The Artist's Way, Week Nine: The Resurrection of Spring (and Me)

March 21st, 2010

Yesterday was the vernal equinox—the first day of spring.

As a real wildwoman of a healer I happened to meet this weekend usefully noted, “Winter is hideyhiderton time, but spring is showyshowerton time.” In other words, the time when it all comes to light. The days are longer; the crocuses are blooming (and the poppies and the irises, out at Tennessee Valley!); the animals are coming out of hibernation and acting crazy… and so are we.

According to the Christian calendar (which was so usefully and not so coincidentally built around nature’s own calender), we’re coming right up on the time of Christ’s resurrection. That’s right, Easter. Resurrection is a powerful symbol this time of year. And this week’s Artist’s Way chapter came right on time.

This week, we had to read back on our morning pages thus far and note any revelations, insights, droning incessant complaints (check), and what odd. Wow was that humbling. Here are some things I think (and write) about pretty much daily.

  1. My weirdo bad dreams about tidal waves and people I love turning into monsters.
  2. I need to get better at speaking with conviction.
  3. I’m pretty much obsessed with getting enough sleep.
  4. Loneliness and fear are big troublemakers in my life.
  5. And more things that I am, believe it or not,  slightly too embarrassed to share.

 

It reminds me of a statistic I once heard about how 99% of our thoughts are thoughts we’ve already had before. Only that rare brilliant 1% is ever a new thought.

Part of the point of doing exercises like this is to learn how to put it all behind and start again. Resurrection, Phoenix-rising-from-the-ashes, this winter didn’t kill me… it indeed made me stronger.

And I’ll leave you with everyone’s favorite Anais Nin quote, that I myself was reminded of at the radical healing circle whatchamahoosee I was invited to:

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

So true, isn’t it? I adore Anais. 

 

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