VIGOROUS SEEDS

A few weeks ago I received a lovely letter from a woman whose son died 45 years ago. She found my book on the web and wanted to buy a copy. Bless her heart, and the heart of her husband, who partnered her in that tragedy, whatever it was. Her note echoes the knowing that the children are never forgotten; our memories of them keep their energy circulating in some magical way while we remain on the planet.

I am reading Paula, by Isabelle Allende. Every page I devour, wondering how I'd missed Isabelle's wonderful passion, memory and imagination. I am so thrilled she has written so many books, sharing her extravagant heart with all of us. Then I found her website: it was like returning to a luscious restaurant I'd come to love.

She has inspired me in a period of dimished imagination. One of the impressions she shared in this morning's reading was how Paula, her daughter who is so slowly dying in the book, planted vigorous seeds while passing through others' lives. I would like to think that is my mission as well: planting fertility through my writing and being. This is not only a humble hope, but a prayer in gratitude for the seeds I have received and nurtured from others.

Isabelle writes 9 hours a day once she has begun a book. She always begins a new book on January 8. She describes going into her space, lighting incense and candles, and inviting the spirits to gather and offer their energies to her efforts. I found this so affirming of my own process with Medicine Rock, and also quite revealing about my current dry spell. My writing room is continuously cluttered, now a shared room with my dear husband's desk, bureau, fliers, guitars, etc., and my own bureau, dirty clothes hamper, and "business" clutter of day to day life flung out on my desk. This space arose out of need for a family member to have a bedroom, and we at first hoped it would be adequate. And it is, for business, or busy-ness, but not really for inspiration. So I'll be developing a space in another part of our little compound that feels serene, private and encouraging.

She also describes a wonderful ritual to bring in new energy (p. 269) that involves washing the space with a peculiar, odorous solution, beginning from the back of the area to the door, and out the door, then washing again from the entry back into the rest of the space. These seemingly innocuous rituals, done in good faith, can work wonders in our lives. I know this from years of embracing them. And I suggest them on this page to encourage others. Writing is not only personal, not only mechanical, but transpersonal.

Remembering this has freed my creative fires. We writers are working magic; don't forget. We touch even strangers, transforming raw materials of life to Divine Light.