As I explore and experiment with various ways of living and being, my observations become a source or muse for my writing.
Letting my words come forth into expression on to notebook pages keeps the ideas my head clear.
I think I’ve kept a journal since I was old enough to hold a pencil (somewhat) correctly. In my stash of old belongings kept in a Brooklyn Navy Yard storage unit, I have a trunk full of notebooks. I have almost half as many notebooks filled since I shifted to India in 2010. Slowly I’m going through and typing things out.
“Surprisingly, I find an unfamiliar relief in feeling safe to share and allow someone else to hear my heart—the dialogues in my head that otherwise fell quietly in line among the rest, kept locked up in that unchecked trunk of diaries.
And with this new practice of writing for an audience, I am beginning to recognize the inherent need in all of us to be truly heard. I witness the opening of my heart, directly related to the crumbling of my protective walls—so carefully constructed over decades of collecting and holding on to little grains of hurt, which were never swept away. And I realize this vulnerability, however initially scary, is an even more crucial ingredient to my spiritual growth and progress on this path of sadhana.
Sharing this piece of writing with you all now is the first swing of the sledgehammer, initiating a long overdue crumble.” ~ excerpt from Lessons in Vulnerability from a 13 Year Old Housemate in a Small Himalayan Village, Published on elephantJournal
who checks my diary?