To explain “left-hand writing.” It was after I’d learned in dream group about the major archetypes: sun and moon, right hand and left hand, linear & logical and intuitive & associative (also called “right-brain”) … I don’t like to use the hemispheres of the brain because that may be an anatomical truth, that the right brain controls the left side of the body and speaks more in images than in words, but human experience is that the left side of the body is intuitive, etc. If you go to the left in a dream, you are heading toward right-brain experience.
I don’t remember now if I started “left-hand writing” before I imagined the book with right and left pages. Certainly they were close together. I didn’t literally write with my left hand, when I tried the words came faster than I could set them down. So I would “tune in” to that other side of myself and take dictation. Often they started one word at a time. Sometimes they were nonsense (well of course they are non sense by definition) sometimes I had to write down through what I called the “peanut butter” stage, where you’re writing garbage, or something like “I can’t think what to say, I can’t think what to say, I can’t…” and then something breaks and the real writing comes pouring out. Often the shift begins with “and what I really want to say is…” I think this is the first left-hand writing I ever did.
the way of the left hand
no date by any calendar. the wave rises like sap in my
blood, rising, shredding, dividing, lifting and golden.
my spirit rooted in earth, my spirit springing to the
darkest blue night unfolding leaves filled with stars.
gulls soar above harbor, drifting & turning, my hair
floats like seaweed above the beds of the dead encrusted
with pearl lattice work. is this the body? with all these
spaces inside? like a sponge, like branching veins, like
streams braiding in sand, flow outward and let go.
drop the burdens of the journey. one. word. at. a.
time. when to genuflect and when to leap in ecstatic
dance. for the true neck lace is of shells and the dry
bones murmur for this were crystals created. space,
and cells, letters coming evenly from the pen and
letters divinely inspired wreathed in organic flame and the
threads spiral, twist, interweave — the endless knot
the celtic dance — our feet tread the maze and body
moving body becomes the path ways by which the
mind changes gear and comes to the chalice
o holy palace o wholly place
deep roots sunk to the springs rising
let flow now
The Feminine of History is Mystery, opposite righthand page 76