What are you waiting for?

What are you waiting for?

“If you’re going to be a writer, you have to f%#&’n WRITE.”

I go through life with words, phrases, sentences, messages swirling around in my head, bumping into each other in a chaotic mess that vibrates and echoes often leaving me exhausted and dazed. I’ve waited for the words to arrange themselves, thinking that was a necessary step before written expression would be possible. I’ve given up that idea. Whatever comes of this exercise is no longer of importance but only the act of release that matters, for without that, I fear I’ll soon be rendered permanently STUCK. Stuck in this plane of life, unable to move beyond what I am now.

And what is that exactly?

Aware. I am aware, aware to the possibilities before me and aware of the struggles behind me. Accomplished enough to know what I am capable of yet inexperienced enough to remain fearful of failing. Aware that failing is a natural step in the progression of personal evolution. Starving for the next step on this journey, I’ve seen glimpses of what is to come. In my mind’s eye, I’ve lived brief moments of this destiny. Through dreams and visions I’ve felt what is possible, just enough to whet my desire and leave my soul craving more. Nanoseconds of realization experienced with a divine truth signaling my soul, “this is IT.”

And what is IT exactly?

Physically, IT is adrenaline rushing through the body creating a rapid flow of blood and a pounding heart that invigorates, stimulates, and inspires. It is a flush of heat that starts in the chest and spreads up to the head, down to the hands, and radiates out in what I imagine is a visual display of vibrancy. My body feverish and my palms sweaty. My ears, clogged with a slight ringing noise that distorts the sounds around me, not unlike that feeling of floating underwater.

I imagine the physical body’s vital signs might register like those of a runner after crossing the finish line and yet inwardly, calm. There is a knowing that all is well, a beckoning to relax and let go. I’m standing at the edge of a magnificent cliff. The air is crisp. The sun is warm. A slight breeze passes over my body and sends a chill up my spine. This is the edge of destiny.

“Breathe deeply and let go. Trust that this is who you are. Everything that has happened before has prepared you for the next step. Take it. Embrace your destiny. You are worthy. This is your path. All else is a dream. You are the observer. This is your reality.”

And what does IT mean?

It means creation has already taken place. Communicate that which the soul has created.

“Step out of the way and let that which IS be received.”

It means I have only to quiet the noise and trust in the message.

“There is no doing to be done. There is only being. Trust what comes in and let it pass through without thought, judgment, or interpretation.”

There is a fear of madness, a fear of letting go and losing control. Like an addict, never knowing when the point of no return might be crossed, the high is intoxicating. To lock one’s self away and let go without timetables or commitments, abandoning all worries or ties to a world that is constantly demanding and distracting, that is the lure and there in lies the fear. But what exactly is that fear?

Loss? – Fear that connection to everything held dear might be broken and I might find myself alone and with nothing. It occurs to me that I’ve faced this fear before at another crossroad in life, only then the fear was much stronger and the outcome much less predictable. Desperation propelled me forward, not awareness or courage. The pain of the status quo at the time was far greater than the fear of change. It felt less a matter of choice and more a matter of survival. Regardless, the fear was faced and the outcome was growth, confidence, trust, self-love, expression, and ultimately, the experience of a love greater than I have ever known. Had fear won that battle everything I now hold so dear would not be in my life. This realization causes me to pause, the “what if’s” screaming inside my head. Images of the person I was never becoming the person I am makes me feel sad. Ironically, who I am now, living this beautiful chaotic life that resulted from the ashes of what was, is exactly what I am fearful of now losing.

But what if instead of losing, I win again? Instead of desperation pulling me away, what if intuition propels me forward? Imagine the power of that energy. If out of desperation, this beautiful life could emerge, imagine what might be birthed through the energy of inspired creation.

There are two choices: to rest in what is or to evolve into what might be. When what IS no longer fits, there will be no choice but to evolve or to die.

What are you waiting for?


The Artist Within

Another of my favorite authors spoke to me recently.  This time through a TED talk recommended by a friend.  Elizabeth Gilbert spoke about creative genius and the pressure on artists placed by society’s idea of where genius originates.  Her premise is that creative people need to release themselves of the burden of producing great works all of the time.  Often times, artists are frozen by pressure.  “What if’s” scream so loudly that writers can no longer hear inspiration.

I’ve been writing about this phenomenon for months now.  This fear of failure.  The fear of not being validated.  The fear of rejection.  What if no one likes my work?  What if no one reads it?  What would that mean?

Am I a writer only if there is a reader?

Genius has many definitions.


To the mother, Swan Lake was never more brilliantly performed, than by her own young daughter.

Priceless works of art are displayed on refrigerators and young artists write essays for audiences of one.

Children create for the joy of expression with no inhibition and little need for validation.

Over time this changes.

The artist within us begins to grow silent in the absence of approval.

Only the creative spirit strong enough to silence the critic survives.

Had Steinbeck’s works been lost would they have been any less brilliant?   If the first person that read his essays had told him they were no good, would he have stopped writing?  How many sketches and paintings done by the Masters never made it into public view?  Recently my mother was wandering through a flea market in England when she stumbled across a small sketch in a broken frame.  Unsigned and discarded, nevertheless the image spoke to her and she purchased it.  Later she learned the little sketch was an original Matisse.  Had mom not been drawn to this piece of art and taken it home to frame would its value have been any less?

What defines creative genius and who among us is qualified to make this determination?  What role does opinion play and what value do we assign it?  Ultimately, what do we care?  Going back to Steinbeck, I would imagine that no opinion could have caused him to stop writing.  Do any of us believe that Picasso, Monet, Warhol, or Banksy would have stopped creating in the absence of public approval?

Creativity is genius expressing itself.  For the artist to deny the overwhelming passion to create is to deny the expression of Self.  There comes a time when suppression is no longer possible, when as a child, it no longer matters what or if anyone thinks about the created result but only that creation occurs.