Tag Archives: quotes

// the writer’s room //

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I think the toughest part is accepting that you have to write all of it for any of it to be any good, just like you have to live all of it if you want to be alive. There is no good and bad there is only the sacred freedom to experience everything.

You have to be able – not even able, you just have to be willing, the muse / gods / universe / angels will take care of ‘able’ as long as you show up – to write the deep and the shallow, the real and the surreal, the pain and the joy, the light and the dark, infinitely. To keep moving your hand across the page is to get out past the fear, shame, and judgment that swipe at the throat of every artist all the time.

You don’t have to publish or share all of it, but you have to write all of it. Somehow. You have to find a way to do the work :: doing the work is the way.

It’s all part of the movement of the energy of creation. It’s all part of life as struggle, as play, as an act of worship, reverence, and humility. The degree to which you cut off the limbs of your feelings is the degree to which you will remain stuck. Art, spirituality, love, pain, it’s all about movement, that’s the Must.

Keep moving.

Whatever it is, open your veins wide, your mouth, ribs and eyes wide, your heart wide, and let it all move through you. The journey of the writer is the journey of the warrior. They are the same.

Butterfly wings, beloved, that’s all. Little tiny beats. The more you move your hand across the page the more you move the words that move the world.

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// pretty little deaths //

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There are secrets within me, secrets I keep alive but quiet like moth wings fluttering around my heart for protection as they eat away at my insides. The things I would die for, lay down my inhibitions for, the desires I beg for relief from even as I fiend for the struggle to fulfill them. When I grow brave – then again maybe I’m not even brave, maybe I’m just worn down by a world that abuses itself – I look at them.

Most people won’t become writers, not because they can’t find the words. There will always be words. But because they won’t look. They won’t look within themselves for fear of descending into a place where words dissolve the breath and feelings tear the curtains down from the ceiling of their heaviest sins, jet black bedroom eyes cringing in the daylight; where emotions run like hunted nymphs, naked through a thick forest of forbidden needs.

I look at other writers, too – the true artists, the ones who slide like elegant snakes beneath your chemical skin right before their poisonous spikes dig into your bones, the ones who wet you down with lust and inject you mad with a rage you never knew you carried all this time but find suddenly scorching up your limbs. I watch the words they use until I find the ones they didn’t, those are the words that matter most. The ones they hide from you to keep for themselves.

I’ve always wanted more. So often I can sense when people are holding their most useful, gutting stuff back. It’s the way watching a heavy storm rolling in makes me want to undress. It’s in my nature, something primordial lives in me and reaches out to find itself in others but there’s nothing there to clutch. People are gone. There’s a pressure rising in the air between their two faces and I just want to be there when the heavens finally break.

Feeling the mounting crush of the hoards of people who have nothing to say, a comforting sadness walks alongside me like a shadow, rising in the snow on the moon orbiting my cosmic thoughts. Wherever it is we come from, whatever it is we think we’re made of, part of us will always be lost.

Even after all this time I still think of you and the way we never understood each other. I didn’t want to tell you that I didn’t want to understand you. I wanted to maul you to pieces and take only your most infuriating bits with me. We fall in love like savages and paint our nails like a strip tease. We fall on our knees for the beautiful pain and the thrill of a few fingers in a gaping mouth, blood pulsing against blood. I could reach inside your chest even now, lace my fingers and pull my own heart out from your body.

I’ve done it before and you’d always thank me with those kisses at the end of your most punishing, adoring letters. I can do it again just as sure as I’m doing it now. Everything we’ve ever done, dust to cradle to grave to resurrection, is written down and hanging in the gaps between every moment you occupy with the things you know don’t matter as much as love once did.

I wish I didn’t still crave your cigarettes. But I guess in places beyond the years we spend hiding, we all still crave what we’re told we shouldn’t. Smoke and mirrors, flesh of my flesh, bone of thy bone, reflections of the same side of silence.

On the street, every person is a distant galaxy hurling itself backwards and dead bird feathers continue dripping in the rain. In daydreams, I touch you with everything I have as broken wings fall around us everywhere.

And no one writes anything anymore.

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~ Allison Marie Conway ~

My book of poetry, Vein, is now available on Amazon here.

Signed copies are available in my Etsy shop AllisonMariePoetry here.

All my deepest love and mad affection. x

// misfit //

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We live in a world that treats the quiet ones like misfits, mutants, outcasts, freaks. Most people talk because they don’t have any idea what to say. Don’t disgrace the words by spilling them before they’ve impregnated you, been a heavy ridiculous burden inside the pulsing womb that is the mad torture of your own mind, grown into monsters with seven heads and screaming, until you are disturbed enough to feel them like thick vines tracking around your spine.

So often the world mistakes silence for ignorance, weakness, powerlessness, thoughtlessness, carelessness. But silence is how I write, how I grow rich, how I build my own bones and breed my own skin. The magic of the artist lies in the soundless, in the molten fluid pools of her willing and complete submission to the fullness of her every delicate experience.

How often to speak is to destroy the stimulus, to ruin the provocative overwhelm. The only hope I have of continuing to work is to remain alert, open to all of it. That everyday I may push further upon the unfolding of my own expanse.

There are infinite glorious worlds of pleasure and agony in my cup of silence.

And as they all misunderstand, I stay still and wait patiently like the wild hidden in the blood of the animal. I am quiet like an elegant death even as I watch you with the electricity of my entire being. I listen with my whole body as you speak. Like a thousand knives gutting the heavens are the beautiful invisible tremors I channel through me.

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~ Allison Marie Conway ~

My book of poetry, Vein, is now available on Amazon here.

Signed copies are available in my Etsy shop AllisonMariePoetry here.

All my deepest love, gratitude, and mad affection. x

// desire //

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I am the consummation of desire.

I hunger and thirst and scream inside to quench an endless aching cycle of desires, wants, needs – some real, some required, some imagined, some sought, some denied.

This is how we breed and are bred.

Celestial oscillations between the shred of frustration and the collapse of molten satisfaction.

But the dangerous, the taut, the mysterious, the rare human creature will invoke a need without intent to satisfy it. She will hold herself within the tension between these two poles to find that satisfaction is not the pulse, anticipation is.

A willing mind hung inside this suspended place develops an affection for the unlimited richness, an overflow of toothsome sensations and experiences which exist only inside that electrified space between satisfied / not satisfied.

What a crime to live a life chasing nothing in the end without savoring the chase. How tragic to be ignorant to the divine clutches of raw frustration.

That which we deny, denies us.

What mad ecstasy to dangle on a hook, torn between the pleasure of attaining our desires… and the pleasure of not.

~ Allison Marie Conway ~

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My book of poetry, Vein, is now available on Amazon here.

Signed copies are available in my Etsy shop AllisonMariePoetry here.

All my deepest love and affection. x

// bare //

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Lay bare your softness.
Close your eyes and let your vulnerabilities fall in the darkness like heavy punishing rain.
I will take your tears into me like oceans of perfect stillness on the moon.
Let the sorrow splinter inside your mind, erupt over every inch of you, make you hot with surrender.
Let it in everywhere, let the gaping mouth of this terrible void devour you, drench you in the wisdom of her infinite healing waters.
Let Love have you, angel.
Let it press your war torn body against the floorboards.
And as the brutal weight of your crippling illusion collapses in raging spirals of ancient galaxies falling from the vacant sky, let go, let go, let go, let go.
This is strength burned into your flesh like beautiful scars.
Let the pain spark along your bones until you are consumed in the fires of release.
Let Love become you, own you, bloom a thousand blood red rose gardens inside of you.
You can take this, you are a vessel for all of this, you are the gift.
There are no acts of Love that cannot set you free.

~ Allison Marie Conway ~

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My book of poetry, Vein, is now available on Amazon here.

Signed copies are available in my Etsy shop AllisonMariePoetry here.

All my deepest love and mad affection. x

{Podcast} The Nasty Habit That’s Destroying Your Kick Ass Creative Edge

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The light is dim.

The candles are dancing for each other and all is quiet.

You are the only person in the room.

But you’re not alone.

Because you can’t break the filthy habit you don’t know you have. You can’t stop the insanity if you don’t know how it started.

I’m on the other side of it now and I can’t even tell you what a huge difference kicking this habit has made in my writing and in my life.

Come now, that’s a ridiculous thing to say. I have a podcast and I CAN tell you.

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[Fill in the Blank] The Major Spiritual Game Changer We Don’t See

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One of the most life-giving, healing and beautiful skills daily meditation has taught me is not only to align consciously with peace energy for a set period of time but also how to stop filling in the blanks with insanity throughout the day.

You know: the blanks.

The blanks we don’t even realize exist because we bulldoze right on over them, filling them in with judgments, grizzly speculations and attack thoughts.

For the most part, we are not conscious of the blanks which is a damn shame because if we don’t see them, we can’t use them to our advantage.

Without realizing these little pockets of welcome exist, these moment to moment opportunities for healing and growth, we allow the ego to fill them in with the negative stuff we say to ourselves constantly, incessantly.

What might a blank look like if we could see it?

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Ripping Up Floorboards: My Lover’s Manifesto & A Delicious Announcement

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I knew it was time even before I read the words.

I knew it wordlessly in the marked stillness.

“Today is a day of silence and of trust.”

I knew it was time in the way time stopped and reality sucked the air from me . . . and I willingly gave it up.

“You have come far enough along the way to alter time sufficiently to rise above its laws, and walk into eternity a while. From this day forth, your ministry takes on a genuine devotion and a glow that travels from your fingertips to those you touch, and blesses those you look upon.”

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The Art of Mindfulness: How to Slow a Rainstorm

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How to slow a rainstorm:

watch.

Watch the way the water falls.

Watch the way the raindrops catch on leaves,

and cling,

then slide

away.

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Hardest in Love: When It’s Hot, When It’s Fierce

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“So you ask for a hotter fire, a fiercer confrontation. Even though this is often painful rather than pleasurable, it’s all right, for you are reaching toward that freedom which lies beyond pleasure and pain. When you want to burn away the grip of your ego on your awareness you’ll endure whatever is needed to clean up your life.” – Ram Dass

A spiritual journey gets hardcore when your commitment to it rises above all else. As you come to realize that everything is a spiritual experience – every encounter, every relationship, every problem, every joy – you are inevitably confronted with the heavy stuff, the seedy stuff you need to fundamentally change about the way you view the world and your role in it.

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The Answers We Seek: Leading the Essential Change of Art (Beginner’s Luck Series)

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Sometimes I wonder if ‪creating ‎art is more about asking questions than telling stories.

Can I look at this another way?

How does this change when you . . . ?

Do you see what I see?

What if we . . . ?

In a way, it takes some guts to ask questions, right. To raise a hand, to investigate, to interrupt the regularly scheduled program. So few people do anymore. Everyone seems to have “the” answer nailed down, figured out.

Googled.

But what about the questions that can’t be researched, they have to be experienced? What about our incredible capacity to invent, create, bend, innovate? Make stuff up?

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We Will Bleed: To Master the Beginning Is to Master It All (Beginner’s Luck Series)

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Come on, baby, brush it off, let it go.

Don’t stop now, love, you will figure this out.

You’ve got this, kiddo, keep going.

That’s some legit advice right there, no? Up against the casual panic of our wild ego minds, this stuff sounds good to hear; some solid, grounded, encouraging words for the one who refuses to quit.

Words that remind her how brave she is for showing up. Words that compliment his determination, that congratulate his trying, his moving, his putting it out there.

We see this with kids all the time: learning to walk, learning to speak, learning to ride a bike, to write, to dance, to not put peas up their nose (in their ears, etc.). Kids are precious and innocent and we allow them to get about the exploration, to get messy, to fall off.

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To Be Seen Alone: A Brief Meditation on Art, Sex, Truth and Surprise

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Art delivers the truth out of us.

That’s why we fear it.

That’s why we crave it.

Something about the way creation has to come about that demands surrender, demands not just a letting go but a not-holding-back.

Something.

In that you are never alone when you are creating art. It’s not a thing you can pull off singly.

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We Go Alone: The Single Greatest Power of Beginner’s Mind (Beginner’s Luck Series)

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Forget everyone you know.

Don’t abandon them, leave them, kick them to the curb (and if you do, for heaven’s sake don’t blame it on this blog post, man).

You don’t have to wish them harm or push or shove them out of your way. Just politely forget them. Just for a few minutes.

Forget about what their voices sound like or what they say, or what you imagine they might say.

Forget the Twitter chats and the Facebook postings.

Forget about what they tell you, what they don’t tell you, or what they ask of you.

Forget me.

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So Perfectly Wrong: How to Meditate Like a Hot Mess

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Wednesday.

February 4, 2015.

Me and my monkey mind 6.23 minutes into my daily 11 minute meditation session:

My back is not straight — hold up — OK, OK. Now I’m straight, OK. Breathe, breathe, breathe. Man my head is killing me what the — ssshhh . . . breathe, breathe, breathe . . . should I be using a different mantra? . . what am I looking for . . . I really need answers to come through, this connection is a train wreck I can’t . . . breathe, breathe, breathe . . . God, I’m so messed up today, I’m screwed, I’m spacing out, I’m stressing out, I feel strung out on life and this was supposed to HELP and now I feel like a DISASTER in life and a TORNADO in meditation and I’ve pretty much had it I’m not even kidding right now. Please help. PLEASE. HELLO. CAN I GET SOME HELP HERE. PLEASE.

At about 7.14 minutes I cut bait, pull the plug. Something’s gotta give.

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We Go First: The Beginner’s Invisible Advantage (Beginner’s Luck Series)

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Put your hand in here.

No really, feel this – it’s totally wild. I know you can’t see it but just put your hand in, come on.

It’s all good, seriously, you want to feel this.  It’s incredible.

It’s beyond worth it, I promise. 

Trust me.

I often feel artistically driven by something that’s hard to describe. Driven to create, to explore, to look at things upside down, spread apart and then from 80,000 feet above. It’s not even a drive maybe as much as a compulsion to keep uncovering and keep digging and keep sharing.

It comes naturally, though not predictably.

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