Writing with Rox Weekly Prompt—Hunger

So...My Wednesday writers have a ritual of bringing in a writing exercise along with their workshop pages, which is great because they are often so unlike anything I would ever come up with and usually much less complicated and a lot of fun. And of course there are always those prompts that you wonder what in the world am I going to do with this? (to which I always respond "you just keep going until you find something, trust the process... something is always there, always below the surface, ESPECIALLY if you think there is nothing to write about!")...              Last Wednesday was one of those times for me. The prompt was "DESCRIBE YOUR FANTASY MEAL". 

                                                          oh.                

                        

             I've tried, folks, but I'm so not a foodie.  I'm just bland bland bland. Fruit, vegies, tofu, done. Sure I appreciate a good meal, I enjoy fine dining once in a while, etc, etc, but I'm more in line with my earth mama friend Deb who recently told me she went to one of those Bistros on 46th one night after drumming and ended up with an appetizer consisting of sprigs and sauce. What am I supposed to do with these? she/I wonder, Am I supposed to be full now? 

Of course, the prompt was a blast and I ended up writing about the giant potluck I plan to have at the Beach one of these days. But the real treat was what the others came up with. They made me...well, hungry.

And of course, one's fantasy meal is about so much more than food... it's about what you truly hunger for. What is your fantasy meal? Where? When? With whom? 

Speaking of hunger, if you'd like to go deeper into hunger, I've set my next PROJECT 25 RETREAT for April 14-15, 2012. Guess what about? A CALL AND RESPONSE TO HUNGER   Sign up soon to reserve your place at the table....

Is it the Midwest or Me?

Dear Roxanne;

Since moving to the Midwest I have found that people here don't reach out much. I have been in classes, taught classes, all kinds of classes and very few people reach out.

Do I put out that I am not kind, at first I thought. But no I found out sometimes other women weren't kind. I asked for prayer at a church I go to and I was told off. I slowly went back, but now that they discuss laughter they never let me share what I know about laughter.

I feel I entered into a generation that has lost how to ask questions, reach out to one another and being satisfied with a thank-you on the email is enough.

Well,it isn't for me. I find I miss talks with girlfriends nurturing one another, I miss laughter with people. Luckily, I am teaching the subject now.

And slowly I am forming a couple movement classes. But I have found very few peers in dance, writing, and acting and I was in a play for twenty seven shows.

So luckily I am putting this frustration in my own work, and feel lucky I have a couple of friends who share walks, talks and activities. I have a loving husband and kids who like me . But I find that if we don't ask questions how do we meet people, have friends, have jobs and have connection. Those questions will improve our world, but by having all our new toys, it takes away active participation and that is what the word still needs is being engaged not letting Wi do our Yoga. But using your head to remember what yoga you know. Blessings and Happy New Year!

Sandi   

Now let me consult with my crystal water...

Hi Sandi! Thanks for your question. Only as I reread it here, I realize it is not so much a question, is it? In fact, it is more of an exploratory/personal essay. If you were one of my Loft students and turned this in, I'd be writing all sorts of things and exclamation points all over the page, feverishly agreeing with you: "I know! When I first moved here I thought I was crazy!" I thought everyone was messing with me! "Let's get together," everyone said, but it just never happened. I felt like I was doing something wrong by following up. This proved most crazy making upon moving to Minneapolis in 2001 and meeting my email "buddy," a second year grad student with whom I had immediate rapport. We had so may things in common it was eerie. We emailed back and forth for five months, almost daily and we couldn't wait to meet each other. When the day finally came and we were introduced, I went running into her arms. 

"Finally!" I said, taking in a good look at my new friend. "We even look alike!" I gushed, which is untrue except we are both tall. "I can't believe we are actually meeting in person!"

"You too! Wow! This is awesome. Hey! Welcome to Minneapolis! Let me show you around! You must be feeling sort of overwhelmed right now. Come on! Come with me. Let's have lunch!" 

This was exactly the response I expected, only... she didn't really say it. I heard it. I felt it. It was after all, what my body was used to: reciprocity of emotion. It was so expected, so MY normal that I must have heard it coming from somewhere, perhaps survival mode, but sister, it wasn't coming from her. In fact, it was if she hadn't a clue who I was. 

"Hey," she said. And after significant pause, "nice purse." 

I pulled my aqua Pan Am Airlines bike bag away from my torso, looking at it as for the first time. "Oh... thanks," I said. 

"See ya later," she said and headed down the hall with her other tall friend.

Okay, what just happened? Did I, like, forget to wear a bra? Is there, like, semen on my face? Did I somehow just sprout a cuckoo clock out of my third eye that instead of cuckooing gives everyone the finger?  

After I checked myself in the mirror, I wondered if maybe I'd somehow offended her. But it couldn't have been "something I said," because I didn't get a chance to say anything.  At my new apartment, I went online and reviewed our email stream to see if anything happened that I missed, like a break-up letter. All clear. 

This was the first among several similar encounters. SEV-E-RAL. And though I eventually became fairly fluent in the midwestern rhythm of Minnesota Nice, it took about eight years for me to stop taking it personally (most of the time, since there are enough non-natives in my life to throw me for a loop with their emotional reciprocity). Still, eight years to realize that I could have saved myself a load of suffering by simply saying something like, "hey email buddy! Wait up! I want to have lunch with you! This place is really big...I'm lost!" I wish someone would have told me before I moved here that the Midwest is a little different. Not to take it personally if someone doesn't get excited with you about, say, your birthday. But still go and have your birthday. Still invite people and get a cake. Go to Nye's even. They'll come. And it's not reluctance or indifference you sense; it's just that things are less of a big deal to some people. What is a big deal? Weather's a big deal.  Weather and getting a new store. Especially a new big chain store. That's exciting.             

It still baffles me, but at least now I know it has nothing to do with me. I have no idea why no matter how long I've known someone from here, they wish me "good luck," upon departure. I have no idea why hello and goodbye always feels so formal, why no matter how personal, or wild, or unusual,  or deep we've gotten, the next time we get together is as though it was the first... or the last.  I don't know why I don't get invited to more things. Or asked more frequently how I am. Who knows why the Caribou dude always says, "can I help you?" as though the "you" that is me is not the same "you" to whom he yesterday disclosed much of his personal life. I don't get it! And, sure, I don't understand why people appear to be interested in me or the same things I am, but I never end up seeing them again or hearing back from them when I send an email or call.  Nor do I have any idea why plans for "getting together"  is a euphemism for "I gotta get goin'."  More baffling still is that I have no sense of how my native peeps really feel about me. Do they love me? Like me a little? A lot? Feel sorry for me? Wish I'd go away? I've never experienced so many effusively challenged folk in my life! Have you?  Living here starves my inherent need for constant external validation.

And while yes, that is an exaggeration, and of course is in no way representative of EVERY SINGLE native I know, the truth, the red hot irony, is that I've really had to learn how to be my own cheerleader since no one here is lining up to do the job. They cheer-led in LA and even though it was fleeting and inauthentic, it was the noise and rhythm to which I acclimated and everything else feels a little... quiet. So what's a transplant to do? Stay true. Keep doing what you love, no matter how quiet the following, how small the social circles. No matter what, you just do and be your truth in the world, be and do what you love because just because you aren't as popular as you once were or would like to be, you just might realize that those cool accepting yummy people that you want to laugh with and be understood by, etc, are actually right here in front of you but you haven't really seen them because you haven't given them a chance. It is you, after all, who has been withholding. Minnesota Nice is no excuse for not being yourself.

So don't do like I did and go thinking the reason they are being Minnesota Nice is because they have found you out; they can really see those deep unseen horrible flaws, those core personal mythologies that you picked up somewhere that must be true, especially if all these Nice Minnesota people want nothing to do with you! Don't let mythology take your truth. They DO want something to do with you, even if it it's not EVERYTHING to do with you and with as much as enthusiasm. Minnesotans, Canadians, Los Angelenos...whoever! No one has the ability (and rarely the intent) to stop you from being who you are.  Meditate on that. But perhaps you have and perhaps this is more or less what you meant in your letter; is it?  I don't know if I actually answered your answer, but in any case, I hope it helps. Big So Cali Hug to you, Rox

Writing with Rox Weekly Prompt—What is YOUR smalltalk of choice?

Thank you all for your very inspiring, cool, creative, well thought and hard-to-ask questions. Please keep them coming and I will get to them as soon as possible. As with most things, I am very slow at answering but you can expect a few to pop up weekly over at the planet (writingwithrox.blogspot.com).  Last night, I responded to a question about creativity another one tonight about writers avoiding the blank page.  (By the way, do the bolded colors influence your feelings about those words?) Anyway,  I got so into it and consequently distracted, I'm not sure I even answered the questions. Or did I? You be the judge. Like I said (and if I didn't say, I'm just sayin') we're all experts on these things so please don't assume my answers are the only answers (but if you want to assume so, that's okay too). Alright then, I'm getting way too expository.

Weekly Prompt              TALK... get it?  TALK... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA

So....

Are you happy? I ask because my friend Cori and I had a playdate yesterday while our almost five year olds raced monster truck hot wheels around the Beach. We got on the topic of smalltalk and I told her that asking "are you happy"? is usually the chase I cut to when held against my will in a round of one-on-one smalltalk. Like most people, turns out neither Cori nor I particularly enjoy smalltalk, which begs the question, the profound question: So, if two or more people are doing smalltalk and no one wants to be doing it, why are they doing it? Just imagine the thought bubbles! 

When's there's simply nothing else I can say about the weather or Jude's milestones, I segue: "So how about you? You pretty happy with life? Things a-okay?" I guess it's the smalltalk version of going deep. I mean, its' still encased in small talk—folks pretty much answer the same way they do about the weather, myself included. "It's all good. It is what it is. You know. It's life, right? I mean, right? Compared to last year, I can't complain! Could be a lot worse, there, ya. It's nice they opened up a new shop, there, and they serve little muffins so that really brightens a day, you know."

Sometimes I love smalltalk and find it overwhelmingly endearing because what could be more human than smalltalk? Even Jude is getting the hang of it, adapting to the social conventions, thanks to me (How are you Jude. Good. How was school? Good. What'd you do? Nothing. Did you make a project? I don't know.)   And... for many reasons, I also feel fairly George Orwell about it, but I won't go there now... not in the mood. And you? What is your smalltalk of choice? What do you talk small about? How do you feel about it and what are you thought bubbling while small talking? Any funny smalltalk stories?  As always, write until you feel it is enough and feel free to send it my way! 

And... if this topic really makes you wonder, consider joining Cori and I for our upcoming Yoga and Writing Retreat on February 18. We'll be moving beyond the smalltalk and into the love of the moment, the fun, aliveness, nurturing and loving yourself by just doing nothing. No smalltalk required to be loved. We're back and quirkier than ever. So if you missed it last time, or even if you already attended come on over to the Beach for another day of self love 101. Still a few spots left!  Check out the corkboard at the website... I think it's posted a couple times and hopefully you won't have to search more than ten minutes to find it. Hopefully the dates and times coincide. We sure  have fun here, don't we?

Hope to write with you soon! 

TALK... get it?  TALK... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA

Rox

Roxanne Sadovsky

612-703-4321

rox@writingwithrox.com

www.writingwithrox.com

Meet yourself on the page.

Getting our writer butts in the chair

Dear Rox,

Why is it so dang hard for us writers to confront the blank page?  Or even to return to an existing project, particularly if it's not flowing at the moment?  Why is it so hard to get our butts in the chair?  (This brings to mind the acronym in the IT Help Desk arena "PEBKAC" - problem exists between keyboard and chair.) How do we get out of own way? (There's never a better time to scrub the bathroom floor with a toothbrush than when the cursor is blinking on a blank white page.)

Keep up the good work!

Thanks,

Trina

Dearest Trina,

Thanks so much for reiterating one of the most common questions I hear. And the obvious answer, obvious even to you, is the same vague answer they've been giving us for years: fear. Yeah, but what does that mean?

The fact that so many people ask this question makes me sad. Why? Because if you are resisting the chair, you are not excited about your writing (which is also why it is not flowing). Likely, you are not excited about your writing because you are not writing your truth. Why are you not writing your truth? Because you don't know what that is. In fact, that phrase sort of annoys you because you've heard it a hundred times. Why don't you know what it is?  Because the writing police once told you (and keep telling you) that "good writing" has to be like this or that. And that scares you in some subconscious place deep down, that deep down place that fears you'll be exiled if you do not do as the writing police tell you. A place that scares you so much that you are not even aware that you are not writing your truth... it's not even on the radar. You may think you are writing your truth, but you are likely writing some socially agreed upon version of writing your truth that sounds right, but doesn't really feel right... in fact, it's getting sort of boring.  That's the biggest reason. You're not writing your truth. 

Sure there are other obvious reasons and shoulds like no time, cleaning obligations, Facebook demands, self-doubt, self-criticism, self-pity, the gym, meetings, coffee, depression, ADD, kids, the rest of your life, etc, but those things interfere with everything... even each other.

The other big reason you may be avoiding the blank page is that you do not have a writing community. We writers need this. We need to read and be read to. We need to know someone somewhere is listening. We need to be witnessed. Before there were writers, there were storytellers and storytellers were nothing without story-tellees who gathered round the fire or the huts or the drums or whatever and listened to the stories and begged, "oh please, tell us more Storyteller! Tell us how it ends! Tell us of that village you saw with the strange baths and plants!" Why would a storyteller tell a story if no one was around to listen? But the thing is, back then, or back there somewhere at least, everyone was a storyteller. And everyone listened. So maybe you just need to know someone(s) is listening.

All that said, writing, like any other creative endeavor, is a practice that needs discipline; once you've got into the habit and have found your truth, met yourself on the page,  you'll be writing not only in the chair, but standing in line, driving, at work, etc. Your creative channel will be wide open. But it takes time to learn how to write your truth because it takes time to unlearn all the untruths. But it can be done. It's why I make my students write in gibberish or turn their earliest memory into a rap song. It's why I have them write letters to their younger selves and answer back from their younger self who is scared to death about speaking his/her truth. It's why writers like Natalie Goldberg and Brenda Ueland and the other one... oh... not Eat Pray Love... um... Bird by Bird! Annie Lamott! Its' why those gals and countless others insist that you just write. Just sit down and do it. Sure, it's hard at first, but just do it anyway. It's like what my drum teacher Hanakia says about drumming: you just hit the damn thing. You don't think about it, you just do it.

This is all easy for me to say because I rarely get writer's block and if I do, it's because I am not writing my truth. I am too concerned with what "they" will think. This happens when I have to write something on a Hallmark Card.  Filling out forms gives me writer's block because it's hard to write my truth with either check boxes or only two lines, yet even then I can't seem to avoid writing a prose poem in the margins about why this form is reminds me of that time in childhood when....

But let's be clear here: I still find myself scrubbing the floors, partly because they desperately need it, and because I thoroughly enjoy it. But usually when I am down on my knees instead of butted in chair, it's because writing is my reward for getting stuff done. My treat. Could that be the deal for you too?

Hope this helps Trina. I'm sure I'll have a lot more to say about it tomorrow. And if anyone else does, please insert your truth here. Night night!

How DO I become more creative?

AnonymousJan 11, 2012 02:46 PM   ASKS...

Dear Rox,

How DO I become more creative? I used to feel as though a stream ran through me, tip to toe. Now I feel like a dry riverbed.

Dearest A,

Thanks so much for the great question! A lot of people have been wondering this lately, as well as insisting they are simply not creative, or incapable of creativity ("I just wasn't born with it!"). To me, this is like saying "I don't have any rhythm," which is nonsense because you have a heartbeat.

Creativity, that "stream" you beautifully describe, is something we all have. Your stream is your stream forever, available to you any time.  Once in a while it may need a little inspiration or occasion or big feeling to spark it up because sometimes indeed our creativity goes to sleep. But mostly, while inherent, creativity is like any other muscle that needs to be worked until it becomes integrated into who you are. For a lot of us, creativity was not encouraged in our formative years... we learn to shut down fairly early. As much as I bitch about my latchkey years in feral LA, I am grateful for having grown up there, around tons of creative "open minded" liberal (read: crazy) characters who collectively modeled the importance of "living your truth" no matter how much of a freak it made you. Sure, everyone may have been totally high and/or vying for the Hollywood spotlight, but it was my everyday normal and it took.  I also went to an open school and had friends and parents and elders who encouraged us youts to follow our hearts.  So lucky for me, creativity was integrated into my lifestyle at an early age. It was never something anyone ever commanded on the spot: Sit! Roll over! Be creative! It just was part of life, part of survival, perhaps related to the buzz of being on stage; in my landscape, everyone always knew someone "in the business" (showbiz).  

Sometimes it is helpful to tune into your creativity and mindfully tend to it. Years ago I taught a class at the Loft called Creative Workout and the majority of the exercises were doing things to get out of your head and then writing about it from that out of your head place. Like what? Jeez, we walked around the room and pretended to be buffalo... or bugs...the ocean. We drew self portraits with our feet. We made up dances named after randomly selected newspaper headlines. We collected litter and then wrote it's life story—from the voice of the litter. Odd? Maybe at first, but once given the permission to be creative, first by an "authority" figure, than by oneself, that permission can really simply open it up. The only thing that keeps us away from creative expression, authentic creative expression, is our thoughts. The ones that scare us back into our comfort zone.

Back in the day, creativity—before we called it creativity— was simply survival. Before it became a  "thing" and associated with trillion dollar art and highbrow aesthetics, and long before it was put into a word, creativity was that life force we relied on to get ourselves out of sticky situations or simply communicate. Were hieroglyphics art at the time? Were the Pyramids? No. I mean, yes, but no.
You doodle right? You are creating, being creative when you  doodle. You start and have no idea where it's going, but you just go with it. You don't think, "jeez, this doodle sucks so I think I'll stop doodle looping my squares now." And you never know; your doodles may someday appear in museum halls of the future.

All too often folks associate creativity with outcome like a beautiful painting, poetry, collage, wheareas the real gift of creativity is the process itself. The creative process is your life force, your spontaneity. It is nothing you can preplan. Psychodrama founder Jacob Moreno, one of my favorite do-gooder guru folk, based his life—lived his life—on this theory which you can read all about in his Canon of Creativity or by googling Moreno. He says it much more scholarly than I, but the point he makes is that creativity is connected to, perhaps the outcome of warmed up spontaneity, and can essentially never produce the same thing twice. It's the moment. That's not to say that you can't capture the moment on film or in watercolor or in poetry, but the essence cannot be captured. The pulse of it, the energy loses its life force as soon as it becomes a thing to replicate. It's complicated, but it's very very cool.

So here's what you can do: First, acknowledge that your creativity is part of who you are and is not going anywhere. In fact, to deny your creativity is to deny the truth of who you are! You may have days where you feel uninspired or judged or PMS or whatever it is, but this doesn't mean you are not creative. Likely what is keeping you from BEING/LIVING creative is your thoughts. If you can push past those thoughts and go ahead and be creative, you'll be back at it in no time.  Know that no matter what, you are a creative being and always will be. Wanna see for yourself? Okay. First, translate in writing the following sentence in the MADE UP language of your choice: "I am a creative being. Creativity lives inside of me and lives in every living being.  I am a stream of creativity tip to toe." Next, doodle the same message. If that fails, walk around the room and pretend you are the most uncreative person in the world. Embody it. Say what it says, think what it thinks, do what it does. Then write a letter to you from that uncreative person telling you exactly how to be creative; make sure and stay with the voice of uncreative. See where that takes you. Enjoy it. You really will. But really, you can just do anything different, "respond new to an old situation" as Moreno says and you are in the creative stream.

Part of creativity is "going with the flow," committing to the moment and making the most of it, no matter how absurd it seems to be. Saying yes to what's right here, right now. So get back to your stream. It's waiting for you whenever you're ready.

Writing with Rox Weekly Prompt—I DARE you to ask

"Any questions?" I asked my Intro to Shakespeare class when I went over the syllabus on the first day of class, also my very first day TAing undergrads at the University of Minnesota.    "Anything at all?" 

Thirty pairs of eyes ricocheted around the room before settling back my way, a few polite smiles, shrugs. 

"Really? No questions?"  (Like...does anyone in this room wonder if I know the first thing about Shakespeare?

More silence. Had I scared them? Me? They looked too close to the womb to be in college. They were newborn fawns. They still had their kitten faces. Still... hello?

Finally, someone asked where the bathroom was.

Well! You'd of thought it was the million dollar question. Everyone had an opinion about this. That way. No over there. No, upstairs. Yeah, but the one in the basement...  But wait! Dude, have you seen the ones over by that thing?

A wild party of conversation ensued, a regular Intro to Shakespeare happy hour. Until I brought it back to the syllabus. "So before we go, what questions do you have about the class? Or Shakespeare? Or... I don't know, Old English?"

Immediately their faces went blank. Sure they had questions, but were they the right questions?

What had our world, not to mention our deeply respected places of learning, become?  It's not like I'd been living under a rock for the past ten years... though some might argue that most psychotherapists come from another planet. Still,  I was accustomed to an environment where everyone had a voice. Where dumb questions dared asked were thresholds to brilliance...healing, sometimes enlightenment. 

Since then I've learned to preface every class, workshop, or retreat with the following: Ask questions. Any time. If you don't know, ask. There are no dumb questions. There is no right or wrong. And so what if there is? Ask anyway. Sure, perhaps there are dumb questions... but there are also dumb answers, but no one makes a thing about that. So just ask! Especially if you think it's dumb: can you say growth moment? Just because someone knows the answer and you don't or someone thinks its' obvious and you don't, or someone said a similar question was dumb a long time ago, this does not make it a "dumb" question.

It kills me--kills me! when folks come back around and say, "you know, I always wanted to know, but never asked...but what exactly is a memoir?" Or... "I've been wondering, but was afraid to ask... is everything okay?"  

I'M SO GLAD YOU ASKED. SO DEEPLY VERY GLAD. WHY DIDN'T YOU ASK SOONER?

This week's prompt is twofold: First, I dare you: ask a dumb question---any darn dumb question about writing, life, whatever you want. Ask more than one if you'd like. Answer I will! If you'd like, you can preface your question or tell me a bit about why you ask, but no need whatsoever. So try it. Ask away. Just make sure it's dumb. Get it out of the way.

Second: Since there are many questions that come my way in class, via email, at workshops, etc, I thought I'd add an ASK ROX thing. Got a question about writing, healing, adverbs, creativity, writers block? Publishing? Need some words of encouragement about your memoir, novel, prose poem? Need some words of encouragement about anything? Help with a love letter?  Rox answers all at rox@writingwithrox.com     I'm not saying I'll have THE answer, but likely I'll have one or several varying, lopsided, passionate, loving and sometimes experience based, largely imaginatively inspired replies.

I'm your "Dear Rox" from now on. 

To all questions, I'll post and answer on the blog at writingwithrox.blogspot.com 

You can either send a private email to rox@writingwithrox.com or on the blog in the comments box.

Either way, you can choose to be anonymous. 

No expiration date! You don't have to be curious just this week!

  

Ask away. Why not? Look forward to writing with you soon!

Rox

Roxanne Sadovsky

612-703-4321

rox@writingwithrox.com

www.writingwithrox.com

Meet yourself on the page.

Writing with Rox Weekly Prompt—Consciousness

Last night about quarter after midnight following four blissful hours of kirtan (devotional singing), we were gently guided through a "puja," dedicated to the "energies of Ganapati, Lakshmi and Lalita Tripurasundari to remove obstacles, promote beauty and expand grace in all those present," a sacred ceremony performed by Gita for the Masses (gitaforthemasses.com).  

I haven't a clue. None. Some did, some didn't, but we just went with it. In sacred space, you don't question why they are spreading a beautifully intentional ring of baking flour around a tinfoil baking dish with a shiny golden icon inside and then filling that baking dish up with milk; you don't question why a beautiful woman in enlightenment clothing is rapping in Sanskrit and how inexplicably cool it is to feel the words spread within, syllable by sound. And following that, when you are invited to either/and drink the milk or rub it in your hair, you figure, "well, we're here, aren't we?"  

Well, you might question it a little bit.

 

"Should we go?" I asked my friend as others lined up. 

"I'll take all the blessings I can get," she said and up we went. 

What stood out most about this brief ceremony was when Gita Gal, Myra Godfrey, thanked us all for spending our New Year's Eve "in consciousness." Well. I patted myself on the back for knowing what she meant... in this particular context, anyway. She meant (or what I think she meant) is that we chose to spend our evening singing out "here now all beings everywhere" love (for this is what I would guess most of us feel when we chant) instead of say, getting wasted at the bar and singing about lost love: Think Om verses Auld (Lang Syne)... Lyrics "Because the one I love lives inside of you..." over "These Boots are Made for Walkin." She was talking about what many people are talking about who are talking about this kind of thing as the "new consciousness" which I won't get into because many people like Eckhart Tolle are doing a mighty fine job doing so. I know it has a lot to do with dropping the "auld," which really burns because, oh, I do love that song. Perhaps if we chanted it  over and over, mindfully, it too could integrate into sacred space. But what I mean is dropping the "old"—old personal and cultural mythologies mainly.  

If ....Old=rote, checked out, perfunctory. 

Than...New=present, intentional, less in your head

But really, what is consciousness anyway? Is it what Julian Jaynes says in "The Origin of Consciousness and the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind"? Is it what Freud says? Buddha? The geniuses who wrote "A General Theory of Love"? Orwell? Is texting rotting consciousness out? Is it Ma shouting at all the LA drivers who are "totally unconscious"? Is it daring to make eye contact? Is it calling instead of texting? Is it visiting a person in real time instead of via www.wtf.pdq.bff.lmao.itissafehereincyberbook.facelies.friendunfriend.com?

Or is it more simple, like washing the dishes with my son after pizza dinner and saying, "yes, Jude, washing dishes IS like a video game" and knowing somewhere deep down exactly what he means.

Are you new, old, somewhere in between? Where is your current state of consciousness? Higher? Lower? Self? Un? Sub? Like I said, I haven't a clue. And just when I think I do, it's old.

As always, write until you are done and to post privately, just for me, send it to rox@writingwithrox.com or on the blog for everyone to see at writingwithrox.blogspot.com

Nighty night!

Rox

Roxanne Sadovsky

612-703-4321

rox@writingwithrox.com

www.writingwithrox.com

Meet yourself on the page.