“Stop the words now
Open the window in the center of your chest
And let the spirits fly in and out.”
Rumi
Strange, for a writer to say “Stop the words now.”
A speaker, a teacher, a purveyor of messages. How is it possible to stop the words now?
I turn on my timer not to create a sense of urgency, but to create a container for the window to open. Window, open.
Window.
Open.
A part of me wants to rush to my earlier writings about windows and doors and architecture and spaces where wind moves in and out and creates mini-zephyrs where the curtains blow freely, creating a fabric dance so that spirit takes form so I may see, so I may understand.
I don’t mean to rush in, but I remember saying to a group I gathered to write beside the river, “If you think the wind is invisible, look – there on the hillside – where the wind is taking form in how it moves the grasses, the song it is making for us. Look and hear and feel the invisible take form.”
Window.
Open.
Invisible, forming. Becoming tactile, tangible, when we open the window in our chest and invite it to show us, show us, show us.
I echo Joy or Jo have briefly forgotten and I don’t want to look away yet. I am echoing the poet laureate, Ms. Harjo in her poem. Today. On that podcast I stumbled across.
Stumbling isn’t failing it is finding.
Window.
Open.
Spirits.
Fly.
Breath in and out.
Inhale. Fill. Exhale, Release.
Feel how perfectly the body works.
Am I ready to accept the perfection of my body, even as it is in this uncomfortable unknowing space, that space of a mass – tumor – whatever it is attached to my ribs and reaching across my sternum?
I can’t call it by a specific name: is it a window, is it a door, is it an inhale is it an exhale, is it simple an “is” – a mass, a tumor, a growth.
I realize in continuing to write I might give it a name like I gave my melanoma a name before I knew I had melanoma. I think I called her Nora. I allowed myself to get wrapped up in fear but calling her “Nora” it was like calling my elbow an elbow.
In this being with Rumi how could I have forgotten “Guest House”? It goes like this:
Translated by Coleman Barks
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
=======
Perhaps these words are to be my constant companion for these next two weeks, as I wait and as I experience my next stage of being with all aspects of this body of mine.
Welcoming and being grateful? Is that what I am meant to be?
I may be tired of this role I have been given, and that doesn’t mean I am to turn from it and turn inward entirely. I may take my time with sharing and maybe I will share in the moment.
Presence often waits until we are willing to be silent, take a moment or two for gazing out the window.
That’s where I will sit and stand and inhale and exhale and yes, open the window for now.
Julie Jordan Scott is not only the Creator of the Radical Joy of Consistency Course , she also hosts the free writing community on Facebook – the Word Love Writing Community. Join us now as we’re preparing for a brand new 8 day challenge and a new book club. Request your membership now here:
The Radical Joy of Daily Consistency course helps people practice consistency and completion daily in order to experience a more incredible life experience. She came to this conclusion after almost dying and coming back to true healing by writing 377 consecutive haiku… and a lot more along her way to building that streak! To find out more about this program, visit this link, here.
