Picture a pendulum swinging between “Nothing” and “Too Much.” I’m perched on that pendulum, keyboard ready, wondering when to jump into writing.
Small, short and pithy subjects come to mind. Perfect for putting myself into a feel-good-frenzy. A few temptations to spotlight other people instead of looking in the mirror at my own foibles made for a good ego war. My Guides seem able to catch those items that fall through the cracks of my conscience. They bring them to my attention better than heart burn.
They remind me of my blog’s purpose. I am a Spirit Builder.
God, it would be fun to write comedy. Sizzling sex scenes. Scientific explanations of anything. Poetry. Mysteries…I can watch a 92 year old woman walk to the grocery store and turn it into a drug deal. Like a balloon, that story line fills me to capacity. It seduces me with visions of content for my acceptance speech for some literary award. Then I begin to write. Once that tiniest of openings appears, just like a balloon, the whole volume of inner content escapes with an embarrassing noise, flies off erratically, and dies.
Looking in my draft pile:
- there’s some deranged forty year old woman in a fire-red coat frantically hiding from some person for some reason. She keeps disappearing inexplicably and the protagonist is about to hit her with a menu.
- my departed cat, General MacArthur, who traveled with me on business trips, is stuck at the stage where he is suffering from feline leprosy. Seems I am having trouble getting past the memory of the gleeful response from the Veterinarian. He ecstatically diagnosed this rare condition found in only certain parts of the world. Whether due to my heartbreak over Mac’s prognosis or my dread over the “ka-ching” of the invoice, the draft sits, deflated.
- one of my mentors, Sefo, waits to share wisdom that lies dormant in his Rotuman soul, passed on from his Polynesian ancestors. Ever heard of Rotuma? It’s small – not always on a globe, but here is the link.
Got it! I’ll funnel all these drafts into a balloon, fill it with hot air, shake it up and prick it. The disappearing woman in her red leather coat will run into Sefo who will see through her dilemma like an x-ray machine detecting tuberculosis. Together, they will convince the Veterinarian that the fame he receives over his entry into the medical journal warrants free service. If not received well, Red Coat and Sefo will force a small injection on the Vet with Mac as the donor.
If there is anything “spirit building” about that concept, it will take the Guides to uncover it. I’m certain there would be a loving reminder about resentments and what they do to us physically.
As the first anniversary of Soul Dipper draws closer, I’m reminded of its purpose repeatedly. Its full significance has not been touched yet. Its purpose flashes on sign posts held by my Guides when I question the value of the post. Just when I think I’m right because I don’t have 10,000 readers, the Guides pull off a number of events that tell me that I’m to hold fast and mind my own business. “Write. We’ll be the judge.” comes, not simply through their messagings, but from the whole periphery of blogging: the bloggers, their subject matter, receiving and writing comments, research, and life.
So, today, I’ve been directed to pull on the “spirit building” expertise from someone who has taken my heart by storm: Our Life: The Next Chapters. You’ll see that the blog’s author, HisBell, and I are sharing balloons. Her’s stopped my breath.
The power inherent in simplicity. Thank you, HisBell.