Photo Credit: Anne Jane Grieve

c‘est une délicieuse chose que d’écrire! que de ne plus être soi, mais de circuler dans toute la création dont on parle. Aujourd’hui par exemple, homme et femme tout ensemble, amant et maîtresse à la fois, je me suis promené à cheval dans une forêt, par un après-midi d’automne, sous des feuilles jaunes, et j’étais les chevaux, les feuilles, le vent, les paroles qu’ils se disaient et le soleil rouge qui faisait s’entre-fermer leurs paupières noyées d’amour. -Gustave Flaubert

Writing is a true spiritual path, an authentic Zen way. Writing is an immediate mirror: it reports back to you. You can’t fool anyone, especially yourself. Here you are the doer and the done, the worldly person and the monk. It’s an opportunity to unite the inner with the outer, both being the same anyway, only in illusion two. A great challenge, a great practice. A large way. -Natalie Goldberg

For me the joy and challenge of writing practice comes from its limitless possibility (or perhaps demand) for exploration. The possibility of imagining oneself in an autumn forest and, like Flaubert, becoming at once horses, yellow leaves, wind, tender words and lovers’ sundrenched eyelids. The possibility of fashioning a mirror from jagged pieces of metaphor, conversation, and sense-memory drawn from the shadows of the soul. To wander in all of creation, to reflect light on the darkness, to be doer and done, to dissolve the illusion of separateness of inner and outer. To choose a large way.

I find inspiration between the lines of old vital statistics documents, in deserts, lakes, mountains, forests, rivers, on the yoga mat, in drumbeats and melodies, talking to strangers, crossing oceans, walking new and well-worn paths, paddling known and unknown waters, and, like our ancestors stretching back to the dawn of time, looking up at the stars.