Settling into a new space never takes me long. Granted I have had lots of practice in my life. I like unpacking--much more than packing, and I like creating a feeling of home, even when it is temporary, as in a few days.
Here I am in Two Harbors, Minnesota with a view of Lake Superior. A dear friend who is a poet invited me to spend time with her at her family's time share. My husband and I have been here before with them, but for a few days it is just we two writers.
When she picked me up Sunday morning, I warned her about all I was bringing with me. Not many clothes, but a couple bags of food, including lentil soup I made for us and Honeycrisp apples and a substantial loaf of brioche bread from Golden Fig, a gourmet food shop not far from our house. The owner assured me I would never want to eat another kind of bread--great for French Toast or grilled cheese or just slathered with butter.
I look forward to that, but the main reason for being here, other than time with my friend, is to write. I filled a roller bag suitcase with my writing supplies, as if I were going to be here the rest of the winter. I explained to my husband when he wondered about how heavy my suitcase was that I am beginning the draft for a new chapter in my spiritual memoir. "I am not sure of the focus yet for this chapter, and I don't want to get stuck because I don't have what I might need." Thus, a suitcase of old journals and key books I read during the years that will be the subject of the new chapter. I brought a printer, too, because I like to print out even the roughest of rough drafts. Fortunately, my writing friend understands and didn't make fun of me as we loaded her car.
And now here I am. Ready, set go.
Within minutes of being here I set up my desk area on one end of the dining room table. The printer is behind me on a tv table.
I can see the lake from where I sit. The shore is dotted with old snow, but the water is open with quiet ripples.
Quiet ripples. That's what I feel, too.
Quiet ripples of ideas and thoughts and images to explore. Time and space to explore where those reflections take me and become words on a screen. Calm energy to honor the task I have set before myself. All with the lake in front of me, its depth, its vastness, its beauty, its receptive energy. Home to my soul and my creative spirit.
The last thing my husband said as I opened the car door was "Be productive." As I write this on Sunday evening, I hope that the coming days will, indeed, be productive. How nice it would be to return home with this new chapter's first rough draft, however rough, but whatever the word count, I know I will carry home with me the gentle flow of quiet ripples.
May it be so.
An Invitation
What quiet ripples are you feeling in your life? I would love to know.
NOTE: Last April I went on a writing retreat, also. You can read about that here.
I suspect by this stage of our lives we each know what we need to do, whether it is for the health of our body, our mind or our spirit, but how often do we actually do what we most need?
In recent posts I mentioned the retreat I co-facilitated recently. I truly love preparing for and offering retreats, but they require excessive amounts of time and energy, and at the end of a retreat I am tired mentally and physically. Spiritually, I feel almost too full. Absorbed by people's stories and challenges. Inspired by and eager to integrate the wisdom shared, but how?
My normal mode of operation when making a transition from one major activity or event to whatever is next is to clean, to sort and organize. When returning from a vacation, for example, I immediately unpack. Suitcases are returned to storage and laundry is started. Mail is sorted and if early enough in the day, I make a trip to the grocery store for the basics. Re-entry is not delayed.
When something has required time and attention and lots of preparation and when other projects and even ordinary tasks have needed to be set aside, I am usually eager to do whatever it takes to return my normal routine. I assumed I would follow that usual plan of action after the retreat, but I surprised myself.
I got as far as unloading all my retreat stuff from the car into the entry of the house, but then there they sat. I made no further efforts to reshelve the books, to file the papers or return the various props used throughout the day to their proper spots. I left it all in a pile right inside the door. I decided I could deal with it another day.
I knew what I needed was time to empty, to make room for what was most essential, to restore energy. I knew what would help me bridge the recent time of intense activity and interaction and would return me to equilibrium. I needed to see Big Water. I needed to hear Big Water.
Therefore, the day after the retreat Bruce and I drove north to Duluth and along the North Shore of Lake Superior toward Split Rock Lighthouse. I didn't have a list of sights to see or things to do. I did no research, except to see what the weather forecast would be. We had no real plan, but just headed north. Towards Big Water.
Each time we stopped to take in the view I could feel a shift inside my body. I started to empty and make room for some needed spaciousness. As the waves landed on the shore and then retreated back out beyond where I could see, I felt the wrinkles on my forehead, and even the ones I imagine on my heart, disappear. I experienced a smoothness, a lightening. I could feel the beginnings of a rhythmic flow again.
By the time we returned home, I was awake once again.
I had resisted what seemed most logical and instead responded to what my soul told me I most needed to do.
I realize it isn't always possible to do the one thing you feel would be most beneficial for your spirit, but more than likely there is something that would be a good stand-in. If I hadn't been able to take a full day for my soul or if I didn't have access to Big Water, which I have learned over the years is healing and inspiring for me, I hope I would have spent time meditating and writing in my journal, my two main spiritual practices. I hope I would have taken a longer than usual walk or spent time coloring and listening to music.
I know what I need at those kinds of overflowing time, and this time I allowed myself to actually respond to that need.
An Invitation
Do you know what restores you? How often do you actually do what you most need? I would love to know.
Settling into a new space never takes me long. Granted I have had lots of practice in my life. I like unpacking--much more than packing, and I like creating a feeling of home, even when it is temporary, as in a few days.
