Liturgy of the Mundane Week 4
There is a pen and a notebook or keys and a computer screen or a voice and a recorder. There is writing practice. As I do my writing practice, week in and week out, I wonder, as I am sure you do, why. I wonder why I take the time to siphon words out of my non-conscious mind onto a page. I don’t let anyone read my writing practice. I don’t even read them. Honestly, they are pretty disappointing. My writing practice pages don’t dance. Reading them is podding on patched asphalt. Undazzling. Unimpressive. Uninspiring.
Writing them can also feel like that. Covering ground that is laced with my footprints. A linguistic sigh.
But…oh, my friends, in this case I do not blush to give you hope, BUT, it is a practice that will teach you to sing through sorrow. Writing practice is something I do because it teaches my mind to listen, react, catch, and quiet. I do not know exactly where the words come from. Some days they are potato peels and apple cores, but, with good editing (the unglamorous, rigorous, unforgiving kind), I find that those scraps have disintegrated into generative soil within which things can grow—myself foremost.
Perhaps writing practice is unnecessary. If so, it is a privilege. A beloved superfluity. A healer of hurts.
Monday: If I dug straight down…
Tuesday: I have buried…
Wednesday: To wander among the…
Thursday: Beneath the first layer…
Friday: This is dirt rich enough to…
Writing Practice Rules:
Grab a pen and paper or dictation device or computer
Write/record the prompt at the top of your page
Set a timer (you can adjust the time to suit your needs…I keep the practices short so they don’t seem overwhelming)
Take a few moments to visualize what the prompt is bringing up
Write or speak or type!! Try not to edit or criticize. Just write.
Write the details of what is coming up. I call this catching what rises.
If you get stuck, make loops with your pen or nonsense syllables with your voice or tap the keyboard
Write the details of what you are seeing until the timer goes off