Exhausted by process, I escape to the desert to let it hold my heart. The past two months have been an intense time of reading, re-reading, writing, editing and listening. At the end of writing content for the book, I'm now tasked with the little/big things like chapter names. I settle in and listen for the process to arise. Each time in the progression of this book, when I've faced a new unknown, I worry, I complain and then I remember to listen to the land, animals and ancestors to guide the way. So here I am, open to the ever subtle wisdom available. I bask in the warmth of the sun and feel nourished by plants at least a hundred years older than me.
Settling in, I ask myself, "What is the spiritual question each chapter asks?" "What concept is each chapter grounded in?" These are the questions I sit with, yearning for an answer.
As I sit, a little yellow butterfly flutters around me in circles. For hours, I sit and for hours, she flits away and then back to circle my body. Butterflies are so delicate, their little wings could so easily be pierced by a thorn. Yet, here she is. Flying around a desert full of both nutrients and danger. In the middle of winter no less.
Times when I'm exhausted are times I let my world get small. I forget to raise my eyes to notice the world around me, let alone the beautiful creatures all finding their own ways to play. Play...
Creative work, is essentially asking the heart to be at home in a state of play. Even in the deepest, darkest times, filled with the most confusion, if I can play - do something creative without taking it too seriously, then I know I'll be ok. I start playing with names. Capturing the essential components in a description carved out of Earth, Fire, Water and Air. Celebration of each chapter is expressed in playing with names.
As the deadline for the book gets closer, I find I take tasks ever more seriously. Serious business, this choosing titles! Except, little-flitting-yellow butterfly reminds me, this is still a day to play.
(Written January 24th 2016)