THE FEBRUARY DISPATCH

Into (and out of) the cave

The day that I completed the second draft of my novella, I was immediately and powerfully driven back into the world of my fantasy story: first by an invisible force that prompted me to “make a cave” (aka convert my studio closet) and the next day by events happening in our primary world. I took my full heart to the newly readied den and lit the candle on my cat’s urn as I processed that themes I began imagining 13 years ago are now more relevant than ever.

Eerie, affirming, overwhelming. And each time a feeling spills over, there is somewhere for it to go—pathways already prepared for that rage, grief, or passion.

I first conceived this other world on 1/3/2013 (Tolkien’s birthday). I was working on a wholly different piece—a short story, in fact—when I got to a place where two characters were going to escape and wondered (casually), what world would they be entering? I turned the page and wrote down a stream-of-consciousness list of names and inspirations, many of which remain to this day. It was as if some inner spring had been waiting for me to ask that question. This world immediately established itself as a separate entity from the pre-existing story, which was set aside and not completed for another seven years. (All my creations keep their own schedules, and I am learning to trust them.)

It has felt, from the first, like I was uncovering a place I sensed rather than generating one from thin air. More like archaeology than invention. Recently I discovered Wes Anderson has had this sensation too, telling Vanity Fair: “When you’re writing a story it often feels less like you’re doing architecture and more like you’re doing excavation, like it’s something that already exists and we’re just unearthing it.” (Watch the full interview here.)

If I ever thought I was late or taking too long, all that doubt has fallen away. A dozen times a day it’s made clear that I’m right on time and have all the necessary conditions to receive it.

Whatever the eventual outcome of this creation, it continues to be a meaningful and precious experience.

(Also one of my nephews tells me that if a movie is made of my story, he may like it a “SPECK” more than the Tolkien films. Kids are so magical at both praising and keeping one humble.)

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Critical condition

This weekend I tried to watch a mountaineering documentary, wanting to witness and remember human capacity to navigate harsh conditions. Within seconds however, I’d taken a reading of one of the climbers and his home life that was distracting and off-putting. This kind of intuitive hit happens unwittingly because of whatever instrument I am. Various versions of me have dealt with this (or not) in various ways. This version of me paused and did a quick, neutrally worded internet search to see if more data would move my needle in a different direction—instead multiple reports confirmed exactly what I’d sensed. Since my system happens to be increasingly allergic to false facades these days, I switched off the film. (Something I could have done without the additional confirmation, but I’m relearning how to trust myself in stages.)

We reach personal tipping points, as well as collective ones. Each in their own timeframes, but organically connected. Waves in one affecting the other. We get fed up at different times for different reasons. We find out how little or much we’ll tolerate, choose where to step forward or back.

Of course it is happening

in the place we call our heartland.

Rippling out from the City of Waters.



The metaphors aren’t even metaphors anymore.



Apparently

it has to get loud

before lies stop sounding like the truth

and bullies stop looking like saviors.



(Who knew that egoic gasbags can’t

be trusted?

Anyone who has ever

dealt with one.)



We are learning—

slowly,

quickly.



Becoming human 

CAPTCHAs

to discern

in the moment

who’s run by head and heart

and

who is running a program.



Learning to check:

Do the actions match

the words?

Do the words match

the eyes?

(Have they frozen their brows

to mask what’s inside?)



We are getting more and more refined

in what we sense

as performance,

in what we require

for assurance—

not just words,

but words that prove they’re alive:

connected to an inner source

confirmed by outer impact.



We are becoming people of show,

don’t tell.



Telling is shot

through

with holes.

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It is time for the invocation:

Kali, be with us.
Violence, destruction, receive our homage.
Help us to bring darkness into the light,
To lift out the pain, the anger,
Where it can be seen for what it is—
The balance-wheel for our vulnerable, aching love.
Put the wild hunger where it belongs,
Within the act of creation,
Crude power that forges a balance
Between hate and love.

Help us to be the always hopeful
Gardeners of the spirit
Who know that without darkness
Nothing comes to birth
As without light
Nothing flowers.

—May Sarton

Keep your fires alight

and guard the embers of those around you.