The Portal: Day 12

As I predicted on day 10, that day 10 took day 11’s message as well. But that’s ok. I hope somehow the looseness of this practice, the reality of when we are living lives, creative lives, lives where we have our love in many places, has given you permission to show up as you are, to do it as you can do without judging yourself. And be ok with that.

I posted a very messy essay a couple weeks ago, maybe almost a month ago now, called I love Abortions. It was not a finished or well revised piece of writing what so ever. But I just had to be ok with it because it wanted to be shared. This is the thing— when you are a writer in a mini mystery school of your own, you have to be willing to be brave enough to share what is that wants to be shared. It’s not going to wait for you to perfect it. It’s not about making it perfect. It’s also not about making it something that someone may want to read.

I spoke about bravery one of these portal days, and talking about how bravery really meant all the ways we can receive discomfort in the name of generosity. We were talking a little about the freezing cold bathing practice I was doing (in which I have not done in the last two days btw). And I have been thinking about bravery in terms of writing — and first of all: just sharing writing in general is brave. If you have done it you know what I mean. If you have not done it, trust me, it takes a lot. These are words, not abstract colors, these are feelings and thoughts, and sentiments, stories.

Writing is meant to be an act of bravery — a shaky, shatter-y kind of place of being, a kind of place where you have to be ok with the dark hole of unknowing while at the same time being ok with being on the street entirely naked and wondering who might drive by to see — and the thing is you both hope nobody comes by, and everyone comes by, at the same time.

The more I come on places like social media, or places where I used to find people unmasking and being brave — I am finding people writing things that they think people want to hear, that they think people will consume. Instead of writing the things that break your own heart open so much that those who read it melt into the words as much as you have to. That is art.