Cre-ate. 

That’s what day 20 of this writing venture feels like to me.  I have many teachers in my life; my father a retired school teacher, my mother is my personal guidebook, my husband teaches nutrition and wellness to young adults.  I set out on this mission not only to write, but also publicly share my findings of the human issues and the emotional effects of such a consistent writing commitment.   Somewhere in the last three weeks, I ended up baring my soul. I've also discovered how therapeutic that feels and how much I have available to teach myself.  How with every keystroke, I am pushing beyond a level of comfort with a new grasp of what happens when you set out to create and you end up teaching yourself something in return.

What happens when you venture out to publish the words that you pulled, hand-over-fist, painstakingly out from underneath you?  The phrases that came about when you delved into the trenches of your soul?

I've questioned countless times if this process was nonsensical.  Am I driving this cause right into the ground?  Some days I feel completely devoid of a concept and yet the practice of organizing my thoughts has been nothing short of cathartic.   Dedicated daily time intent on a practice of expression.   It is limitless, what I have learned.  

And still,  eager to gather the grains of the truth, I write on.