Cup of tea at my side, laptop perched in the light of the sunbeam coming through the window at my side - filtered light though, so there is no glare, only the soft halo-ific infusion of golden effervescence over my right shoulder and a patch of the wooden floor which is alight with such a glory it actually seems pleased with itself. There is a table in this room on which are arranged a number of beautiful and sacredly evocative elements; I am facing in such a way that they remain in my peripheral vision as I type, as if giving their silent benediction. Peripherally also, though on the other side of my visual field, are the bookshelves that house those hefty tomes for the sake of which I labored and tormented myself in the pursuit of scholarship that, as it turns out, was meant to be mine in the internal domain and not, as I had originally intended, the occupation around which my identity would coil itself - at long last, accomplished and worthy.
The morning is beatific in so many ways; it’s the kind of morning every writer must hold in her or his mind as some kind of ideal. Frankly I’ve always had a sense of envy toward those writers who are able to carve out a space and time where all of these auspicious elements converge. Experiencing it for myself, for the very first time, I am having a little writer’s bliss fit.
The tea itself is a statement of my values and pleases me greatly; it comes from a small fair trade cooperative in Kenya which works only with small independent farms rather than the behemoth companies that have reduced that country’s biodiversity to a damnable level for their own profit, all of the profits go toward clothing and educating orphans through an organization that does not endeavor to replace the native culture with its own (which, for all the good they do, most missionary organizations tend to do - intentionally or not- by the very nature of their mission). Lastly, the bag is tied with a cord made from banana leaves that is decorated with beads made from recycled magazines - and this is placed inside a simple brown box which is decorated with scenes of village life by women artisans out of banana leaves.
Ah, to live in a world where every consumer choice could reflect one’s own values with the crystal clarity of this one cup of tea!
I have to admit, at least to myself, that the reason I’ve habitually robbed myself of moments such as these is not really that I believe them to be unattainable, or the dominion of those more accomplished than I. I’ve even invested heavily in the argument (which I still believe at times, it is so enabling and idea) that I can’t decide what to write about. Areas of interest are disparate and equally compelling/deserving/urgent.
These include:
- memoir-esque musings on my childhood circumstances that could give Augusten Burroughs a run for his money;
- a continuation of my university works on the matrika shakti- that power of words to create the entire world (and the fact that it’s at work even when we’re not aware of it, which is a strong endorsement for mindfulness practices!);
- educational materials (newsletters, blogs, training materials, website content) around the source of my primary livelihood, which revolves around essential oils. I help people understand the general concept of essential oils as healing agents, and the particular value of using Young Living oils to achieve the desired results for the purity, potency, and integrity they deliver in a non-regulated industry. I also serve as mentor to those in my group, as they learn to use and share the oils with others. Writing in this vein often finds me stymied by the technological avenues by which the information could become available, and leads to frustration and much swearing at the computer;
- passions and pursuits around sustainability and food security, urban homesteading, and advocating to be allowed to keep chickens within our city’s limits;
- the curriculum for teaching permaculture concepts to 1st-4th graders when they visit the farm on which our local permaculture guild is preparing to create a demonstration food forest for the public...
Really, really... it is so simple to wrap myself in the enabler’s cloak and say I can’t decide on which topic to write - when I’ve just illustrated that once I start in on any one of them, the absorption becomes so complete that I’d be at 800 words before the tea kettle was at a boil! The task is to prioritize (start with either the one that pays or the one that lifts the greatest burden), keep writing until it’s done, and repeat the process.
The real reason hiding underneath the immobilization though, is that for all the education in health and body/mind/spirit integration (did I mention I practiced and taught this for years as a massage therapist?), for all the inherent understanding of what a being needs for balance and well-being, the element of self-care that I lack is one that cannot be taught.
It’s not a question of what to do, it’s how to make it important to do those things for myself, how to make myself a priority, how to tend to myself as I would tend to a child in need of the safety and security I did not know. It’s how to create and uphold the boundaries (I like Bindu’s word, “container”) and the rhythms of life (wake, eat, write, bathe, exercise, work, play, sleep) that were completely lacking when I raised myself the first time, simply because they are good for me and because with them, I flourish.
This, then, is the work beneath the work. This challenge has become about much more than just coercing the words to flow from synapse to fingertips and rewarding the body for being the vehicle that allows it to happen.
It is about taking the time - not finding it, not creating it, but taking it because it’s already there - to flourish. About somehow transcending the notion that one’s own needs are inconvenient to others and should therefore be squelched or at least diminished (this was practically my mantra growing up). To recognize that, until we take up our own space we cannot offer ourselves fully to any enterprise.
Speaking of which, time to get this body moving! More tomorrow...
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