The gift of time. Rocking in a white porch chair, drinking Stash Fusion Green & White tea. My stomach is full on residual Thanksgiving, a small feast for two (plus two cats). I am grateful for those who checked in on red Ravine while I took a break. It started as a short week away from the Internet, and turned into boots on the ground living—time for Liz, for my brother’s visit to Minnesota, for Mr. StripeyPants and Kiev. I checked in with my family on Facebook once in a while, but rarely fired up the laptop during the week. It was refreshing to take time to think, to sit, to be.
Unconnected.
I stopped all my practices for a month, including red Ravine. Since 2001, I have done at least two yearly practices, one writing, one visual, each beginning in January and ending in December. Writing practice, haiku, haiga, renga, BlackBerry 365, the Great Round mandala series; I stayed true to them. I honored them. This year it felt like all I was doing was trying to keep up with the many practices I had taken on, my agreements to others, my commitment to myself to keep going for a full year. I made it January through September. It was freeing to choose to take a break rather than force myself to continue.
But I miss this place, this creative space. Something I learned when I stopped doing my practices was that a part of me went into hiding. I am not happy when I am not taking photographs, writing, painting or drawing. Last night Liz and I watched A Very Gaga Thanksgiving. Lady opened up in a short interview. She said her song, “Marry The Night” was about the moment she made a choice to give her all to music. Right or wrong, up or down, her first relationship would be with the music; she would be true to herself. It is another form of befriending the Black Dog, the dark shadowy side that comes with deep exploration of your writing or art.
When I listened to her, I knew she was right. It takes great sacrifice to marry the night. And part of the ritual is to know when you need a break. Near the end of the silent workshops with Natalie in Taos, there is a short meeting with her in the round. We sign up on a sheet of paper taped to the zendo wall. Five or six at a time, we slow walk to the cabin at Mabel Dodge Luhan, take our shoes off, sit in a semi-circle, candles lit, in silence, and Natalie goes around and checks in with each of us. Almost every time, there is one person who says they don’t want to write anymore. Natalie inevitably responds, “Then don’t write. Take a break. See if you come back to it.”
Those words are as important to me as the day at my first workshop when she told us to plan on at least two years of Writing Practice before stopping. Oh, and don’t quit your day job.
If you are listening to your teachers, good advice sticks in your craw, and rises to the surface when you need it. The list of things Natalie has taught me over the years would fill a notebook; I bring each one out as I need it, and practice those I believe will make me a better writer, a better artist, a better person. Sometimes I fail. And that is okay, too.
At the one month mark away from my practices, I started adding them back in, one at a time. I added Writing Practice first and continue to write with my online group. I am grateful they have stuck with me. After a little over two months away, the next thing I am adding back into my practices is red Ravine. I have noticed that I am happiest combining writing and art; red Ravine is a good venue for the collaboration and synthesis that happen between the two. I want to look at restructuring, infusing the past with a burst of new life.
It is Thanksgiving weekend and I have much to be grateful for. I will take time to make my yearly gratitude list and begin work on another mandala. I have not been tossed away. The work continues. Positive effort for the good is the best practical response to a hungry world. I am grateful to be back on the page, thankful you are still here. The silence doesn’t scare me anymore; it is filled with light. The wind bristles and becomes her own wingman, sailing to the next stop. The best I can hope for is a gentle landing.
-posted on red Ravine Friday, November 25th, 2011, Thanksgiving weekend, an edited Writing Practice
Welcome back. Sometimes taking a break moves me to a different level when I return to the practice.
I missed you.
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Thanks, Bob. I missed you, too. I hope that’s the case this time, that I break through. I noticed when I started editing and getting this practice ready to post, lots of ideas started flowing in. Things I wanted to try on red Ravine in the past but never got to. Things I wanted to let go of.
When my brother was here in MN, we talked about it at breakfast one morning. He said if I basically like my life, no need to do drastic changes. Just tweak the areas that aren’t working. Since he’s a year into his third liver transplant, I trust his outlook on the value of every minute counting. I’m honing down the list on what those things are that I want to tweak. A gratitude list helps, too. So much to be thankful for. Thanks for stopping by.
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Glad to see you back at redRavine…missed you.
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Bo, thank you. Missed you, too. I think I saw that you might be in the Southwest for a while. Have a good time. It’s been over 50 degrees in our part of Minnesota this weekend. Very strange. We aren’t getting the sun I’m sure you must be seeing in the Southwest though. That’s one thing about winters here…most years so gray. Safe travels, Bo.
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Welcome back, QM. I missed you.
It was good for me to read this today. I have taken on a number of practices over only the past two years, but now find myself being forced to slow down. Keeping up is something I lost track of a while ago, and catching up has become impossible. There are things I can let go of for a while, and probably be better for it if/when I decide to pick them back up again.
Thank you, QM. I am grateful to see you back and for this thought-provoking post.
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Robin, thank you for your kinds words. I missed you as well. It means a lot to read experiences that other writers and artists have with letting go. Your words are wise. There is a time when you lose track and catching up is out of the question. The only option is to let go.
I’m still mulling over what my practices will be for the new year. For me, at this time in my life, it’s a big commitment to keep red Ravine going. So that will take up quite a bit of energy. And I will keep my writing practice. I think I may only add one other yearly visual practice. I don’t know what that is yet. I really enjoyed the FoneFoto a day I did a few years ago. But I don’t like the Droid camera as well as my BlackBerry phone camera. I continue to ponder and sit with what I feel I’ll be capable of sticking to. I hope to keep it simple.
I really appreciate you stopping by. Something else you said about being better for it after you pick your practices back up again—I think that may be true. I feel different picking up red Ravine again. It may take a different twist this coming year. I will still do Writing Topics and Writing Practices because I want to keep spreading the word about practice. As far as the rest, more will be revealed. Keep it simple, I tell myself. We shall see.
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[…] me that sometimes it’s okay to let go. To slow down. To ease up. The first post was I Am Grateful For… over at redRavine, one of my all-time favorite blogs. I’ve been following redRavine almost […]
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QM, thank you for circling back to red Ravine, for your continuing commitment to the work and joy of it, for sharing your brother’s comment: “He said if I basically like my life, no need to do drastic changes. Just tweak the areas that aren’t working.” It’s so settling, so peaceful, creates so much space to breathe.
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QM,
I too, missed you and am glad you are back. I’m also happy to hear you are continuing with Red Ravine. It is so important to remember that just like the seasons change, the tides ebb and flow, the moon waxes and wanes, etc. we as humans need times when we let go, sit back and watch the river flow.
Something Jane Hirshfield said at a retreat I went to this summer really stuck with me. She said, in order to be seen and visible in the world, we also need to give ourselves full permission to not be seen. I try to remember this when I have wavering ambition and want to hide and then experience just the opposite a few weeks or a few months later. Both ways of being are fine and necessary.
Looking forward to what this new year holds for you and the red ravine community.
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QM,
grateful I am, too
for all that you are and do
hope for soft landing!
After I knew you were taking a break, I didn’t “tune in” to RR until today. So glad to have you back! But, I can understand your needing a break…you’ve been so faithful!
Our passions should never become drudgery…if and when that happens the fire in the belly surely dies down. Much wiser to walk away for a time and gather the breath that we will need, to ignite the flames once more.
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oliverowl, thank you for the haiku! Soft landing..yes, a soft landing. It’s true, our passions should never become drudgery. I’m watching a segment called On The Road, true stories of Minnesotans. This segment is about a successful business man who rides the rails as a hobo a few times a year, to clear his head, to remember who he is. Inspiring. It’s against the law; it’s not without risks. He carries what he learns from each part of his life into the other. That’s the way I want to live. I appreciate you on red Ravine. Thanks for stopping by again!
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Teresa, that is beautiful. Giving ourselves permission to not be seen. Life sure has its twists and turns. There were times earlier in my young life when I felt invisible, worked hard to come out to play in the light. Then times when I was fully visible, felt exposed. And other times when I was fully visible, felt the joy of being seen for who I was. It really is an ebb and flow. I like not being seen right now. Yet here I am. It’s good to check in and find you here. I appreciate you stopping by. I hope you are well and thriving in the Pacific Northwest. It’s the darkest time of the year out here in Minnesota. Cool and crisp, an invitation into the cave.
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Thank you so much, sandrarenee. It’s a rewarding cycle. I’m still working on tweaking my life. It’s hard to pick up the electronics; I get so lost in them. Hours can go by and it can feel like I have not accomplished anything. I have discovered that writing can be like that. Different than art. So much time contemplating in the head, composing, revising, sitting, not walking. I try to come back to the practices. I was listening to public radio this afternoon while I was driving around. John Lithgow was talking about his new memoir. One of the themes of the show was whether you would tell your kids to go into writing or the arts if that was your vocation. It made me think about the question. Though I would not discourage anyone who had made up their mind to be a writer, I sure would tell them the truth about how difficult it can be. Of course, there is also a lot of joy in writing. But it’s been way too romanticized. Not much romantic about it; just a lot of hard work!
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