I know that Jessie has been doing this for some time, but I was inspired by yesterday's topic during my writing that I thought I would post this Sunday Scribbling of my own.
The prompt: Instructions.
Eat right. Exercise. Drink 8 glasses of water a day. Look both ways before crossing the street. From every angle these little rules for survival dictate my daily living. I try to ignore them, try to silently utilize their nugget of wisdom -- take care of yourself.
I used to think it was too much work to survive. It was burned into my brain, at a very young age, that it is a burnden on others to ask for help, or to tell them anything personal. So I kept it all inside, locked away my secrets and literally threw away the key. I acted out in school, learned everything I could -- to have all the answers -- and was outgoing without ever making a true friend. My instructions were to keep silent, to never tell what went on in my home. No one ever asked if things were okay.
Years later I am at a crossroads in life, this one the point where three roads meet: words, music, and magick. Thankfully I do not have to choose one instead of the others, but can easily travel all three. This spot, from above, looks like a spider's web: these three roads are thick and defined, like the connecting arms of the web; interlacing these roads are paths and trails, so marked and some not, allowing me access to each while "on" one or another. I have come to a place in life surrounded by these three things I love most.
More exciting is that I am in this place, and there are teachers all around me; womyn who want to share their words and play their songs and teach me the magick that lays in my heart. This afternoon I watched a womyn give birth to a staff, sanding and shaping, creating form from a walnut stick. The beauty of the wood, the high hum of the belt sander, it was all fascinating. When I was finally offered the staff to touch, the energy washed over me in waves like the ocean on the Cretan shore. I could only smile, blissly, and thank the staff for the brief but joyous journey. Just before leaving I remarked, "It makes my hands itch watching, they turn on, they want to try and learn." The seeds of instruction are sown, quite unexpectedly, by my own mouth.
So, too, when I was serenaded by a mountain dulcimer, a distraction from the yellowjacket stings on my neck. I remember the dulcimer hanging on the wall of my aunt and uncle's living room, above the sofa. I remember being small, crawling up the back of the furniture to touch the strings. I remember my thought: "Three strings is a good place to start, six is too complicated." Now, this womyn with the strong voice and nimble fingers reminds me of an instrument I once climbed great obstacles (couches and parents and pillows) to be near, and I want to learn. I want to write songs and sing harmonies and share my voice with the world. Not for fame or fortune, but to spread the music around.
And then there are words, thousands od them, in every shape and tense. I sit in the park, under the cedar, and pour words from the pitcher of my brain into a glass notebook. The grass, the twenty different species of ants, the hawk in the oak tree, they awaken my senses to the world I forgot existed, the ancient civililzation of survival. It is here, in the nature of the park, I feel most at rest in my skin. I can go anywhere, try new things, dig deep into my locked-away secrets, and the wind in the trees, the mosquitoes, even the yellowjackets will guide me through. For the first time, I am paying attention in my natural classroom.
My location in the center of the spider's web isn't scary. I'm not afraid that shi will come and eat me; in fact, bring it on! I am ready for what ever new aventures come my way. My word is my wand, my body my staff, and my song the spell I weave with intention. Let me go deeper in the learning, deeper into life.
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