Today's post was supposed to be something a little bit different,
but then I got this crazy wildfire flu and its gifts have been many:
rest
reading
journaling with abandon
allowing myself to be taken care of
falling into sleep like a child
fever dreams
and quite honestly, the fever has left in its wake (I mean it was great and all but I am glad it has mostly passed, that hotness) a really strong idea for today's work.
The purpose of a fever is to burn off invading bacterias and viruses affected by temperature change and the cause of the rise in temperature are chemicals in our blood called pyrogens. Pyrogens bind to receptors in our brain, signaling the body temperature to raise and rid the organism of its offending invaders.
Creatively, we have some bacteria and viruses that break into our symbiosis, too - they are the diseases of self-doubt and self-criticism.
Be aware, these are very different from discernment and patience, but they often masquerade as wise and noble to wiggle in to the daily doings and unspool the thread.
A few years back I did a post
as Munson, my own beloved inner critic who takes his job of humbling me very seriously.
When I was a musician during gigs I'd catch him at the back of the room in his cheap grey suit and thick black glasses, white hair neatly parted, clapping half-heartedly and muttering, "Mediocre" after every song.
His lip twitched at my lack of minor chords.
Now that I am a maker, I see him going over a finished piece with a practiced eye,
finding every single possible flaw
while declaring what I could have done differently.
Needless to say, our styles are very different, Munson and I.
He thinks I need more symmetry, more eighties-style geometric shapes.
I think he often needs to go fuck himself.
Today's Journal Writing:
This is your inner critic's time to shine!!!
Pen a letter from the perspective of this helpful helper (they really mean well, honest)
and make sure they get it alllllll out there, all the 'shoulda's' and 'coulda's' and 'won'tya's'
Let them list all the things you're doing wrong and how you could be doing it differently
and why you should be very very afraid
or very very shy and retiring
and not at all proud or jubilant.
When they've said their peace, rip, tear or cut the page(s) from your journal
and place them in a fire-safe container.
Preferably outside or in the tub, take a lighter to the instructive letter from that concerned citizen and torch the happy shit out of it, perhaps shaking your money-maker as it burns.
You don't need their advice anymore, Baby.
Breathe.
Process the feelings of setting fire to what pains you.
Breathe.
Upon the page following the torn section, write one tender sentence about your artist self. Or two or ten - just make sure it's loving and gentle and supportive.
Breathe.
Process the feelings of setting fire to what pains you.
Breathe.
Upon the page following the torn section, write one tender sentence about your artist self. Or two or ten - just make sure it's loving and gentle and supportive.
Loving you,
Sunny
