Playing My Way

Sat down for morning pages today and had to stop writing three times because — SO DISTRACTED.

There was zero flow. Nothing was coming. My brain was fritzing out. I was foggy, fatigued, restless… jumping from one subject to another. Something was sabotaging me and I didn’t want to feel it… and so this…

 

When you have to do

things you really don’t want to do.

Focus on thoughts

and their subtle power (oh, so subtle)

to sink you like a stone.

 

Be ever so watchful.

So, so attuned.

Like feeling into the center of a flower

and sensing the texture of the delicate fuzz

that collects microscopic grains of pollen.

 

Getting still.

So very still.

Breathing.

Tuning into the physical body.

Where is the feeling?

 

(I do this now, tuning into my body and the feeling, and write out my process as I go:)

The feeling is in my diaphgram.

It is heavy and thick, anxious.

(Peter walks in from outside, intense and loud).

I feel it, so profound, the discomfort.

It’s sick-making.

 

Ew! I didn’t even know this feeling was in here.

Where did it come from?

Is this even mine?

YES. A resounding yes.

 

I breathe into my diaphragm,

very gentle, very soft.

I’m agitated by noise in the room.

Ugh. Shut. Up! 

I burp. A huge burp.

The feeling is now moving through my fascia.

My diaphragm already releasing a little tension.

I marvel at how dedicated attention

moves energy, every time.

 

Then I feel it.

The core.

The FRUSTRATED artist within.

The frustrated writer,

creator.

She wants to move FASTER.

She wants more ENERGY.

She doesn’t want to feel

SO TIRED.

I meet this with gentleness.

The frustration is thick & gooey.

I breathe,

and hear:

AS YOU ARE.

(A magic mantra I need tattooed on my forehead).

Feel free to be as you are.

 

ANGER rises.

FUCK THIS!

I want change.

I meet this angry part with equal intensity.

Hell yes, you want change! 

Anger is so welcome here.

Then, just as quickly,

I drop into resignation.

I feel weakness & fatigue,

a feeling of GIVING UP.

“What’s the point?”, this part of me asks.

“What’s the point of trying so hard?”

 

I do not know how to answer.

I get really still again,

listen to the palm fronds rustling in the trade winds.

 

THERE IS NO POINT.

 

Yes.

I remember, yet again!

The only point is experimentation.

Curiosity.

And that has no point 

because it has no agenda.

How quickly I forget,

that the only point is to play with my circumstances,

day to day.

The point is to get exqusitely curious

about what I am trying to AVOID feeling in the moment?

About what I really want to be FEELING.

And then asking: how can I play my way

to that feeling?

What can I do, right now, 

to bring my life back toward PLAY,

no matter how serious

or even dire,

my circumstances may seem,

IT IS TIME

TO PLAY.

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