CHAPTER 11
Surviving meant being born over and over. - Erica Jong

To the readers of these pages, whoever they may be, this little book may seem to be a random jumble of ideas and experiences, one leading to another with little rhyme or reason. The truth is that this process, for me and for many women, is quite often just that - a random jumble of ideas, feelings and revelations – full of fits and starts, discovery and despair, events and happenings that appear at first unrelated, or even irrelevant, yet inevitably lead to a deeper and deeper discovery of inner truths.

I write this by way of explanation, as much for myself as for any potential readers. The reporter in me cringes at my lack of organization or any logical progression for how things happened, when and why. I have had to let go of that expectation because the words and images simply do not come to me that way. And, as I’ve learned from so many great writers - and oddly enough taught to others - the process of writing, to be honest and true, must never be forced, must simply be allowed to come into being of its own accord. Discipline is involved of course, but not to the point of stifling the flow of ideas or allowing our egos to get in the way.

This morning, I have broken all of my own rules. Up by 7, I intended to be at the computer by 8. It is now 9:32. Not only did I check email, I read my horoscope, checked the weather report AND played with the frisky kitten I recently welcomed into my home. Granted, Flash – so named for his speed and mercurial nature - is not easily ignored, but his constant need for attention is hardly an excuse for my procrastination. If not encouraged, he eventually gives up, finds his own amusement or curls himself into a tiny orange ball, not to unfurl for hours.

Perhaps I am dealing with pieces of my story based on the level of difficulty or intensity for me. It is certainly not chronological as any reader would certainly have realized by now. The words I have written seemed almost to come to me as the dispassionate details I might include in a newspaper story. That is not to say they are not meaningful – just that I finally have accumulated enough time and distance to record them this way. What I know in my heart comes next may not be so objective a rendering. It may be far more powerful and overwhelming than I feel ready to endure. Thus, I hesitate by blathering on about my process, possibly boring the reader, but gradually nudging myself along to the place I must go.

Invariably, when I reach these moments of hesitation, I stumble across something that tells me precisely what I need to hear. Looking for one file, I come across another I don’t even remember creating. I share it here in case that other woman – my potential reader, whoever she may be – needs a dose of encouragement for her own journey.

Show Me the Course

“Steer the ship of my life, good Lord, to your quiet harbor, where I can be safe from the storms of conflict. Show me the course I should take. Renew in me the gift of discernment, so that I can always see the right direction in which I should go. And give me the strength and the courage to choose the right course, even when the sea is rough and the waves are high, knowing that through enduring hardship and danger we shall find comfort and peace.” - Basil of Caesarea (c. 329-379)

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TITLE: This Is Me   CHAPTER: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19
AUTHOR: Anonymous