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Inner Ninja

'Nothing grows without attention and love. Likewise, nothing remains the same when offered love and attention.' Tama Keeves

I am sitting here with some time to write. I am showing up to nurture something that I keep going back to day after day--my writing. Sometimes writing feels like it is the only time I get to really be all of me.

I come home to it, after a long day, or days, and I get to come back to a process, which has really been the only thing that has helped me, since the day that life, or the meaning of it, came under greater scrutiny in my experience. It has been the only thing which has given me any real inkling of  how to begin navigating this whole crazy too long or too short (I can't decide) moment in the body.

And yet, writing is also my greatest pain. 

It used to be parenting, but everything is different there (*pause for applause--shit, lets give that one a bigger pause, because if truth be told, I would have never believed parenting could become so much better)--which I guess is why I keep showing up to face the pain of writing. 

I see how when you give yourself no choice but to just show up in the line of fire, like I did with the struggles with my parenting (see Wild Road for this show(down) you are given exactly what you need to move into a different space. The easy thing with parenting is that I had no choice whether I could show up or not, because I couldn't, or at least I wouldn't abandon my kids. Something about loving them so much.

I love writing, but it certainly can be abandoned and neglected much more than children. Although, I am starting to hear it crying out, and less able to tune it out.

So, let me be clear about how I have been nurturing my writing for the most part. Not at all. I abandon it all the time. I tell it it has no good ideas. I tell it it will never amount to anything. I lock it in closets with no food or water, while I get drunk on escape. Not with alcohol, as it is the one thing I really can do with moderation--how's that for ironic? No, I prefer sugar, or consuming other people's stories and creations. 

But it is not all bad. I do believe that there is something to divine timing. I am inspired by other people's creations, and sugar keeps my tail waggly for a little while.

I am starting to look at my greatest pain as pointers. Places where my mind still has air-tight control.

I got a lot of flak for beginning to write. 

I also got a lot of support.

At first, the flak was louder.  It told/tells me horrible things about how I am selfish and an ingrate, a dreamer, unfocused, unrealistic, narcissistic. Oh, I've heard it all. 

The support has been quiet and gentle. It is stronger these days. It streams in from so many directions. I take this to be progress. I've put myself out there. I've gotten some dividends. And yet, I notice I get a little tight when the support comes at me. Like letting it absorb into me might blow me up or something. It feels so vulnerable to let in the good. I have to release a lot around being loved and supported. I am used to doing the supporting. That is easy. Sometimes the support just circles around me and is never absorbed. In fact, often I deflect it.

The flak is very comfortable. It adds to the weight on my back. I've never had a problem with suffering--if there really was no choice. I've been down with the cross. I may not be happy about it, but I've known my place. I've been down with submission, if it keeps the peace. 

And then I read in the Course of Miracles, Jesus saying. Let my journey to the cross be the last useless journey. That kind of stuck with me.

So, what has really put a kink in my hose, is that I really don't believe that we have to suffer. I don't believe that it has to be hard--not anymore. 

And yet, the confusion has been where to show up. I had no choice with my kids. And thank God I didn't, because the love and dedication has been highly correlated with the transformation. But I would say that it was Parenting Boot Camp.

But loving my children was a no-brainer. Showing up was built in.

Loving myself, and my creations--a little more difficult a task. Would a boot camp be worth it?--is the love strong enough to stick with it?

It is no wonder I can't fully accept support for something that is considered indulgent by those in the flak camp. I love writing like I love other people's children.  

Not quite the same intensity of love as for my own. My love for my self and my creations is separated--dwarfed by fear, shame and dread. No blood-ties that bind, as I still think writing isn't really part of the family. 

I believe there is something to the voices asking why am I not bunking down to really make something of my life-- in the world's way? 

And yet, I love myself enough, to have been seeing this journey through in a new way for sometime now--but as with any good game, the stakes are being raised...

Lately, writing feels less like an indulgence, and more like the vehicle taking me where I need to go, teaching me about the rules of engagement, showing me how to live my life, with something real, something valuable, something authentic, something that opens up experience to get to the real treasure inside--the richness, the power, the smoldering, the action--and mostly the ability to FEEL it all--to LET IT ALL IN!--way beyond the pretending of it--past smoke and mirrors. Like all these cliches that have taken on new depth, so does daily life. Even the ass-wiping--seriously. It can be a great release!

There is a huge monster on my back trying to keep me from doing anything that might deepen this experience with experience-- the physical body, the senses, the earth, the bodies around me, the creating, the collaborating, the birthing of great new life together!

This monster tries to make me quit anything before it is fully fleshed out.

Today I am telling it with all of my being that it can go #&%@ ITSELF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

That's all it really wants to do anyway. Here is your #%&@ing permission! Now leave me alone!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

No, you can't sit down by me and shout at me as I try to create it is impossible, it will never come together, it will never happen.

I am sick of the flak camp.

I am no longer going to be nice enough to let it hang out with me. 

Maybe when I am stronger, I'll let it come back, but things will be different then. I'll see it for the measly speck it is. I'll deal with it empowered.

You can't bring me down, because I am declaring that I am and will keep listening to golden voice within!

I reclaim my aliveness, my curiosity, my joy, my creations, my struggle--LET IT ALL BE FOR ME and my GREAT RELEASE, AND LET IT NO LONGER FUEL MY GREAT ESCAPES, MY EXCUSES, MY FEAR!!!!!

Wow, I feel so much better. Sometimes I just have to get passionate--mad even. Sometimes I just have to be a bitch. Sometimes the f-bomb just helps me to feel my inner NINJA--and nobody better be gettin' in her way. We a soul carvin' and there ain't nothin' gonna stop us now! 

Now, if someone will gladly ask Giles to please get me my watering can and clippers--the silver ones-- so that I might tend to the roses, I'd be much obliged. 

Here's to the beauty, to all of the wonderful things that we can do and experience with these hands of ours, and with a steadfast, courageous heart! 



  1. You go Woman, straighten that monster voice out from the flak camp!!! HERE IS TO, that everyone knows their place, can't wait for the story to unfold!!!

  2. Writing from my new writing room, post move. Hope to unpack it fully today. But wanted to pause to say to you, Brooke: right on, write on!


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