This month has been rich with learning to trust—though learning isn’t the best word.
(By the way, did you know “courage” comes form the Latin word for “heart”? I’m recently fascinated by the origins of terms and am keeping my dictionary close.)
So then, learning to trust—except, you know not learning…there’s nothing logical about it—trust me, my mind wishes there was, it would be easier that way; it could be rational that way.
But no—stepping into trust is about courage— cultivated in a willingness to show up despite the uncertainty; seeing what happens though there aren’t guaranteed outcomes.
I’m unsure of what my, frequently lacking, trust in the creative process stems from. Perhaps it’s a trust that was never lost—it was just simply not yet found.
As I uncover more of myself I see that I desire control more than I had realized—in more subtle ways, more insidious, quiet ways.
I’ve become aware that this subtle control is remedied by allowing—which I would dare to call the 7th sense.
Allowing: the most delicate openness, less dense then feeling, smelling…even sensing/knowing, which we credit as the 6th sense so often.
Allowing: complete surrender…to anything: the moment, the flow of gushing creativity…
I’ve felt opened to the present moment in a myriad of beautiful ways this last year; it’s been so magical, every moment of it feeling infinitely powerful—yet, I recognize a resistance that rises up when attempting to maintain this openness when sitting for a period of time, to say…write.
But oh, when I do.
How frustrating. Yet, then the courage—a simple, quiet courage might rise—after all…what am I even afraid of?
It seems a fear of content, of the well being dry, of nothing showing up: a lack of trust in what will come through.
Yet this fear, like so many, is irrational, for when I will sit, when I will trust: it comes through. (Like now: it’s flowing, it’s therapeutic and it feels fucking awesome. )
Trust isn’t rational, but the courage to trust can be slightly rationalized—by removing the option of not showing up.
It’s the options, after all, that allow us to teeter—we are undoubtedly all familiar with the results of pressure when no options seem to remain—when what needs to be done must be done: diamonds.
So for the minds sake I’m removing my options. For my heart’s, I’m holding tightly to the shown bliss of trust.
All of life is relationship, and mine with my creative self will be no different; it must be nurtured, tried and above all:
remain playful in this life which I can at times take so seriously.