Reasons to Not Write vs. Reasons to Write

Authors note: The random hillbilly dialect is a complete mystery to me ~ or my creepy dead hillbilly stepmother.

Inside of me there are two. Okay, actually, inside of me, there are lots, and also there are none. But, for the purposes of this post, let’s say there are two, deal? Always at odds, these two bang around my innards insisting on their stance, while I do my best to act like there’s not a war happening under my skin. By the way, please don’t waste your energy feeling sorry for me, I’m pretty sure if you looked deep enough, you’d find all sorts of internal conflicts. it’s just the cost of having an unenlightened mind, by which I mean no disrespect, I got me one of them too. The more open you become, the more you shall see, there ain’t just one of you, nor is there just one of me! Oh, it’s a paradox, folks!  On the level of the mind, there is division. ( I think that there sentence is what’s called a fragment, and I do believe a grammar fairy just lost her wings cause of me… add that to my reasons to not write list.) Look, we actually don’t have to pick sides, and this post isn’t about my favorite topic, wholeness, it’s about the opposite: fragmentation. Or is it? ( Another fragment? ) Wait, now I’m confused. Never mind. I’m just giving a voice to this particular squabble, since it’s one that rattles me daily.

 On the right side of my mind, wearing nothing but her glowing story-soaked skin…bursting with clarity, insight, silliness, hard-won wicked-wisdom, and heart-shaped-street smarts…reasons to write!

On the left side of my mind, donned in lies, the weight of failed tries, and safety gear… reasons not to write.

Not writing and writing walk into a bar…

The rest goes like this:

Because the reasons to not write currently feel stronger and more abundant, I will begin with these first.

Reasons not to write:

  1. My bed is a California King-sized mess of wannabee down comforter, Bohemian print quilt, brown Egyptian cotton sheets, frilly throw pillows, memory foam cervical pillow, body pillow, regular pillows, Clysta Kinstler novel, spiral notebook, some pens, an orange highlighter, Border collie hair and a Border Collie. I should straighten that shit out ~ and finish that book ~ and brush that Border Collie!
  2. My story is played out, even I’m sick of hearing it.
  3. I have organic potatoes!  I have raw garlic, turmeric, unfiltered organic olive oil, salt, and pepper and veganaisse and sriracha for dipping! I have all of the makings for a deeply satisfying, nourishing, and sleep inducing treat!
  4. It just rained and the sky is still mighty congested and gray ~ here in Phoenix, tis a rare day. I hear the call of the trail, “Kate, I smell and feel real good…”
  5. The world is already flooded with writers and opinions. We’re all drowning in so-called experts and thought leaders offering us their latest channelings from their hefty vaults of unlimited, grammatically correct, and well-timed wisdom.
  6. I have a headache, PMS, I want a nap, and I need a pedicure.
  7. Writing is really hard. Only really smart, special, extremely focused and chosen people can write. I am not one of them.
  8. I don’t know how to write.
  9. If I haven’t written IT by now, I’m not going to write IT.
  10. I have ADD. Okay, not officially, it’s likely just PTSD, but still… I’m absolutely afflicted with an anti-focus acronym.
  11. Donald Trump
  12. Plastic, pharmaceutical companies, the mythology that insists medicine, scalpels, technology, and money will fix everything, even and especially, existential pain. Oh, and the raping of nature, factory farms, racism, war, sexism, genocide, chem-trails, Monsanto ~ To sum it up: Earthocide. AKA ~ The Apocalypse.
  13. I don’t know the difference between lie and lay, and don’t think I haven’t learned the difference, because I have. I’ve learned it as many times as I’ve learned my monkey mind can’t be trusted. The abiding wisdom to ignore monkey mind and the difference between lie and lay shan’t be mine.
  14. I still don’t know how to properly use fucking Word, as in the program. Now that I think about it, maybe I don’t know how to use word, as in words, as well.  Whatever, I can’t focus on computer shit.
  15. I’m too old to write for real if I’m not already writing for real.
  16. My parents didn’t love me.
  17. I don’t have a right to be here.
  18. I’m all alone.

 

 

Reasons to Write:

 

  1. While writing this post, my friend Kevin sent me a text with this picture from Santa Fe, where he is on retreat with our teacher, Natalie Goldberg. img_0824I had intended to be there too, but for money-fear reasons, I chose to stay home this year. Natalie has shared this quote by the Zen master Dogen with her students many times :

“When you walk in the mist, you get wet.”

When I told Kevin of the title of this post, his response : “My offering to an absent friend: Write…otherwise, (with all respect to Dogen) when we walk with you, we won’t get wet.

2. I’m a writer.

3. I’m writing.

4. I feel true.

5. This is enough.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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