Finding Magic

"Just start writing!" The voice says.

They practically scream at me. Just start writing and you will end up where you need to be. But how can I? I have been frozen with fear for so long, unable to write more than a few silly paragraphs on my phone, or channeled meditative journeys, not for myself, but for someone else.

Why am I terrified of this? As I write this and tears spring to my eyes I begin to realize. I am terrified I will discover that I am not actually a writer, that I am not capable of writing something worth reading and absorbing, worth becoming a story someone else wants to read. I am terrified that perhaps I don’t have anything worthwhile to write. That all the things I have lived so far have been somehow inadequate. Almost a story, but not quite...

...and as I realize this I also think about how long I have spent in my life not being the main character of my own story. Not really living my life as 'me'. Living it as any of the many multitudes of characters that I took on from books I would read, shows I would watch. Characters who were prettier, smarter, more exceptional, more confident. Characters that anyone would love to read about. For a lot of my life I played a lot of characters and to my credit I played them damn well. But, I didn’t, and maybe still don’t, know how to play the main character. How to move through this world as me, whoever that is.

So, I suppose the biggest story that I have lived and that most others have lived, I would hasten to guess, would be the one where we try to find ourselves amidst the rubble and glitter of all the masks we have adorned on this stage of trial and joy and suffering and beauty. I am probably not actually a lot of things that I thought I was at one point or another. I am probably not a scholar, or a real estate agent, or bipolar or depressed, or an alcoholic or a drug addict, a bulimic or a soccer player or a wife or a stepmom or a waitress or a witch.

But I am almost certainly a writer. I could be, at least, if I would actually sit down and write.

The reason I can start to believe this (I think) is that a writer falls under the category of artist, or creator. Out of nothing here comes a few words strung together, then a few sentences, a paragraphs and eventually you are no longer just reading words but immersed in a story, a life, a world. I am a creator of worlds. This I know. 'The voice' has said it. Over and over and through countless sources, not only in my skull where the words echo endlessly. Share your story, share your worlds. People need them, they just don't know it, yet.

But do they really, I ponder. What could they need them for?

"It is your special gift", the voice replies, immediately and assuredly, "it is your gift to give. The worlds contain the doors they need to know exist, so they can walk through them. They contain the keys they need to open the doors they have found. They contain the feelings and the thoughts and the music of life, and many people can write words and other people can create worlds, but none can create yours".

So what is this book meant to be about then? Surely not a sad and unfulfilled 30 something who can’t seem to pin herself down long enough to write pages instead of sentences. Surely not the life she has lived so far that is so frustratingly foggy to recount that it gives her, me, headaches, even trying for the hundredth time to record it to translate speech to text. There are a million lives lived recounted In a million and one autobiographies far more interesting than this one. "Ah, yes, but they don’t have the worlds."

This book is meant to be about world creation. About finding, no, creating your own way. To do that I suppose you do need to find yourself, but you might just find that you do so along the way. It can be truly amazing what happens when we find ourselves immersed in a story. We can freely lose ourselves, and we can wholly find ourselves, too.

The voices advises me that as 'you' read this, there will be many opportunities to either put yourself in the story, to become the world creator you know you can be, or to turn away. There will be plenty of times that not being able to imagine or see past the next chapter, paragraph or even sentence will cause you (me?) to want to stop, give up, quit. The perfectionist in you will want to have the answers and the plans before beginning, will want to have it all mapped out, but it simply cannot be. It must spring forth from you in exactly the moment you are in at each and every time that you are called to write, or read. It must flow through your consciousness as water flows in a river, on warm days and cool days, kissed by the sun or licked by the rain, rapid or slow, rough or smooth. No two riverbanks are the same, no two days are the same, and though you may be the same creator the worlds must follow this organic flow of creation as you must follow the flow of your own life and your own story.

There will never be a time like the present to begin, to get your feet wet in this perfectly imperfect, ever undulating imaginal space that is your divine partnership with creation.

"And so, we insist that you try. We insist that you start and believe and trust in us, in yourself in the light of all that is which resides perfectly within you. Dear seeker, should you choose to forgo this mission, you will forever be forced to wonder what could have been, if only you were brave enough to jump in."

…

The voice gives pause and I breath deeply into the discomfort it holds me within. Discomfort like the moments before a significant event begins, like the antsy anticipation that wiggles and worms it's way through our stomachs as our body alerts us that something, maybe everything is about to change. Okay, so I am here and ready to start. I feel like I have just written a funny and somewhat chaotic prologue, but nothing of an actual book. Where do I begin?

…

You begin in a dark place, you see pigmented purples and dense blues that seem to fold over and smoothly overtake themselves, like the ripples of a silk curtain or table cloth. You feel a deep sense of calm and a heaviness settle over you. This is the space from which you create. This plush robe of the void and the night sky become your creative material. When you step into this place, you step into your abilities as a world maker. These are ancient and sought after gifts and skills and the key to this place lies deeply within your heart and soul and is available only to you. This place is much like a palace of solitude, and as you feel that thought come forward, we are happy to confirm it. It is interesting that Superman had this place, given his powers and abilities to help the world, and so it is a very apt comparative example. Sink into this feeling. Let a gentle heaviness wash over your physical vessel, let the sight and knowing of this place penetrate your third eye and your being. Take a moment to meditate and familiarize yourself with this place and this frequency. This is your world of creation and this is where you will come and set off from each time you seek creation in her many shapeshifting forms, from here lead the roads to all else. Connecting more deeply at this time may give you a headache but this will lessen and subside as you learn the frequency of this place and marry your knowing and sight to it. Bring your breath down into your belly and hold it there for a beat or two, let yourself find a gentle peace in the in-between. You will be getting very familiar with it as we move along on this unique and time bending journey. When you are ready, return to your present moment, and by ending, begin.

…