Intro to the Intro 8-3-12
Every major change in my interior life has manifested itself as Something inside of me taking one big giant step and then the rest of me "catching up."
This book mirrors that pattern. My intro was ready in 2004. The rest of the book has been "catching up." Morphing considerably along the way. In form. And content.
Until it was content.
Please consider yourself introduced to the introduction.
Intro 1-16-04
I'm going to see what writing an intro to my book is like by going about it the same way I've done most of the book. Timed writing. Usually 20 to 25 minutes.
I've been in a journal group for seven years, almost as long as I've lived in Sedona. We take turns giving topics. We all write for about 20, then have the option of sharing. The members of my group have encouraged me to publish some of my entries. Encouragement.
Hesitations. Will it be too personal? Too many clothes off? Will it offend family members who may be indirectly included? Who saw and reacted to events differently? Will it be too guarded in the age of blogs, live journals, and reality shows? Not juicy enough? I want to be brave but not foolhardy. Relevant. Read. Admired. I am now in the land of least control.
The Truth in Twenty is catchy I hope. Writing into Your Life was my “almost” choice. Like diving into your life, your accumulated experiences to discover, usually for the first time consciously, the truth or meaning abiding there. Writing into your life, not about it--though the distance of fair witness that happens in "about" is significant. My best "entries" have all been beginning with no clear idea where I might go, and trusting my hand, to transcribe the emerging path of my mind and heart. I've always liked the use of the word “entry” for keeping a journal, and have it keep you. A little like Alice going through the door. To my own interior. Some things familiar. Some not. Some comforting. Some disturbing. Turning on the lights. Embracing the dark. Finding release and relief. Confronting. Accepting. Clarity. Peace.
It seems kind of funny to me to be a writer most of my life, and not come to the journal table till age 45. I certainly had amassed enough to chew on.
It was great to be in a place where grammar, compound sentences, rhyme schemes, spelling and even making sense were not only not required, but even not useful.
At 45, twenty years ago now, I discovered I was pretty much a mature American male (for better or worse) in every dimension of my life, save for my emotional self. I had also managed to reach that age, thanks to a wonderful relationship and an engaging, fulfilling career in music and teaching, without any significant foray into my early life. My upbringing. My family dynamic.
I quickly learned my most satisfying and fruitful entries related to how I felt. With less and less reference to expectation. Others, or my own. Emotional truth. The most precious and difficult-to-harvest pearl, subject as it is, to the fear of not belonging.
Standing in my own truth, feeling disloyal to many I loved/love, I took many big blind leaps inside. I have done some physically brave things. None felt as courageous as this trek.
I now pass on ways to enter this process in workshops and classrooms, and in an ongoing way at an addictions treatment center in Sedona.
It would be my hope that you might read this book, and put it down, and start your own. Without an eye for publishing. For your eyes only, as all truth writing begins with me. When I teach a teen this process, I think of it as an alternative to drugs, crime and Columbine. I feel safer in a world whose members lead an examined life, express their feelings.
I wish it was required at the point of sale for guns. Criminal, citizen, policeman. I feel much more comfortable in the presence of the ones who keep a journal, looking for their own truth, finding a way to rage without hurting themselves or anybody else, embracing our own uniqueness and sameness, blessing our place in the world. No less than the trees and the stars.
Well, there's my intro. Not perfect. I like it. Perfect would be a good word to let go of. And there's twenty minutes.