Artistree I
living The Artist's Way in spurts
Every so often, The Artist’s Way calls to me: “I’m here; let’s see each other.”
In doses, it’s a cleanse whose practices unbind me.
I know by the nots when this “spiritual chiropractic”1 is needed.
I have not heard the echos in my inner being.
I have not clarified my next steps.
I have not understood what this inspiration is telling me.
It’s compass season and mine is spinning, seeking a center.
Normally, I would panic, but this has become mildly ritual. Tweaking my understanding of the artistic GPS is normal.
Experience teaches me that recognizing not knowing invites more intuition; it is a signal light to put myself in a state where sought answers arrive; or rather mystically, emerge.
Trusting the pages with landing, I write.
Inner sight perceives a schism; inquiringly, I drip it with questions. I don’t procure mental answers, but a few hours later, an unexpected coincidence awaits in my inbox.
This serves to further convince me: the pages do not occur in a vacuum. Acts of expressive awareness must create an interference in the usual presumed reality.
Upon being written, potentials quiver, freeze, or unfold.
“At the subatomic level, we cannot observe something without changing it…” -Gary Zukav, The Dancing Wu Li Masters2
To me, retreat means going within, sitting at the hearth of the soul, and discovering the next steps, or a teaching as it unfolds.
Retreat is how I feel close to the universe.
Retreat is when satori meets spiritual satiety.
Most actionably, retreat is a muscle; an ability aching to be exercised if left too long neglected.
Retreating and bounding are close reflections.
Bounding is the opening steps to that dance of joie de vivre.
Bounding is inner skipping; over-flow, over-joy; and being swept in the moment’s current until its meshing creates a song.
Excess retreat and excess bounding decenter the magnetic center’s connection with soul GPS. It’s not so surprising to interweave between lost and, I’ve never left.
“Detach from your phone and go out in nature.” My friend who paints and contemplates has become deliberate in dolce far niente and shares her go-to. Outdoors’ first rustles feel detachedly still-like though; I’m not done churning.
Surprisingly, intentional movement centers me; the secret surprise before stillness has a palpable power.
“Ooh, listen to the trees!” I marveled at the breeze murmuring through the leaves, striking a (particularly) soothing chord.
Something akin to this not-yet stillness—a reaction to sound reflection—is my companion during morning pages.
Seizing moments of narrative stupor, I find the canvas of my thoughts reveals dusting curtains before quaking.
Before I’ve begun storytelling, and before life has resumed story writing, the moment’s new unprefaced words are a meeting between conscious mind and a (subconscious) stranger to the tune of pen and paper.
It turns out revealing unveils retreating.
So this is my day’s retreating; seeking to spy the self who lurks behind the trees..
The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron; Introduction.
Quoted in Andrew Qi Wu’s Chinese Medicine and Tai Ji, pg. 131
I enjoyed this. There's a resonance in retreating not just as a pause, but as an active engagement with ourselves. 'Seeking to spy the self who lurks behind the trees' is great, it captures that subtle dance between inner quiet and revelation. Thanks for sharing :)