At its base, writing is an act of love, and when we perform it consciously, concretely, and lovingly, grace enters the equation. We—and the reader—have an experience of something larger communicating through the vessel of our work. That larger something—whose eye is on the sparrow—knows a great deal about the value of specificity...
"God is in the details," exclaimed Ludwig Mies van der Rohe. Writing specifically, writing detail by detail, we encounter not only ourselves, not only our truth, but the greater truth that stands behind all art and communication.
- Julia Cameron, The Right to Write: An Invitation and Initiation into the Writing Life
Last week, I wrote:
Why is it then that the hardest thing of all is to stay true in story-telling? I'm writing my story in pieces into a book these days. Sometimes when I walk away from the work, I am more uncomfortable than I have ever been. It would be easier to peel the skin off my body than to tell what has happened in the hidden places of my heart.
You don't know the half of it. Just wait. Intimate views of the soul are being crafted in my book. Views of my soul. I am making no plans to save myself.
Cameron urges us on towards this very place. The rendezvous of words and bone. I can feel the razor sharp edges of the words I write as they shave my own flesh from my frame. For here, I write things which only I can see. I write from a beating heart, still warm and pulsing with the agony of overcoming and failing and trying again.
I feel raw. Like I have peeled my soul's skin back and left it open to the air.
"Dear God," I put my head down and pray. "Can I do this? I don't know if I can do this."
Here, I am so close to the bone that there is nothing left but bone, and the secret spaces where I draw my breath. People I have never met can read it.
"What will they think when they see me running out in the open like that?"
But this is how I find my true writer's voice. Spare nothing. Make it real, as real as the blink of the eye, the gulp in the throat, the moment awake in the middle of the night. Then I can hear myself speak. The sound resonates all the way through to the ground under my feet.
This is about becoming, about going back to the beginning, about seeing the future. All at once. It is hard, like the grip of a climber on a rock that barely holds his weight. The balance is maintained as long as there is forward momentum.
"Don't look back. Don't stop. Don't overthink it. You were made for this. You were made to climb, to strain for the vision with muscles shaking and mouth dry, to find the space that only you can hold."
As long as there is light, I must work.
As long as I work, there is light.
For the light is truth and I must write what is true.
My heart pounds and rises with the upward slope. My eyes focus on my next step. The way is beautiful and dangerous. There are things on the path that would take me out: pride, self-pity, fear, laziness, selling short, being satisfied too soon, ways of defending myself. But the heights are filled with the joy of becoming. Every step makes me stronger.
There is a life I will live because I have accepted the challenge, because I have undertaken the battle, because I have stepped out into the open. I will be changed by it. The gift of the battle is not the victory, sweet as it is.
Whoever seeks to preserve his life will lose it,
but whoever loses his life will keep it.
- Luke 17:33 ESV
This is the thing worth dying for. This is my heaven on earth. Here, where words meet bone.
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This post is part of a discussion of Julia Cameron's book at High Calling Blogs. You can find today's discussion here.
13 comments:
Beautiful post, Cassandra.
Sometimes I wonder if life would be easier if we didn't write. Because writing seems to open up old wounds and pour salt on some new ones. But not writing (or whatever or creative endeavor) would be cheating ourselves of getting to know the person God meant for us to be.
Excellent!
There is a life you will live for having accepted the challenge, a life you would miss if you chose otherwise. Sometimes the latter seems appealing, it would leave us empty, I think.
It's partway IN that we realize the true buy-in, what we let ourselves in for. We make the decision to continue each day, over and over.
This is wonderful. Since I write about pretty superficial things, I can't relate to this as a writer. But as a person who has gone through a lot in life, this makes sense to me. Sometimes we have to bare our souls. Thanks for this wonderful post. molly
Oh Cassandra. I didn't breathe through this. So raw. So scary. So wonderful.
There are many ways to give up our lives, aren't there? Not always in the sacrifice of mortal life, but in the giving of ourselves, unrestrained, not holding back to protect oneself but allowing the other to see what remains so close to the bone.
Sometimes I'm not so sure what I think of letting unknown folks poke around in my stuff. But if we're going to do it, that's something we must permit, yes?
This post made me think of a Steven Curtis Chapman song "For the Sake of the Call". The chorus is "We will abandon it all for the sake of the call No other reason at all but the sake of the call Wholly devoted to live and to die for the sake of the call"
Exposing oneself for anyone at all to see and read takes courage. Thanks for stepping into that courage. It is lovely.
In my fiction writing, I seem to maintain a lighter voice, and while I do draw from my own experiences, it so far hasn't been to the depth which you've described here.
But when I write my essays and my journaling...that is another story. Peeling back the layers and writing from my innermost being always brings an enlightened awareness with it which is very healing.
I'm finding just how scary it is to write the truth, the deep down, sometimes mucky truth that we keep buried. It is so hard, so frightening, but so cleansing.
I see your beauty here, Cassandra. In this vulnerability you shine. Because we all are, if we are honest. Broken and bruised, precariously telling our stories.
We are part of a Bigger One. Keeping this in mind is key, right? I struggle too.
I'm glad you are penning it down. Look forward to reading it one day.
Yeah. Just keep peeling back that skin, and the beautiful and true will keep blessing the rest of us.
This is precisely why writing is among the most courageous acts people can do. Why it's so hard, so utterly painful, and also so necessary. Some people are called to bare themselves so others can know they're not alone. That's you, Cassandra.
Wow Cassandra, you hit the nail right on the head. I too have been writing my story and at times, it's so raw and I feel so vulnerable. I wonder, can I really do this? And then I get an email from someone who is in the middle of the same struggle, looking for words of hope.
And I read this post.
There is a life I will live because I have accepted the challenge...great words.
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