Writing as Spiritual Practice

By age seven I knew I needed to write. 

I was on a trip to Cambridge, Massachusetts at the time to visit my mother who was participating in a summer program for her profession.  We were walking around a bookstore, one of many in Harvard-town, and I saw a display of journals. 

The journals were sitting so neatly on a shelf  in the store, and I remember I began to scan the cover of each.  I loved the way they looked,  and I couldn’t help but begin to pick them up one by one to feel how each book of empty lined pages actually felt in my hands.  In the end I chose a black journal with colorful fruit all over it- now I cannot tell you why.  But more importantly, that very day I began to write, and I have never stopped writing since.

I’ve done no formal writing. Only 31 years of journals, letters, emails, essays for school, this blog, what have you.  I’ve written two poems along the way.  

I used to minimize this form of writing.  I actually would not even have called it “writing” if you had asked. Because until a little while ago, I did not fully understand how important writing has been for me as a spiritual practice.  I did not understand how writing has been the primary mode of my soul’s expression.

About 5 years ago I was touring the home of Nathaniel Hawthorne, the 19^th century author of The Scarlet Letter, in Concord, Massachusetts.   The tour was led by a group of volunteers who were clearly passionate about the juxtaposition between literature and history. 

My particular tour guide was a middle-aged gentleman, a little on the hyper side but in a good way, who started the tour by asking who amongst the visitors was a writer.  A few hands went up, but not mine. The tour guide then looked directly at me, as we stood in what would have been the kitchen of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s home, and asked, “you don’t write at all?”

Feeling a little bit awkward now by being put in the spotlight, I let out a soft whisper, “I just write in a journal.”

“Just a journal!” the tour guide bellowed, “Henry David Thoreau just kept a journal, and that journal became Walden.”

I realized in that moment this tour guide had a greater agenda than merely showing us the rooms of the old house. 

I realized, and appreciated, that this gentleman was of the shared belief in this ancient  Zimbabwean proverb: if you can walk, you can dance; if you can talk, you can sing; and I’ll add to that: if you can read, you can write.

Dancing, singing and writing are the vehicles for our soul’s expression of itself.  They are aneed, not a want.  Unfortunately though, in our modern American culture, these needs have been infiltrated with subjective judgment. 

How well do you dance? How well do you sing? How well do you write?  If you score an 8 or better on a scale of 0-10, then you may continue to pursue dancing, singing or writing.  If you do not…Find another way to creatively express yourself or suffer the consequences.

Now, for all of you professional and award-winning dancers, singers and writers out there, I mean no disrespect.  Undoubtedly, there is a difference between the expertise of my dance moves and those of J.Lo’s.  Between my singing voice and the vocal cords of Barbara Streisand’s.  Between my writing and the novels of Amy Tan.  Quite certainly there are differences. 

And yet, I truly do not believe that our creative soul, or god either for that matter, cares one bit about the quality of the dancing, the singing or the writing. They just want it to be expressed with the understanding that we are all worthy of love and belonging. And we at times have an energy inside ourselves that is generated  from the wear and tear of trying day in and day out to make sense of our existence in this complicated and confusing world; an energy that just has to be released in order for us to survive and thrive.

So I will keep writing. I’ve learned through times when life’s whirlwind has not lent itself to moments of pause, that I can’t not write. I can’t.  

When I don’t write I feel like a plumbing system that is getting all backed up, and the longer it goes, the worse it gets.  Not to be gross, but imagine a septic system gone bad. ..Yeah, I know! That is how important it is for me.

Because once I empty out all the words and phrases and sentences and ideas that have been filling up the space in my head (and heart), I actually feel a sense of being cleansed. I feel more free.

Therefore, I don’t write because I think I am a good writer.  I don’t even know what that is.  I was certainly not an English Major and I have no Masters in Fine Arts.

But I love to read. I love words. I love books.  I actually just carry them around with me in my bag or under my arm from room to room in my house for the comfort of what is inside of them.  And I love the magic that happens when I am able to take this force or energy inside of me, reframe it into words on the page, and then set it free like opening the door of a bird cage to let the bird fly away.  It can feel like a huge relief.

If you haven’t already, give writing a try today. Your soul will thank you for it.