Creatrix
“…the most beautiful thing a potter produces is…the potter.” ~Matthew Fox
Sometimes I just get all hung up on what I’m creating…forgetting that if I really step into the destruction that must come before creation, what is transformed is not the creation, but the creator…me.
Every time I sit down to write, I can feel the death that’s imminent. I can feel the vortex of surrender. I fight it every time. Something pushes me to the edge, then I stand there waffling. I stand there knowing it’s what I want, yet fighting tooth and nail to not let go. Eventually, I do. I let go. I die to what wants to be born. And so far, I’m still here.
So what dies? What are these little deaths? I know my will goes away. Control goes away. My sense of how it should come out goes away. Thank goodness, because at the end of each process of writing, something complete seems to come forth, something comes back around to the beginning, something complete is born that never could have ‘thought’ its way out of me. I let go of my thinking mind, it disappears into the background. The words come. My hands type.
In these little deaths, the “I” is transformed. Who I believe myself to be changes. Each death changes me. And each one causes me to trust the process just a little bit more. It’s like building muscle memory, but instead its…
