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Begin Again

What if you could find the soul dimension, the zen dimension, the imperfect way, the humble way, the soul way?
What if you said that writing too was an art, and not think it has to be visual or musical to count as art?
What if words too were beautiful, could be beautiful, you knew, know, have always known that words were beautiful?
What if they too could be soft and dripping with honey, healing hearts?
What if writing could be like the most soulful of photography, not seeing harshly, but writing with the eyes of the heart, how would that be?
What if you could find a way to talk about all of it, the things you have found, about sweetness, imperfection, the soft gaze, of love?
What if you could work poetry into that?
What if confidence was really about allowing the work to be imperfect as it was?
What if it was simply about finding the way to write about the things that matter?

(Journal notes to self)

Words can trip us up, and set us free.

Getting Tangled, and Untangled

I got a little tangled up in my own words for a while.

The word confident sometimes sounds too cold and analytical to my ears. It is a word that sometimes whispers fraud to me, when I feel anything but confident, just another human being, trying to find the right words to say what I mean, to show you what I’ve found.

Sometimes the word writing too trips me up, as something in me protests (and indeed knows) that I am not nor do I wish to be a Writer, just someone who writes, every day, as part of what it means to be alive.

And of course it is that act of writing, every day, as part of what it means to be alive, that brings me to back to writing, and the need to pass it on, to show others, to teach what I have found, including my unassailable conviction in your own right to write, my desire to tell you that you, too, can trust in the power of your own words, can have and should have confidence in them.

Getting tripped up and tangled demanded that I go away for a while, and leave this puzzle. Also offered the possibility (I think inevitably so), of returning, with a different voice.

The possibility that you have also, every day: to begin again, with a different voice.

And although writing a blog for four and a half years can sometimes make you feel boxed in by what you have said before, or what you know your readers would enjoy, or how you have explained things or defined things, or the social media identity you have built up, or the followers you have, it also offers the possibility to begin, again, at the same place.

And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time. - T.S. Eliot

Reclaiming Your Voice

You can change what you bring to the foreground, what you highlight, what you talk more of. You can change the way a site looks, sounds, reads and feels - not least to yourself.

It is possible, even if it is sometimes hard, to reclaim a site as your own, and allow yourself to fully inhabit it once again.

You can find new words to talk about what you are trying to say.

Three words came bursting into my mind the other day, on the back of those journal notes:

imperfect, brilliant, lifeworthy*

and it was enough, it was a key to allow me to refind and reconfigure this site, this blog, this work I want to do, this teaching I am ready to begin, even if it feels like going back to the beginning, and starting again.

Particularly if it feels like going back to the beginning, and starting again.

The Turning Point of the Year

This turning point of a year is a time when things can feel less than totally easy, trying to look back without regrets, trying to look forward to things we believe, we know, are possible, despite or because of the knowledge of past failures.

Yet it is also a time that offers a sense of possibility, of changing the words we use, the language we use, the stories we tell, the voice we use, not least to ourselves, in particular to ourselves.

For last year’s words belong to last year’s language and next year’s words await another voice. ~ T.S. Eliot

I am ready to begin again, imperfect, brilliant, lifeworthy.

I wish you the same delight of imperfect, brilliant, lifeworthy language for the year ahead, and a very happy new year when it comes.


* lifeworthy is a word found in this most astonishing article from Joseph Campbell on the Hero’s Journey, a piece I have quoted from many times before.

PS in a fit of beginning again, I have created a new Facebook page for thoughts on imperfect, brilliant and lifeworthy writing. It is a further reminder to me that numbers do not count. I would rather begin again with the clean sheet, the clearer, softer, voice.

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