My pen seemed to scratch across the paper, each word a wormhole in wood that became my coffin. Breath trapped in my throat as I nailed myself in. I yearned for the fresh air of reality. For so long I’d betrayed my soul, caught in my coffin haunted by the childhood belief that I never stick to anything. So I told myself stopping the betrayal was to let myself down. Never mind the self-suffocation. The commitment collar started to choke me, rusting around my neck, staining my skin with a hundred words for hell. I forced my fingers on with the pen. I’d sold my joy for a 'have to'. I may as well have handed over my heart and said, 'Stamp on this’. Why? I had decided I would write a weekly blog.
I don’t like blogs. My core cried when I started. I love to write stories and books. Goodness knows they are tough enough and that is with my wanting to. After two blog posts I was already saying, ‘I’m tired of writing about me.’ and, ‘Do I really have to provide pictures every week?’ I was sick of seeing me, and I am sure readers were, too. I couldn’t have been the only one. When I submitted photos that weren't me, my editor suggested it would be better if they were because the website is about my writing. It made sense. Aghh. My shoulders slumped. I felt misunderstood and not listened to … by myself.
The next week would arrive and smack me in the face. My soul seeped out of my writing. The blogs and I weakened until my hiding heart crept out and said, ‘Stop.’ I talked with my editor who threw me a rope. I clung to it. She said, ‘What about once a month?’ Relief soaked through my skin. And, ‘Write about one thing that’s happened in your month like a story, and sometimes write a short story.’
I didn’t know if I could. I still don’t. What I do know is joy wants to rise again, it’s sick from neglect. Wisdom is widening where the childhood chatter was. Stopping something for my soul is far from giving up. It is sensible. Two wise beings had suggested I write a blog. I trust their wisdom and forgot to pause, go inside and trust the truth in me. My stubbornness stopped me from stopping for 27 blogs. May I be quicker to break beliefs that limit me living. May I listen to my soul. And if my soul seeks a different direction again, may she have a giant flashlight so I know which way to go this time … and not wait so long in hell.
A Spoonful of Soul
I didn’t like kid clubs, I may be loud
Yet I am a loner and shrink in a crowd
Too many people can look like a haze
I need to retreat and recharge for days
When I’ve been to a party, even if it was fun
Overwhelmed, I’m exhausted from everyone
It’s taken me years to accept this truth
I tried to fit in and lied in my youth
Bit by bit I’m breaking that shell
And finding my heaven outside of the hell