ode to the pages
thank you thank you
I’ve had a writing practice for almost 3 years. It’s called morning pages, coined by author & artist Julia Cameron (JC). The goal is to hand write 3 pages of stream of consciousness thoughts each morning.
The pages are mental minutiae, inconsequential. Many times they are repetitive and boring.
They are also a place to tell truths to yourself. To gather up all of your fear and self loathing and sequester it on the page. Sometimes this makes them less potent. Other times, it feels like a firing squad whose barrage you’re powerless to.
The trick is to keep going.
Julia is adamant about writing all 3 pages. When I first started doing them my hand would ache. I thought the number was arbitrary. But the more I wrote, I’d find the reason for her 3s. The first page is just so whiny and self absorbed. By the second, you’re sick of your own shit & ready to quit. Then you think - WWJCD?
So you keep writing. This is where the magic lies.
When we’ve finally pushed past our selves, the muses undoubtedly appear. They arrive in our absence.
I’ve found my best ideas on the page, stumbled onto countless insights. They’ve facilitated break throughs and therapy sessions. I’ve asked questions and watched the answer appear sentences later. I’ve had poems leap into the room, vying for space.
I am shocked every time this happens.
Even on the days when writing feels most mundane, something always emerges, in the middle, at the very last second.
If we show up long enough, the pages eventually reveal their intentions. They lead us to a place we’ve heard about, but rarely visit. Some call it the present moment. On the page, we sense its vastness, if just for a split second. Everything is on offer here.
I’ve come to realize that wisdom lives here too. Not in the annals of my brain or an elusive future. But like a steady stream - now, now, now.
I know any time I’ve reached this place. Gratitude swells.
On these days, I always end the page
thank you thank you