I’ve been stuck in a writing rut for too long, though I’m convinced there’s another book inside. Each time I sit myself down at my keyboard, nothing materializes. Word by word, it seems an impossible mountain-climbing effort. I want to share the spiritual path I’ve followed since I left the convent. A lifelong pursuit of what I’ve thought was Spirit. An ever-elusive connection with the Divine. It’s been an endless pursuit–a series of unexpected glimpses along a journey from CONVENTional religion to anything but.
A recent influence has been Tosha Silver, whose book found me while I was hunting a word from Louise Hay.
“It’s good to know both your specialness and your utter dispensability. Then you can let go and embrace it all. You can play your role in this exquisite, absurd story with complete abandon. You can be a melting snowflake, a drifting leaf, or a nature spirit dancing in a pond. And if you touch any heart with what you do for the brief moments you are here, that is enough.” Tosha Silver – Outrageous Openness
So where do I find myself on a late winter morning? Inside the drifting leaf. At the Hummingbird feeder outside my window. Within the rhythm of the drumming rain. It finally feels right–this taking on of the Divine–from inside out.
I take a deep breath and pray,
If it’s meant to be, I’ll write it. If not, I’ll let go and continue falling into increasingly more luscious moments of finding what I’ve always been seeking. My own eternally expansive Self.