Unknowing seems to follow those who are paying attention.
~ from This Moment of Retreat
As writer, as mother, as person in charge of dessert for a big dinner party, there are plenty of times when I lack all sense of what to do or how. On a bad day, not knowing will push me to quit whatever it is I aim for, but on a good day–as Heather Lee illustrates in her guest post today–I can recognize the gift of reveling in the unknown. Look for Heather’s special offer for readers at the end of the post.
I Really Don’t Know–Listening in the Moonlight
Heather Lee
Just a caveat—I really don’t know how to write a guest blog post. Like Christi, I just “moonlight” as writer. I love this idea and often notice in conversations with others just how much delight and growth we experience when we try things that we don’t know how to do, when we get to remove all the labels and educational titles, and just be—dancing or writing or singing or playing in the sand. There is beauty, isn’t there, in the moonlight?
For me, the beauty is in moonlighting as a writer, because while the art of writing isn’t how I make my living, it’s definitely a part of making my life.
I have a “shaking my head” grin on my face because much of creativity starts and ends with unknowing doesn’t it? I really don’t know how to write songs. I’ve never taken a music theory class in my life, but somehow in the unknowing, I have written and recorded two cd’s (She Stands and Into the Light).
I don’t know how to have an online presence with this work I don’t know how to do, but somehow in the unknowing, I have set up a simple but functional website). I don’t know how to give a sermon, but somehow in the unknowing, I’ve delivered countless—here is one of my favorites where I sing too.
In fact, I really don’t know how to write. I’ve never taken a college level English class in my life—I’m an Accounting Professor for heaven’s sake, and a mother, and a wife. But see, in the unknowing, I write spiritual prayers and devotions for The Word in Season AND I just published a book.
The book is called, This Moment of Retreat, and, for me, is a simply a point, a marker, on a journey of listening to my soul’s creative call in the midst of unknowing, of saying yes to being led without knowing the destination. The book is a gathering of retreat resources that encourage and teach practices of listening to the present moment. Listening to the healing guidance being sung in the moonlight, in darkness and light, in the here and now. Listening and being led by the voice of God, by the spirit or energy of light, by the creative call of the universe—by a higher power by whatever name you would like to name it—that is asking for you and taking you someplace unknown but taking you there knowing. Knowing that you are supposed to go–trusting.
Each of the seven chapters of my book offer resources for spiritual growth and creativity in the form of prose reflection, prayer and meditation, Scripture passages, poetry, earth metaphors, journaling questions, and an originally recorded song. More importantly, the pages offer encouragement through the sharing of my experience and my art. Readers are encouraged to come to the moment, retreat to this moment, without agenda, open and unknowing, and to delight in the listening and, ultimately, the singing of songs with themes like waiting and growth, acceptance and letting go, and mystery and trust–the Unknowing.
For me, the creative journey has been one without agenda and often a wandering around in the darkness and moonlight. It has been a practice in listening for the next right thing, one moment at a time.
This means when someone invites me to write a guest post, I say sure. I may not know what I’m doing, but I will follow.
When the moment asks me to write a song, I say sure. I don’t know why these words seem beautiful right now, but I trust.
And thank goodness I am just “moonlighting” and that the darkness–the unknowing that exists even while creativity shines–is not a burden but a grace. A permission to take a moment of retreat from the analysis of the past and the worry of the future to the right now to sit in the creative, beautiful mystery of the unfolding path and to listen in the moonlight.
Peace to you all.
Heather Lee uses creative writing and music, both the process and outcome, as a means of spiritual exploration, healing, expression, and discovery. She writes poetry, prose, prayer, and song that attempt to capture the intensity of human emotion and spirit in reflective, honest, and challenging ways. She lives in Wauwatosa, WI with her husband, children, and dogs. Visit her website for more information about her work and to order her book. Like her on Facebook.
For Readers: Heather is offering a guest blog special. Sign up for her mailing list (that she just figured out) and receive a daily thought for your moment during the month of February.
On a whim last week and in search of a quote, I opened up my copy of Dinty W. Moore’s The Mindful Writer: Noble Truths of the Writing Life. I wasn’t working on anything writing related, not really; I was typing up the biweekly newsletter for my day job, which is all university-this and accessibility-that. But something about the title of the book pulled at me.[A]n awareness of all things–not just lush farmland in the early summer, but crowded city streets, jarring suburban shopping centers, even those most unpleasant places, like airports–will open us up as writers, and help us to see the story or poem or play or monologue or memoir in everyone and everything.
Every writer does well to step away from the desk at regular intervals, to confront life where it is most tangible, most urgent: not on the page, but out in the world.
But, some of that nervousness slipped away as the room filled up with an audience. And again when I saw one writer’s face light up the moment his daughter and her family arrived.
Facilitating a writing class, working with others–especially this group at Harwood Place–is a constant exercise in discovery for me and the members of the group. We uncover the talent within each of us and pave the way to bring a memory or experience back to life. Later at an event like this, we reveal to ourselves and those around us the power in listening, in writing, and in sharing.