Monthly Archives: June 2012

A delicious pause in your day & competition to win a free ecourse

Fiona writes: This is a post from the archives especially for anyone in need of a ‘pause’, & if you’d like to win a free e-course read on.

Give me three minutes. I’ll give you deliciousness.

Deliciousness. Vivid colours. Sharp smells. Fresh insight.

This is how we experience the world when we pause for long enough to engage with it.

Sliminess, too. Unease. The familiar sad pang of acknowledging impermanence. All this is part of life.

If we’re not careful, we skip past so much. We get caught in the endless stream of emails and to-do lists. We put our heads down. We scurry to ‘keep up’ with everyone else.

I am a Pureland Buddhist, and starting each day with Buddhist practise helps me to remember the really important things – faith, love. Things I can take refuge in, and use as both my anchor and my compass.

My other main arsenal in the continuing battle against mind-fog is the mindful writing practice, small stones.

A small stone is a moment of engaged attention, written down. Poetry, prose, it doesn’t matter. The most important part is scrutinising whatever presents itself, as objectively as you can. Loving whatever is before you.

Each small stone I write teaches me something new:

lime-green periscopes of fern rise through the dead.

This one draws my attention to impermanence and to the beauty and reliability of new life.

white braille-flowers on bone-china mug. the generous earlobes of the grey Buddha. white hairs in the kitten’s black tail. the reflection of the table leg in the golden grate. a tight pain in my neck. the clicking of Kaspa’s mouse.

This one reminds me to pay attention to all those small ‘insignificant’ details that pass us by.

small red berry, so bright I cannot help myself, I bend & pick it up.

This one reminds me to praise.

Deliciousness. The croissant I ate this morning with tart gooseberry jam. Vivid colours. The egg-shell blue of the wide open sky. Sharp smells. Late roses, cutting through the cold air with their honeyed scent. Fresh insight. The world brings me wisdom, wherever I look.

Pause. Look around you. Let your senses reach their tentative fingers outwards.

Allow the world to shock you with its deliciousness.

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Use writing to connect with the world during July – take one of our mindful writing e-courses.

Both Eastern Therapeutic Writing & Writing and Spiritual Practice start next Friday.

If you register before the end of Tuesday, you’ll be entered into a competition to win a free e-course of your choice later in the year. There are only fifteen spaces in each e-course group so your odds will be pretty good!

We look forward to welcoming you into one of our groups – let the engaging-with-deliciousness begin.

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‘furled’ by Darwin Bell with thanks 

A new insight into my social media addiction (& yours?)

Fiona writes: Since moving into our new house last Tuesday we’ve been busy planting flowers, putting things away, looking things we put away in the wrong place, building wardrobes, etc.

Every so often, I’ve had a strange pang in my stomach.

I haven’t checked my email since yesterday morning! I haven’t tweeted! I haven’t replied to that comment on our blog!

If we hadn’t been so busy creating a home this week, I would have jumped onto my laptop and scratched the itch.

As it was, I was forced to sit with the itch for a little longer. What was the uncomfortableness?

The answer floated gradually into my consciousness, as is often the way with difficult-to-get-at insights. I was reminded of my ‘watchfulness’ around people – checking to see if they were happy, happy-with-me, ready to modify my behaviour, ready to get things ‘back into control’.

Engaging with social media is a way of pretending that I can be more in control of things than I actually am. If I reply to emails within an hour, if I continually let people know where I am and what I’m doing, if I remind people of the business we do, then I’ll be liked & admired/have enough money/be able to predict the future/be safe forever.

Except, of course, I won’t be.

The last time I managed to ‘de-tox’ like this, I was spending time at our Buddhist centre in France last Summer. We had a week of silent retreat, and then Kaspa & I ran a week of poetry therapy. 


We spent lots of time outside, walking in the woods or watering the vegetables. We washed up after meals on a table out in the sun. We spent time talking or in silent companionship.

I can remember drinking chicory one warm evening, watching the blue darkness slowly fall. The sounds of crickets. The feeling in my body of a hard day’s work. The knowledge that email from the outside world was waiting for me on my laptop, but that I didn’t want to read it. I was perfectly content where I was. I needed nothing.

This morning I sat and looked out at our new garden, newly strimmed by Kaspa and so now looking less like a meadow. A train chuntered past. Tsuki and Roshi chased each other down to the bottom of the lawn. A robin chattered and flashed his red breast. My earl grey & toast & honey tasted good.

I had the idea for this blog post. I could fetch my laptop?

I noticed the pang of anxiety in my stomach. I stayed with the feeling and, bit by bit, it dissolved into contentment.

I am writing this now because writing is still central to me. But writing (and everything good) needs to come from a place of contentment, not of compulsion. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference. But you’ll know.

Check the feelings in your stomach right now. What are they telling you?

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If you’re interested in exploring your own questions, Kaspa is running Eastern Therapeutic Writing and I’m running Writing and Spiritual Practice from next Friday. If you register by Monday, we’ll enter you into a competition to win one of two spaces on a future e-course of your choice of equivalent value. We look forward to welcoming you into our July groups.

How to avoid having a strop (& the secret to happiness)

Fiona writes: Lots of things have gone wrong over the week since we moved in.

The washing machine fitter forgot to take out the bolts and so when we ran it the machine was ruined and they had to deliver a second a few days later. The men fitting our woodburner found a dodgy gas pipe in the old fireplace which will make things more expensive. Etc. Etc. Etc.

Mostly, we have dealt with them just fine. ‘These things happen’, we think, and we readjust our expectations.

Yesterday, Kaspa was due to have a day off. He’d worked every day since we moved in, and I was very much looking forward to his company and a trip to Evesham to look for a kitchen table.

I planned our journey in detail, thought about what we’d eat for a leisurely breakfast, imagined lazing about when we got home.

At the very last minute, a colleague called in sick and Kaspa went to work after all. I had a rather impressive strop.

I’d been looking forward to ‘Our Day Off’ all week.

It didn’t matter that we could do exactly the same things on the very next day. It didn’t matter that Kaspa was helping someone out. I was very disappointed and annoyed.

The intensity of my strop was in direct proportion to the solidity of my expectations. I’d built them up into a cushion and leaned on them in the previous days, when I was working too hard and should have just taken a break. ‘I’ll rest on Monday’, I thought. I’d embriodered them into a compelling fantasy. I’d used them as a bolster against impermanence, without even realising what I was doing.

I got over my strop, eventually. I realised that my expectations had got me into trouble, as they often do. I had a good day weeding the front garden in the sunshine. I watched the cats leaping and frolicking in the long grass. I painted a raspberry-coloured tester onto our bedroom wall. Kaspa came home and we ate a scrumptious dinner of roasted pepper with halloumi in our new garden. I was happy.

Tomorrow we shall go in search of kitchen tables. Or maybe we won’t. Either will be fine.

Questions for you: Where are your expectations the most rigid? Why? When are you the most disappointed? Where could you experiment with withholding your expectations or loosening them? What happens when you do that?

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Spend July with your trusty pen (or pencil) and in a private online group of fellow explorers, looking at Writing and Spiritual Practice or learning the art of Eastern Therapeutic Writing. Maybe you’ve been meaning to do one of these for a while, and you keep finding different reasons to put it off? Maybe this month is your month…

Interview with Lisa Baldwin: Curious monkey. Prolific ponderer. Kindness enthusiast. Writer of short things.

Fiona writes: I developed a girl-crush on Lisa through her word-art. Her writing is short & juicy & punchy. And clever. And cool. I wish I wrote like her. Do pop over to her lovely space, Zen at Play & you’ll see what I mean.

And so it feels very good to be welcoming her to our little space here today. Without further ado…

Welcome! What drives your creative work?
I’m driven by curiosity and delight, love and wonder, and a deep pull towards kindness. Much of my work begins as notes to self – the things I write about are things I’d forgotten, and then remembered again. When I remember, I share those rememberings, because I imagine that other people might have forgotten as well.

What would you say to yourself if you could go back in time and meet yourself at the beginning of your creative career?
Try stuff! Begin! Play! There have been many things that never made it out into the world because there’s always a little something more they could be. And there are many more things that took much longer than they needed to because my grip on them was too tight. If I were starting over, I’d invite failure sooner. Fortunately, we get to start over all the time, and as often as we need to.

How do you keep creating when things get difficult?
I think we’re always creating, even when it seems like we’re not. Maybe we haven’t published lately, or produced anything grand, but there are always little hints of our creativity if we look for them. Noting the small creative acts – the pleasing arrangement of peas on your plate, or a sweet turn of phrase popping up in a phone chat – takes the pressure off. It means that we’re never starting from a standstill, and that creating more just means gathering momentum.

How does your creative work affect the rest of your life?
The less space I imagine between my creative work and everything else, the better. My life feeds my work, my work feeds my life. My best days are the ones in which I consciously craft an artist’s day, not in the sense of “an artist should do this”, but in a way that invites curious experiences or nourishing input. On those days, whether I make anything or not, I’m filling the creative well.

What is it like to send your work out into the world?
I used to be an expert at something, and I wrote accordingly – I did my best to fit into the shapes I saw other people making. When I worked that way, it never felt risky or challenging – I knew I could do what was needed, and I didn’t wonder how people would respond to it. My work was safe.

As I slowly let go of being an expert, I started writing in new ways. There was no shape to copy, and nothing to measure against. What if people don’t get it? What if they think it’s too short, too wiggly, too odd?

Sending out that kind of work is fun and exhilarating. If there’s no gasp of uh-oh when I publish something, I’ve probably chickened out somewhere in the making.

What was the best advice anyone gave to you?
“Try stuff! Begin! Play!” — me, in this interview. It’s quite possible that other people have said that too. Like kindergarten teachers, for example, or maybe Goethe.

What helps you to pay attention to the world?
Spaciousness helps. Simplicity, too. If I cram my days, I stop noticing – I go into pinball mode, and ricochet through my days without noticing a thing. I aim to keep plenty of open space around whatever it is I need to do, and keep the things I need to do to a minimum. Sometimes I do well at that, many times not so much. It’s an ongoing adventure.

Bio: Lisa Baldwin. Wandering ponderer, kindness enthusiast, writer of short things. Likes train rides and orangutans. Sends love notes of encouragement to artists and other tender beings via Zen at Play

Overload, vulnerability & wild strawberries

Fiona writes: A wild strawberry.

This was my first gift from the garden of our new house, where we’ve been living now for two and a half days.

I’m just pausing between garden (planting out our pots of runner beans, attacking the patio with a brush) & bedroom (a mountainous pile of black bags containing our clothes).

I’m sitting at our new double glass doors which look out onto our long & neglected garden. The seeded long grasses are nodding, and the rain is giving everything a good soaking. A blue-tit has found the peanuts I put out for them yesterday. I’m knackered and happy.

But it hasn’t all been easy. I’ve felt a combination of overload and vulnerability – the way our three cats felt for the first day here, eyes wide, easily startled, swimming in the unknown. Will the scary big dog next door catch Roshi next time before he runs up a tree? Will our other neighbours always play music that late? Will the garden be too much for us?

Kaspa & I have brought out the worst in each other. My get-things-done-and-then-rest strategy has proved unhelpful when the list of jobs is longer than both of our arms. We’ve pushed each other’s buttons in an escalating dance of samskaras (conditioned patterns). In certain moments I wondered who I’d married, and I can be sure that Kaspa did the same…

All the Buddhist or psychotherapeutic theory in the world won’t get you out of the stress of moving house or having neighbours with big scary dogs. Dukkha happens. Washing machines & kettles stop working, cats get chased up trees, there are rotten patches in the shed roof. Patience frays. Knees get old & hurt. New days bring new problems.

And then there are those strawberries. Fire-engine red jewels hiding under their leaves. Concentrated-strawberry-flavour. The perfect balance of sharpness & sweetness.

Just like life. The perfect balance, even when it feels like anything but. Dissolving in one mouthful. But always, always, always worth the bother.

Gratitude to this new place. To Dawn who brought us delicious chick-pea & sweet potato stew on our first day here, and to Hannah & Gill for the cake. To the men who lugged our heavy books here. To everyone who’s visited or sent cards or has had us in their thoughts. To all the people who looked after this house & garden before we got here. To my parents & my brother-the-solicitor who made the move possible. Here’s to our new house. *clink*

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“What I get, I bring home to you:
a dark handful, sweet-edged,
dissolving in one mouthful.

I bother to bring them for you
though they’re so quickly over,
pulpless, sliding to juice

a grainy rub on the tongue
and the taste’s gone.

…”

From Wild Strawberries by Helen Dunmore

Wild strawberry photo by netzanette via Creative Commons

Interview with Marney Makridakis: Author of Creating Time: Using Creativity to Reinvent the Clock and Reclaim Your Life (& bonus article)

Fiona writes: One of the things I love about my work is that I’m occasionally asked if I’d like to see review copies of gorgeous books.

One of these was “Creating Time: Using Creativity to Reinvent the Clock and Reclaim Your Life” by Marney (here it is on Amazon UK paperback or Kindle & Amazon US paperback or Kindle).

Marney has had huge & deserved success with her book, which will help you “control your experience of time and use it in a way that consistently supports you and the highest vision of your life.” In other words, get your creative work done! It’s full-colour, fun, and packed with creative wisdom.

As well as our interview, I’ve also included an article which Marney has generously shared. You’re spoilt…

A very warm welcome to Writing Our Way Home, Marney. What drives your creative work?
Everything comes from an idea. Creative ideas are the bright shining lights of our souls. My very favorite part of my work is helping people connect the dots of their own idea-lights, unveiling new constellations that bring more light into the world.

What would you say to yourself if you could go back in time and meet yourself at the beginning of your creative career?
“Taking care of yourself is taking care of your business.”

How do you keep creating when things get difficult?
Of course there are challenges in creative work, but when you’re aligned with your passion, the wind is at your back. I keep looking for ways to tap back into the passion, the joy, the fun, the creativity, and, especially, connecting back to the essence of why I started this path in the first place.

How does your creative work affect the rest of your life?
I have often aimed for strict boundaries between work and life, but find I’m happiest when I allow a gentle blending between the two, embracing my art as my life, and my life as my art. Whether I’m writing, teaching, dreaming, parenting my 4-year old son, or simply relaxing, creativity is the core that runs through it all.

What is it like to send your work out into the world?
Creative ideas are like little children to me. I feel a maternal instinct to prepare for them, birth them, take care of them, nurture them to growth, and send them out into the world. There is great satisfaction in working myself out of a job, like good parents and teachers do; having faith to put an idea out into the world so it can take on a life of its own, no longer needing me.

What was the best advice anyone gave to you?
When my father, who passed away several years ago, told me that I reminded him of the Thoreau quote, “If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them.“ – it was like I found a hidden superpower to get things done. Thoreau’s words are the best template I know for stepping into creative motion. When it comes to creative goals, it really does help momentum to put a so-called “sequence of steps” out of order and do the things we really want to do before the things that “have to get done”. Then we can get caught up in the joy and fulfillment, and that gives us the momentum to make it all happen.

What helps you to pay attention to the world?
This is a beautiful question, because it is often something that gets forgotten in the midst of following our creative dreams. We often need to remember that the goal isn’t to have a great career or a successful project or venture, the goal is to have a great life that includes our work and projects. Paying attention to the world, to the whole world outside our work, is key. For me, a gratitude practice is the best “shortcut” to paying attention. Developing fun ways to “collect” gratitude helps us find more and more things to be grateful for. It’s a very healthy obsession. In Creating Time, I introduce an alternative timekeeper to slow down time; it’s called a Stop. Watch. Simply stopping and watching the world around you, taking it all in, stretches time to the dimensions we need and brings depth to any experience.

Thanks for sharing, Marney. Your Stop. watch. sounds like it has some things in common with our small stones… Good luck with the book’s ongoing success!

Marney K. Makridakis is the author of Creating TimeShe founded the Artella online community for creators of all kinds and the print magazine Artella. A popular speaker and workshop leader, she created the ARTbundance approach of self-discovery through art. She lives in  DallasTexas. Visit her online at http://www.artellaland.com.

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Bonus Article – Creating Time


Pay attention to the conversations of people around you, and notice how often the subject of time comes up:

“I’m fine, just crazy busy. . .”

“I just don’t know when I can find the time. . .”

“I can’t really talk now, I’m running late. . .”

People used to be tied to things like families, communities, rituals, worship, curiosity, and beauty. Now we are tied to schedules, watches, datebooks, computers, and keeping up with the latest gadgets that start with i.  It seems like time is going by faster than ever these days, and we’re all exhaustively trying to find, chase, save, and manage time.

Time-management techniques, as well as the latest time-tracking and productivity aids, can certainly be of help to us on the practical level, but they are limited in their long-term effectiveness, since the true nature of time extends beyond the chronological hours displayed in our calendars, wristwatches and smart phones. Time management can improve what we accomplish but often at the peril of what we experience. Ironically, the more we desperately try to manage our time, the more fragmented we often feel.

Instead of exhaustively striving for time management, I propose a new solution of time metaphorphosis. Rather than simply managing our time, we can re-imagine time itself and completely reshape our relationship to it. When we don’t have time, we have to create it, and the incredible news is that we can do so with one of the greatest resources ever to exist on our planet: human creativity.

The concept of “creating time” is not just about adding more hours in our day, but creating a new relationship with time itself. We expand our sense of time by when we change the ways we think about, measure, and experience time.

Here are some good places to start:


1.      Change the Way You Think About Time

For most of us, being stressed or worried about time has become second-nature. The most immediate way to change these deeply-ingrained patterns is to become more aware of the words that you use when you think about and talk about time. Time reacts as if we’re yelling in a canyon; whatever we are saying about time comes back to us in our experience.  If we are saying, “There’s never enough time,” then our experience echoes back, “Yes! There’s never enough time!” If, however, we are saying, “I have all the time in the world. More and more, I see that I have all the time I need,” then our experience is reflected back with a more expansive, flowing sense of time.  

Another simple way to shift awareness is simply to check the clock in a different way. The phrase, “What time is it?” inherently indicates that we do not have control of our time. By replacing this phrase with “What time does the clock say?” we take control of our time through the words we speak. The new phrase indicates that we respect the clock, but we are the ones in charge of our time.

2.      Change the Way You Measure Time

We measure time in linear fashion, with numbers on a clock and squares on a calendar to represent the movement of time. But what if we could interpret time as a qualitative entity instead of something just measured by quantity?  Instead of measuring how long something takes, why not measure it by how much we learn by doing it, or how much love we are feeling?

Think about the moments in your life that have meant the most to you. Those moments are not viewed linearly at all, but through a plethora of other measurements, such as intensity of experience, emotional depth, and even quality of color or the particular scent of the moment. We can learn from these experiences by applying a similar free-form perception in our everyday moments. So, in your day-to-day life, instead of measuring how long something takes, explore new measurements, such as how much joy you feel, how connected you are to other people, how grateful you are, how engaged you are in the topic at hand.

Incorporating these new “measurements” doesn’t mean that we are forgoing the linear methods entirely. Rather, we remain aware of both kinds of time (quantitative and qualitative), but it is the qualitative measurements that are, in the long run, more important. Our sleeping hours are a great example of this duality. Most of us would prefer to get six hours of deep, restful sleep rather than nine hours of tossing and turning. While we can be aware of the number of hours we sleep and even plan our schedule to ensure that we sleep a certain number of hours, we are far more focused on the quality of the sleep that we have achieved. Similarly, when evaluating our time, we can be aware of the hours and minutes passed, but the quality of those moments is what really matters.

3.      Change the Way You Experience Time

Instead of seeing time as something separate from us, true freedom happens when we become one with time, partnering with it in a new way. We can invite it into a relationship, a dance, so that we can fall into oneness. When we are truly at one with time, we reach a blissful state of being less aware of time itself but more aware of the present moment.

We can become more present through simple, easy actions. Expand the breadth of time literally, through deep breaths. Observe what each of your senses is taking in. Feel your feet on the earth’s floor. Express gratitude for all the “little things” that are easily taken for granted. Each of these is an example of a simple way to connect with the fullness of time.

Each moment you fully insert yourself in the present, you change your experience of time, shifting your focus away from how you spend time to instead reveling in what you receive from it.

Based on the book Creating Time: Using Creativity to Reinvent the Clock and Reclaim Your Life ©2012 by Marney Makridakis.  Published with permission of New World Library http://www.newworldlibrary.com

The impossibility of loving cats & birds

Fiona writes: I was opening a letter and the room was suddenly full of screaming.

Roshi had burst in through the cat-flat with a great clattering, an injured bird in his mouth. The bird was desperate to live.

I chased Roshi upstairs and took the bird from him. My heart was banging from the shock. He had two feathers missing. I think his wing might have been injured. I didn’t want to look too closely. I was cowardly.

I took the bird outside and put him under a bush, where it is quiet. When I went back a few minutes later, he’d gone. I guess he’ll probably die, but at least he’ll die in peace. Namo Quan Shi Yin Bosat.

I came in and shouted at Roshi. He didn’t understand. I was always so pleased with him when he brought in leaves from the garden. What had he done wrong?

As I type, he’s curled up on the bed next to me, his chest rising and falling as he chases birds in his dreams. The photo above is of him as a kitten. He likes to have long conversations with me. He enjoys carrying pistachio shells around in his mouth and dropping them on the wooden floor, patting them and enjoying the gentle clatter. He’s a beautiful cat. I love him very much.

I also love birds very much. Glossy green woodpeckers. Modest dunnocks. Long-tailed tits in friendly gangs. I offer them peanuts and black niger seed. I watch their heads darting forwards to take a sunflower seed in their beaks, delicate and precise. I listen to the glorious honey of blackbird song. I watch them floating in the sea of the sky.

Cats kill birds. They love to. Should I choose one or the other? Should I stop keeping cats or find a way to discount the beauty of birds?

We both already know the answer.

“Renunciation is not getting rid of the things of this world, but accepting that they pass away.”
~Aitken Roshi


“No blame, be kind, love everything.”
~Terrance Keenan

Moodling: How to turn work into play

Fiona writes: Fingers crossed (we still haven’t quite exchanged), we will be moving house early next week.

You can imagine the state of our current house. 
I’m sitting in the conservatory on a fold-up chair. There’s no room for our conservatory furniture in the new house and so we’ve passed it on to friends, as we have a sofa, three lamps, a futon… 
There are just four packing boxes in here so far, and a half-full bin bag, and some cleaning materials, and a tray of baby beetroot plants waiting for their new bed. 
Sorting through a lifetime of accumulated belongings and imagining a new life in a new place is always interesting. I do feel like a sea snail, half-way out of my old shell, not yet into the next, and vulnerable as hell.
But I wasn’t going to write about that today. I was going to write about how much I hate cleaning, and how huge a task it has been to sort through all this stuff, and how moodling has come to my rescue.
According to the marvellous Brenda Ueland (who invented the term), moodling is a vital pre-requisite to creativity. It involves ‘long, inefficient, happy idling, dawdling and puttering.’

I think most of our daily tasks can be achieved if we moodle our way through them.

I can look at a room full of things-to-be-packed and think, ‘arghghh! this will take me six weeks!’

Or I can approach a corner side-long, see a shoe-box full of tax returns, and think ‘that will fit nicely into the bottom of a medium box. I’ll make up one box and then put it in and then see what else fits.’

Before you know it, a box has been filled and you follow your nose to the next task, which is cleaning the kitchen cupboards. Not just one cupboard at a time but one corner of a shelf at a time. Enjoying the lemony smell of cleaning fluid as you go, and taking satisfaction in rubbing away the sticky spots of old jam.

Moodle moodle moodle. Just saying the word conjures the spirit of moodling. 

I did have a melt-down yesterday, over choosing the right size of packing boxes in Argos. I was not at my best. Poor Kaspa. It was my psyche’s excuse to let all the tension of the previous weeks out in one luxurious bout of weeping & gnashing of teeth.

I felt much better afterwards. Turning work into moodling doesn’t mean we don’t have to deal with our stuff, or that we’re not human beings any more, or that we don’t have to sometimes take ourselves gently yet firmly by the hand and do things we don’t want to do. 

But approaching overwhelming tasks from an attitude of moodling does help.

Chop wood, carry water. Fill another packing box, scrub the conservatory floor.

Moodle moodle moodle.

If you’d like to improve your moodling skills, we’re running a new course this August to fit nicely with any holiday plans you might already have. Summer Moodle. It even sounds delicious, doesn’t it? If you’d like to take advantage of the earlybird offer (places will be limited) treat yourself now.

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‘Sky’ by Amanda Oaks with gratitude.

Interview with John Fox: Poetry Therapist

We knew John Fox’s wonderful writing before we knew the man, and we use his book ‘Finding What You Didn’t Lose‘ on our mindful writing ecoursesHe works in a similar field to us – where the written word and healing overlap, and where the magic happens. We feel very privileged to welcome him to our series of creativity interviews today.

Welcome, John. What drives your creative work?

It feeds me with meaning and that gives me the ballast and joy of adventure and an even keel to journey further.
There is a calling as a service and to fulfill that calling is satisfying and expansive. There is a lot of fun involved, a lot of beauty. It is also driven or impacted greatly by broken-heartedness – but with the poetry, I carry an awareness that creativity allows for the possibility to break open rather than only fall apart. 

What would you say to yourself if you could go back in time and meet yourself at the beginning of your creative career?

I’m in slight wondering with myself about this question — because I am not convinced that I know, would know, what to say to myself that would be useful!  I am not sure I would want to clear up my challenges or even doubts with any “sage” advice.  I want to learn to trust my own steps most of the way. 
However… As far as my creative career I might go back to visit myself in Miss Watkins 2nd grade class and say “Don’t listen to that art teacher, Miss K. tell you “You will never be an artist.” I would further say, “She has no right to say such a thing to a 7 year old boy. I want you to have fun with art.” I suppose it’s Miss K. whom I would really like to talk with…tell her it was damaging to get that message so young.

I’d like to be a witness to my self, I’d like to learn from my self back then and love my self.
   

How do you keep creating when things get difficult?
I keep creating because difficulty is a catalyst for writing.
It is also okay to rest and breathe for a while. There is a spirit of creativity — rather than the direct action of creativity — by allowing oneself to rest and breathe I allow myself to compost what has changed, has fallen away, and in the process, recharge.

How does your creative work affect the rest of your life?

It seems to be all of a piece.
But if I understand “rest of my life” to mean friendships, leading a non profit I founded, other enjoyments like baseball, political interests, social justice interests, environmental interests, spiritual commitment, making my way through chores and all the particulars of my “to do lists” and daily errands — then I experience that creative work as something essential that helps me be interested in people, in how they are — in this planet as a healthy just place, and in that, I find that the purpose of living, when rooted in that creative/healing work, is well-worth the challenges that I and that we as a community face.

What is it like to send your work out into the world?

There is a joy in it, naturally, and a surprise.
The joy is to know that it makes a difference in people’s lives and the surprise comes from learning how. Surprise also in the fact that it happens at all!

And on another level it reminds me not to take anything for granted…especially knowing that it makes a difference, how it does that, knowing I had the courage to take one step and then the next in the creative process, for all of that, I am grateful.

What was the best advice anyone gave to you?

With regards to writing, in 11th grade I was applying to attend Boston University to study English/Creative Writing. That was 1973 before MFA programs. I sent some poems at that time to the Director of Creative Writing, George Starbuck. Mr. Starbuck had been director at University of Iowa which was renowned as a place for writers.
So I sent these poems, it seems almost ridiculously at that age. However, I got a letter back from George Starbuck on Boston University stationery and he wrote: “It takes a long time of getting to know someone before you can make helpful comments about their writing.”

That stuck with me!

Another poetry teacher at Bard College – I transferred there after two years at Boston University. I changed schools because the largeness of B. U. was overwhelming and also because the other premiere poetry teacher, Anne Sexton, committed suicide at the beginning of my sophomore year at B.U.
At Bard, Robert Kelly would say that people don’t write for two reasons: 1.) They do not want to write or 2.) Because they do not trust themselves.

I have appreciated these respectful and empowering statements. I suppose that I have spent a career focusing on the enhancement and nurturing of trust.

Then there is some life “advice” I want to mention.  In the midst of a emotional and spiritual shattering over the amputation of my leg at eighteen, I was being helped by the spiritual teacher, Ram Dass.

Ram Dass and I were standing on the street corner at Beacon Street and Commonwealth Avenue at Kenmore Square in Boston. I was in a real state of meltdown, quite frightened, absolutely torn away from God, whatever I thought that meant.

Ram Dass looked at me directly and said with a deep fierceness, “You couldn’t get away if you tried.”

I didn’t know it at the time but in retrospect I understand him to mean, I had to live through my life.  I couldn’t escape my life. 

What helps you to pay attention to the world?

What helps me is not wanting to miss anything.
What helps me is loving it.

BIOGRAPHY:

John Fox is a poet and certified poetry therapist. He is author of Poetic Medicine: The Healing Art of Poem-making and Finding What You Didn’t Lose: Expressing Your Truth and Creativity Through Poem-Making and numerous essays. His work is featured in the PBS documentary, Healing Words: Poetry and Medicine. John has brought poetry as healer to medical schools and hospitals through the United States. He has taught in Ireland, England, Israel, Kuwait, South Korea and Canada. John lives in Mountain View, California. You can find out more about his work at www.poeticmedicine.org.

A New Chapter: Coming Home

Fiona writes: This grainy photo, taken from the sales brochure, is where Kaspa & I shall be spending the next few weeks. Months. Years. Decades?

I hope so. I’m a putting-down-roots kind of person. Literally. I still miss the vegetable patch where I used to live with my ex-partner. We planted & ate tender sweetcorn, spherical courgettes, stripy beetroot, luscious raspberries, blackcurrants I’d make into jam…

As a Buddhist, I feel I shouldn’t get so excited about getting a mortgage. We rent where we are now, and I know in my heart that we are only really borrowing everything – our prized possessions, our savings, our friends & loved ones. Eventually we have to give it all back.

I know that our new mortgaged ‘property’ will eventually outgrow us, or us it.  

What a mortgage does buy us, though, is an opportunity to love this house for as long as we are willing and able.

To update the not-quite-to-our-taste wallpaper. To mend the broken door. To install a woodburner for cosy winter nights. To add to the plants the previous owner planted (hellebores! aubretia! a eucalytpus!) with our own favourites (peonies! honeywort!)

To create a space where we can welcome our friends with cups of tea and home-grown tomatoes. Where our cats will find new favourite spots to sleep. A place for spiritual practice and a place for the privileged work we do with our coaching & psychotherapy clients. Where we can move our garden chairs to the last light on summer evenings and gaze at the Malvern hills.

A space where Kaspa can follow his heart. A space where I can write. A space where I can write my way home!

I know that this house will not be perfect. I know that the boiler might give up the ghost one day, or we might keep banging our heads on an awkwardly placed shelf. We owe the mortgage company a lot of money. Our new neighbours might be fond of thrash metal.    

And yet. The love is bubbling up inside me.

Don’t worry, house. I know you’re empty & waiting. We’re coming home soon.

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STOP PRESS: I just found out that we’ve won a competition for a month’s supply of cake from Love Pure Cakes : ) Don’t they look delicious? Is this our week or WHAT?