The Joy of Writing

I write.

I write this blog and I am writing a book.

I get into a place of passion and writing is a pure joy as I get lost in the wonder of it all.

Recently, I asked an editor friend for feedback on the nature of the content and style of the book I am writing. The response was a whole list of grammatical errors from commas to syntax.

I was angry and frustrated. I felt demeaned. I cried and swore I would give up writing altogether. It wasn't just this event. This was the end of my patience with  several attempts at feedback.

Emotions had their way for awhile until volition stepped in and I decided to meditate.

I sat quietly, got comfortable, relaxed, and focused on breathing in and breathing out.

First, I listened to myself hash it over and over, while I gently encouraged the rampage to slow down and eventually stop. Then I reflected on exactly what had gone down to get me into this state - first I did this, then that happened, then........ until I had disidentified from my own experience and could see it as it had occurred without judgment.

Secondly, I listened and watched this outrage which had consumed me. I asked, "Who is this raging on like this?" As the energy personified, I listened and watched as an "aha" emerged and a light revealed its presence in all its glory. As the ranting eased, the personified energy acknowledged,  I watched it slowly transform back into writer energy.

With that, finally, I returned to writing the book. I put on some music, and followed my fingers on the keyboard into that creative source. The images flowed onto the page as I let go of volition and wrote spontaneously with wild abandon again.

I never cease to be amazed at the flow of the creative process. I am slowly learning to adjust to others' not rising up to meet my expectations and to just look elsewhere if feedback is really an important interlude to the writing process. And when I need a break to process,to  just take one.

What has been your experience with the creative process?

Oombulgurri One More Time

"Main Street" and about the only street in Oombulgurri, Western Australia

Recently,  I found this old picture of Oombulgurri Human Development Project's main drag. It must have been taken in the early '70s. It got me wondering about how Oombulgurri is faring today.

While we were there in the late 70's, diamonds were discovered in the Kimberley's and the government was concerned that we would interfere with their negotiations with the Aboriginal people regarding ownership and rights to the profits from diamond mining on Aboriginal sacred land.

I'm sure I could ask and find out the outcome, but I'm also sure the people's rights did not get honored.  

The government sure made it impossible for us to stay in the community. Therefore, we backed on out of there to focus our work in another community, near Sydney, named Murrin Bridge.

An important part of the history of the Institute of Cultural Affairs working with Aboriginal people in Australia is that they had just recently acquired status as human beings. True dinkum!!! All had lived on mission stations for a couple-three generations and the ways to survive and thrive on the land were not being transferred to the next generations, rendering the people totally codependent - like farm animals - on" gudia" (white people) to care for them.

Left on their own, they totally collapsed as a culture and as a people. But, the culture that ran in their bones, through their hearts, and into a cry for sanctuary, was alive and well.  This was true everywhere in Australia. A demonstration community of possibility was our response.

My concern is more for the history which has walked this lane, as well as the possibility of a story of continuing unfolding development. As themodified cliche goes, if these old boab trees could dance the story, what would the corroboree reveal.

There have been many books written  - stories told - since the  1970's. They have been written by college educated authors of Aboriginal heritage. That in and of itself tells a huge story of how time has healed the atrocious wounds of an ancient culture.

Still, I look at this photo and I wonder how Oombulgurri is faring. How is Olive, Elaine, Sheila, my narlagu  (same name) Judy, and all the other wonderful people - revolutionary pioneers in their life's time - whose names have slipped into the unreachable places of collective memory.

How are they faring? What has been their destiny? And you? How are you faring? What's been your destiny?