Walk as if you are kissing the Earth with your feet. Thích Nhất Hạnh

A good blog is consistent. A good blog relies on good internet. Oops my bad on both counts.

But that is okay. The tumultuous state of my thoughts, experiences, research and reflections have imploded. I left Australia believing I had a novel brewing. Perhaps I still do, although the process seems to have become a wee bit swampy. Are you familiar with the wading through treacle analogy? So, nothing like a self imposed 4-day, well actually 3 (I am learning to totally disregard travel days if I wish to retain some semblance of sanity), writing retreat in Crete to smooth out any problems. And Crete is the best place for me to do this. Yiati? A new sign has been erected in Agia Roumeli proclaiming this as the ancient site of Tarrha. It further identifies this location as being important to Apollo and Artemis who came here after slaying the Python in Delphi. It is a place of healing and oracle. Feels like home to me 😊

Very pertinent to A New Day ... hopefully to be published early 2018. But you do not need to have read it to come on this literary journey with me.

So, quasi speed dating, the important details for a brief update/ progress report are:

1. I have been on a tour ... (urghh I know I know ... lots of people in a bus sticking to time frames  - Really not that bad but the whole group thing does my head in - my issue obviously)

2. ... to the South of France (bonus) to learn about Mary Magdalene (MM). Spoil alert - for centuries the people of the Languedoc region have built their churches and cathedrals for MM and have followed her teachings. Yes there was a Gospel of Mary discovered at Nag Hammadi (Egypt) in 1945 - or maybe it was 1949 ..... And no, this is not a sequel to The Da Vinci Code.  Although I strongly recommend reading Kathleen McGowan The Expectant One.




3. While I think the kernel of my novel centers around Mary Magdalene, I am still unsure about how, who, what and why. You know, all the important stuff about why a novel is written - burning desire and all that.

So to date I have simply been learning about Mary, as well as about myself in a group context (I promise this won't end up as some cathartic self help book. Promise!), and then writing snippets of what my research feels like. There may be a character or two starting to emerge but no plot, no structure. Well almost not. There is a fuzzy, sort of endocept* in existence. I am hoping I can entice it into a more concrete form.

The plan from here is to do what worked the last time I wrote a novel in Crete, that is, wake early, meditate on the beach then free flow writing. I am hoping for some divine intervention to keep me company. The afternoon and evenings will be spent typing up my notes. At this point there is no censure or real editing. I like seeing what emerges, even if I don't fully comprehend any significance or meaning of what it is that is written. I am also looking forward to typing up my notes to date, if I can read them that is.

The section below is an example of a piece that may or may not be part of the novel. It is just too early to tell. I will get back to you on this. It was written after I was fortunate enough to walk the labyrinth in Chartres Cathedral (Thank you Dancing Spirit Tours).

Death to the Mother is rejoiced. It is not something to dread but to celebrate.
Death to the Church however, is to be feared. Seek eternal life through suffering now.
Extreme in their polarity of perception.
How far exactly, have we wandered from the path?

The invitation of the Labyrinth 
To step into the shadow and face the monster lurking
To step into my power
Step into surrender
Release is light, joyful, happy even
Following the thread provided by Ariadne back into life.

The labyrinth reflects life.
Both the Church and experience say this.

Her shoes are off. She wants to feel the stone beneath her feet. Stone laid in honor of Maria Negre. She wants the coolness to penetrate, permeate her skin, cell, blood. Pure. Like clarity itself. She takes her place in a line to approach the entrance to the labyrinth. On the cold stone pathway, she practices. Every step to be considered mindfully. Slowly maintained movement in a steady smooth flow. Zen-like. She had been taught this. A technique. In a theatre workshop? Perhaps circus? Tolerance, patience, quiet dignity, curves, turns, pacing oneself.

Walking toward the center is identified as the stage of release. The meditative pace feels right. It seems appropriate.

She takes her first step, naked to the touch. She enters. Den of antiquity? Anticipation? Expectation? She does not pause or hesitate. Mind cleared of thought, focusing only on each step. One foot laid down, heel, flat, ball, toes, up and over carried through space, as the other is placed and rolled in rhythm. Slow, calculating, balanced. Each foot holding the space for the other. Contact, lift, placement. She stays focused on the meeting between skin and stone, and follows the path in its journey in front of her. Sandy colored stone lined with smaller inlaid black. The path is clearly set and she maintains a strong presence of breath and movement. Turning corners offer a smooth transition from one direction to another. Facing this way, then that.

A song accompanies her along one track, gently inspired by the infused light shining though stained glass windows. Glowing shades of yellow and red and blue and green:

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when clouds are grey,
You'll never know dear
How much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away.

Her father's face smiles into her thoughts as a tear trickles down. Awash with love at the vision and memory. She forgives him for what she has recently perceived as a series of transgressions against an ideology of social equity and justice. Her sob is intimate and quiet and opens her heart into a wider space of gentle beauty.

It is a shared path and there are people before her. They walk and pause. She considers her options but does not want to break her flow. So she walks past one and then another. Maneuvering carefully not to obstruct, push past or disturb their privacy of the moment. True to self, she smiles. She becomes aware of other women, walking within the twists and turns of the labyrinth. She cannot tell if they walk before her or after her, only around her. Some she acknowledges, smiling that spills the happiness leaking from her. Eyes, mouths, hearts.

No busy thought intrudes. None. Step, then another, step, then another, Rolling like lapping waves upon the shores of eternity. Step, following without intention. Purpose only existing to move forward as the path leads her, finally to the center.

Center. Illumination.

Her silent prayer.
Please guide me
Help me be in my power

The answer comes without hesitation
Surrender

The thought-word releases a hidden weight. She almost giggles.

Then she hears voices. Not of spirit but of Priest. An instruction. Time is short. There is a need for haste, to leave. To gather together at the altar.

No. I will finish the labyrinth as I entered. To be reborn.

She no longer feels the need for quiet reflection. She realises she could happily skip, as a child, carefree along the path. Alight from the earthy steps of stone connection to dance lightly with breath and spirit.

*Endocept: (from the Greek endo, inside), the diffuse and abstract idea often accompanied by strong but un-verbalized emotions ('I know what I mean and feel, but I cant explain'). Endoceptual states usually have place on the early stages of creative process such as incubation. The endocept is opposite to the concept.



Comments