Skip to content

I Threw Myself Into The Fire

fc618-img_6155

I’m one of those kind of people that writes in a journal for only so long.  Then something happens.  A shift or an epiphany or some kind of aversion to the paper–but I stop writing in it.  It doesn’t feel right anymore.  Honestly, I don’t know what it is.

I’ve been journaling since I was able to write–and maybe out of all these years I’ve completed a total of five journals till the end.  But most of the time I stop prematurely–and move onto a new book.

It’s just how I roll.

Ink, watercolor, oil pastel, and letter punch tape on notebook paper. (Letter punch tape says: “DRAGONS LIVE THERE”.)

And well, funny thing is that I had this awesome journal that I absolutely fell in love with when I got it–and I stopped writing in it only days before I found out I was prego.

Yes, days.

And, strangely, I left the journal sitting outside on our patio–through rain and unforgiving desert sunshine.  Just sitting there.

I forgot about it, I guess.

Ink, watercolor, and oil pastel on notebook paper.

Until a couple days ago when I decided to go sit on the patio and soak in some vitamin D.

And there it was–beautifully warped from sitting through a few rainfalls and the front cover totally faded.  Inside–most of what I written was smeared and drippy.

But what I could read was about my feelings stating that a big change was to come.  That I could feel it.  And I knew, at least that’s what I wrote–I knew that I needed to slow down.

Ink, watercolor,  and oil pastel on notebook paper.

Yeah, I was a bit shocked.  I knew I was prego–once again–even though I “didn’t know”.

But here I was–already three months into this journey–writing in a different journal–and feeling very tender and vulnerable, and well, raw.

Ink, watercolor, oil pastel, and letter punch tape on notebook paper. (Letter punch tape says: “MYSTERY”.)

I feel raw.

And groundlessness.

And according to the wise Pema Chodron, she says: …anyone who stands on the edge of the unknown, fully in the present, without a reference point, experiences groundlessness.  That’s when our understanding goes deeper, when we find that the present moment is a pretty vulnerable place and that this can be completely unnerving and completely tender at the same time.

Ink, watercolor, oil pastel, and letter punch tape on notebook paper. (Letter punch tapes say: “GO ASLEEP. WAKE UP.”)

And that’s my truth.  That’s where I stand.

On the edge of the unknown.

Like I’ve done many times before.  But this is different.  More powerful.

More out of my control.

Ink, watercolor, oil pastel, and letter punch tape on notebook paper.  (Letter punch tape says: “THE END”.)

So I took that neglected, sun soaked, water *damaged* journal and decided to let my rawness flow through.

I first randomly blotted with watercolor and scribbled with oil pastels.  Just getting color on a few of the pages.

Then I picked up my bottle of India Ink and using the dropper let ink splatter and fall where it wished.  Pressing the two pages together–sort of like the Rorschach Test–and something my friend Leah Piken Kolidas does alot as well in her journal.

Next, I went back and let the images and colors speak to me.  I let them tell the story.

I surrendered.  I let go.

I didn’t give a crap what it looked like–or if it was good.

I threw myself into the fire.

And I realized that life is just about doing this
again and again.

Standing on the edge of one unknown after another.

Never miss a blog post!

Sign up to get blog updates sent straight to your inbox

Cart Item Removed. Undo
  • No products in the cart.