Yesterday, at last, I finally found the answer to a question about a key structure/plotting element in my novel. And then I was writing again, joyously, moving forward.

But to get to that, I had to endure agony, doubt, indecision, dithering, damning, cleaning out and re-organizing kitchen cabinets, and in general, flailing about, while the Great Process worked. Hard stuff.

One thing I 've learned: the path, and the challenges, to getting to the writing, are often the hardest thing about writing. It's like enduring a series of challenges on a quest, unexpected, and never foreseen. Advance, challenge.

Sometimes vigor is required. More often, waiting, but actively waiting.

The gaps between the writing times often are filled with the light of creativity. The time spent with fingers on keyboard seem to be the concrete, the hardest work--and make no mistake, it is hard work, each word a challenge--but the reality is that it is in the in-between when the path is revealed.

It came to Zaadz seeking relief in many ways. I had been participating for several months in a web site that was increasingly filled with negativity, rancor, and personal attacks.

There were other issues, too, the life and health issues we all go through. And then I found Zaadz, and realized: there are others out there who feel and think and move beyond themselves. My best friend and I spend much time nuturing each other and our creativity in a very conservative, limiting small town environment that encourages social-climbing and conformity above all else.

And so, I came to Zaadz. Like coming to a deep, cool spring flowing from the heart of a mountain, I'd stop in, look at quotes, read posts. Each visit was nourishing, and it soon happened that as soon as I opened the website I began to breathe more deeply, to relax, to get in touch with my essential self, to retun to the zen of the nothing that is everything and hence, release.

Then, one day, burdened with both many “to-do's” and, without realizing it, the voice of my  perfectionistic and often-negative mother in my head, hectoring and insulting me over every single undone task, I suddenly thought: “Just for today, I am not going to say one bad thing to myself.”

Immediately, it was as though a dark cloud had been exploded into meaningless particles that disappeared into some black hole, far away, and blocked by light. Although all the same problems and tasks (oh, that leaking roof and the slow roofer!) still existed, I had changed.

I had released myself from the “old tapes” that, if they start playing again are actually negative, life-draining forces, and from feeling constricted and bound. Instead, I was myself again, relaxed, breathing deeply and well, sleeping well, and, simply, acknowledging the “must-do” and “haven't done's” but also acknowledging that they are only pebbles on a road of exploration. Here I had been thinking I was toting boulders–and, that nagging voice in my head and heart said, doing a lousy job of it–but in reality, I was only tossing pebbles that I could put down and move along them in the right path.

And I smiled again, and returned to the path to now, and the essence of the nothingness that is the heart of growing.

Star Child

`Scuse me, I don't mean to bother you, but-
do you know where I can find my star?
You know, the one folks talk about
when they say you can look up at the sky
and know the right way to go.
I'm looking for my star, because
I am so small
and the world is so big.
I'm an explorer, learning the world
but you know lots, and you can see higher up
so I know you can point out a star just for me.
If you will, I promise:
I'll follow its light
with all my heart
and all the days of my life.
I already know about things that glitter
but really don't shine,
broken bottles that shatter dreams.
I know there are shadows, not light,
in booze and drugs and other lies.
If my star hears me crying, it will help me find:
a warm place to sleep,
shoes that don't hurt my feet,
clothes that fit, in rainbow colors,
(can I have yellow, just once?)
a safe place to rest, and -oh!-
food! Good food every single day.
And most of all, if I find my star
I'll find someone to love me.
I hurt where they hit me
am I as bad as they say?
Someone once told me the angels put a star
in every child's eyes, to help us look up to the sky,
so we can find a guidestar, to be ours forever.
That's why I picked you to talk to:
I looked in your eyes
and I saw your star shine.
So please, look in my eyes
and tell me
Does my star still shine?

Copyright, 1992, Patricia/AKA. This poem was written in 1992 for a Children's Home Society where I volunteered.

There are far too many children in this country, and the world, struggling to hold on to the stars in their eyes that were their birthright. If you know of a child in trouble--help. However you can.

Please notify author and obtain permission before posting or sharing in any way. I like to know where my star's light may go!