Hello, gorgeous – would you come closer for a sec? Sssshhh come come come closer closer closer . . . I have a secret to tell you.
Oh. Yes. ;)
Actually, I have 43 secrets. (*politely checks wrist where watch would be if anyone wore watches anymore now that Fitbits are apparently every sick thing in an ever-expanding arsenal of sick digital things all diligently calculating a million new ways to remind me that I haven’t done enough today*)
Don’t sweat it though, babe, these secrets are fast and they are powerful if you listen tight.
You see, secret friend, I have been secretly working up to this secret blog post, secretly, over the past secret six weeks.
As in: drenched and soaked and sealed and locked in secret. Total sexy punk wizardry; total ninja stealth warrior hidden in plain sight.
So incredibly cunning, so sly and so dexterous was this collection of delicious secrets that even I just found out about it yesterday.
Pretty good, right? (or I’m thick as the brick wall someone wearing a Fitbit could scale in three seconds flat, but how about let’s just go with “pretty good” since I’m the one writing this jazz, you feel me.)
When you are trying to do anything creatively in your own way these days, with your own flair, your own style, your own voice, it can be incredibly tricky to tease what’s authentically yours out of the ever thickening stranglehold that is the outside noise.
And then there’s the inside noise, of course. You think to your sultry self (yes, I’m looking at you, babe): what IS my voice? What does my voice actually sound like?
Elegance? Wit? Peace? Violins? Birds? Adele (helloooo, nice try).
What is my voice telling me about why I want to do the creative work I do? What is it telling me about where to go with it? What can my voice reveal to me about the specialness of, well, you know . . . me?
I remain vigilant for this, too, especially when, as much as I adore social media, it can often overwhelm us with the avalanche of other voices, eating away at the precious bits of the very authentic artistic expression that we so deeply wish to preserve and protect.
How to extract ourselves in a way that we can use to uncover and use our creative mojo to the max? I will tell you. Because I did a sneaky damn thing.
I did this thing, a small thing, but as with all small but persistent rituals, it turns into a much bigger thing when we look at it as a whole. Doing this thing taught me that there is no single secret to finding your single soulful, authentic voice.
There are endless secrets that make up the voice that is unique to you. Your soul is eternal, therefore, its clues, tricks and secrets are infinite as well. To find your voice once is to find it again and again and again in a million different ways.
That’s the brilliance, that’s the game.
That all adds up to the badass complicated puzzle that is your unique way of communicating inside. And out.
What did I do to discover this? A thing I hardly thought much of when I started but it felt so richly HONEST when I first did that I kept on with it purely for curiosity’s sake. (Forget what you heard about the cat. Or think about this: if curiosity didn’t kill the cat, said cat would have had no idea it had more lives than one. Mm? Follow the curious. Screw the cat.)
Every time I published a poem to Instagram (nearly daily . . . almost a few times daily . . . on average) I would add one line in the caption that I didn’t prepare, edit or think hard about that began with, “I write . . .”
And then whatever came to me in that exact moment, without censor (here we go), I’d include it in the post.
It was a way to try to capture the magic, the feeling, the essence of the moment after a poem was done, it was a way to hold the aura of the afterglow. (I take the writing of poetry wicked serious – so when I say afterglow? I mean: afterglow.)
What we have now, for our collective pleasure and investigation, are 43 secrets my personal inner voice shared with me about why I write; what it actually means to me on a physical, emotional, social, individual and spiritual level.
So, you see . . . it is not just some elusive thing. I know exactly what my soul sounds like because she told me:
#1 I write to taste the bone.
#2 I write on the mornings of days other people throw away. Maybe I write for them.
#3 I write because reading my imagination turns me on
#4 I write to breathe life into the vacancy of imaginary things.
#5 I write more and say less on the best days.
#6 I write from exactly where I am.
#7 I write with no promises.
#8 I write inside a tangle of feelings.
#9 I write in spite of everything.
#10 I write to please the silence.
#11 I write about beauty but not everyone agrees.
#12 I write from somewhere else.
#13 I write to touch the things I feel.
#14 I write for questions not answers.
#15 I write in my sleep.
#16 I write because the words are so much more clever than I am.
#17 I write for the afterglow.
#18 I write for the release.
#19 I write because it slows shit down.
#20 I write to feel the friction.
#21 I write because we all break slow.
#22 I write in search of entering.
#23 I write because things are told to me and I believe them.
#24 I write inside every other thing.
#25 I write because we all need to say something, somehow.
#26 I write to touch the ache.
#27 I write to make a sound.
#28 I write to sort shit out.
#29 I write before anyone can find me.
#30 I write because I am brave and I am afraid.
#31 I write because I see things.
#32 I write to give voice to the voices.
#33 I write because there is no other way.
#34 I write because we are the savior.
#35 I write because I need to know what happens.
#36 I write because you turn me on.
#37 I write because I like the taste.
#38 I write because the page will listen and not speak.
#39 I write because we can sense the sadness even before it’s true.
#40 I write because the words deliver me.
#41 I write because some things get heavy.
#42 I write because I seem to have been made this way.
#43 I write for the sake of awakenings. Mine and yours.
Every one of these secrets came to me in a quiet moment of worship and stillness before I shared my work with the collective.
“Playful as they are with words, all of them are also deadly in earnest. They are all involved in creating imaginary worlds that are as necessary for them as the physical world they inhabit. Without the symbolic refuges they create, the “real” world would not be very interesting. All of them feel that it is writing that gives them their identity; that if they could not write, their life would lose much of its meaning.”
~ Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, from Creativity: The Psychology of Discovery and Invention
These are whispers from an energy, a being, a thing we cannot name.
Clues and messages from a place we cannot touch.
That moment of reflection, of turning inward to see without judgment what was really behind all of this creative work, was brief and passing but it was so full of presence, genuine curiosity and hope. And capturing it mattered to me, so that I could have something to offer, something to show from my journey to the depths.
We live in a world that for the most part tells us real art, soul work, and creativity is useless, worthless, if it is not done to make money or produce fame or move product.
They think it’s fluff if they value it at all. Hear those messages from the outside, you guys, pay attention for them. And DISMISS THEM.
There are reasons, beautiful, sensuous, mysterious, magical, inventive, life-affirming reasons we do what we do with our souls and our art. There are reasons that will surprise and capture us if we take the moments of intimacy and make note of them, even if it’s just so we can play them back later for ourselves.
Isn’t that what we are here to do, after all?
Not just find our voice . . .
I post every Wednesday morning. And I am so very, deeply grateful you are here. Thank you, also, for sharing my work with your friends, family & lovers. It means the world to me. xx
All content on this site is my own. Sharing with proper credit is always deeply appreciated. Thank you.