(I wrote this in a writing group I was facilitating in April of 1992)
I want to do a more focussed writing. I’m sick of rambling. Yet I don’t have any topic to write about. I want to go for the jugular, reach deep, make words cut and flow. and my arm hurts, cramping my style. Need to write larger, looser. and then run out of steam. a topic, a topic, my kingdom for a topic!
Driving over I thought about the congestion in my upper chest, and wondered what it was that I am trying to discharge, and thought how my shadow is creative, lively, spontaneous, assertive, rambunctious, speaks up, speaks out, speaks the truth, demands the truth… so perhaps it’s that uproarious rambunctious one who wants to get out. Like the streams running down from snow melt, full of rocks and foam.
Rambunctious. Full of rocks and foam. I spit on your tidy tea table. I spill out your house and flood through the windows with new life, brown and foaming. outta my way, here I come — the truth express — listen up folks: this is the TRUTH. You gotta let what’s inside you come out. What I do is me, for this I came. Do each day the best you can, true to yourself and true to the moment, and your life will take care of itself: it will have coherence, order, meaning, trajectory. It will have a shape carved in time. You don’t have to worry about that. You don’t have to be perfect, or good, or slick, or successful, or convincing. All you need to do is be true.