Fiona writes: I worship cake.

Many years ago, a friend said to me with genuine puzzlement, “What IS it with you and cake?”

Cake has taken on a mini-god-like status in my life. I don’t drink alcohol. I don’t smoke. I’ve never felt that buzz people say they get from exercise, or buying high heels, or polishing a vintage motor car.

There isn’t much left for me. But as human beings we all desperately grasp for something to make life a little less painful. An attempt at dealing with the things that we’d rather not deal with head-on, thank you very much.

After not being able to fit into a particular top, I’ve cut back on cake (and cheese and fudge and aubergine parmigiana) for a few weeks. It’s been very odd. I’ve craved cake, not because I’m hungry, but because I want some comfort.

Not succumbing to the cake cravings has shown me more clearly how ten minutes of happiness with a chocolate brownie doesn’t solve any of the underlying anstiness or irritation or sadness. This kind of seeking comfort is in the arena of ‘something is being avoided’. It’s in the arena of ‘indulgence’. Let me be clear – there is nothing intrinsically wrong with desiring and eating cake. In no way am I anti-cake. It’s all about the manner in which we desire. Most of us know when we’ve crossed over that line between ‘eating to live’ (and enjoying it very much) and ‘living to eat’.

So what do we do? David Foster Wallace spoke beautifully about worship. Over to him.

“You get to decide what to worship. Because here’s something else that’s weird but true: in the day-to-day trenches of adult life, there is actually no such thing as atheism. There is no such thing as not worshipping. Everybody worships. The only choice we get is what to worship. And the compelling reason for maybe choosing some sort of god or spiritual-type thing to worship–be it JC or Allah, be it YHWH or the Wiccan Mother Goddess, or the Four Noble Truths, or some inviolable set of ethical principles–is that pretty much anything else you worship will eat you alive.” 

I think he’s right. I think it’s difficult to avoid it completely. And so I do attempt to also worship some more wholesome things. As a Buddhist, there are three of these – the Dharma (the truth that the Buddha (and many of his followers over the centuries) spoke, the Sangha (the community that try to practice these teachings), and the Buddha himself, who represents something that is entirely loving and entirely wise and entirely accepting. I put myself into relationship with these things daily. It helps.

I wonder what your equivalent to cake is? And your equivalent to the Buddha? It doesn’t have to be a religion or even anything spiritual. The forest or the sea might do it. A deep faith-despite-everything in humanity, or a reliance on nature as knowing what’s best.

The trick is keeping yourself connected to something bigger than the usual things we choose to worship (or those things our society has chosen for us). DFW again:

“If you worship money and things, if they are where you tap real meaning in life, then you will never have enough, never feel you have enough. It’s the truth. Worship your body and beauty and sexual allure and you will always feel ugly. And when time and age start showing, you will die a million deaths before they finally grieve you. On one level, we all know this stuff already. It’s been codified as myths, proverbs, clichés, epigrams, parables; the skeleton of every great story. The whole trick is keeping the truth up front in daily consciousness.”

Keeping it up front. That’s the problem. Especially when lemon drizzle cake is calling to us with all its sweet, citrusy, seductive power.

Here’s the rest of this speech from David Foster Wallace. This man knew what he was talking about. And even then, it wasn’t quite enough to save him.

Keep it up front. Try your best. That is enough.

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Homemade Cupcakes by Rachid Lamzah

Fiona writes: We’re very excited : ) Our new book is nearly born… Our contributors have written such beautiful pieces, you’re going to love it. Read more below, and keep your eyes peeled for our Mindful Writing Day which is going to be very fun indeed. Happy weekends, all!

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a text message
illuminates a cat’s yawn
daybreak

Lucas Stensland

‘A Blackbird Sings: a book of short poems’ is full of people’s mindful moments – extraordinary things they noticed in their ordinary lives. It is the second anthology of small stones, a mindful writing form, edited by Kaspalita and Fiona Robyn.

It contains an introductory essay by Kaspa about what makes a good small stone, an essay by Fiona about quality and unconditional love, and a seven day course by Kaspa if you want to have a go at writing small stones yourself.

This is a book you can dip into and be nourished by again and again. The small stones will surprise you, shock you, move you and delight you. They’ll remind you of the important sparkling details in your own life, and inspire you to pay more attention to what’s around you.   

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An evening duet

out of time with the
dishwasher’s two-tone samba
a lark is singing

Helen Lewis

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The publication of the book will coincide with our first ever Mindful Writing Day when we will be encouraging everyone to write their own small stone. Watch out for a competition to win one of three free copies of this anthology… More information will appear here as the details are finalised. We run a mindful writing challenge from this site every January if you get a taste for mindful writing.

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Flash of iridescence as two magpies squabble in the winter sun
and I drive home from hospital with the news you might not make it.

Emma Lee

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You can read more small stones at our daily blogzine, a handful of stones. Fiona writes at a small stone and Kaspa at another small stone. Our first anthology was ‘Pay Attention: a river of stones’ and is available now in paperback (UK / US) or as an ebook through Lulu.

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HYDRANGEA

Four shavings of sky
perfect blue
held in place by
a tiny French knot

Claire Zoghb

Fiona writes: All week I’ve been sneezing. Three at a time, as that’s how my sneezes come. My nose has streamed during the day and then got all congesty in the night and stopped me from sleeping.

I’ve sat with my therapy clients and repeatedly brought my attention back to them when I’ve felt a bit wobbly or weary. I’ve used more tissues than they have.

This evening I ate asparagus. We’d bought a bunch earlier in the week and Kaspa is away with our Amida sangha and they needed eating and so I snapped each of them where their tender necks grew woody and boiled them up.

Asparagus always feels luxurious. But as I ate them this evening (with Charlotte potatoes & a rather marvellous tofu sausage) I wondered how much of their taste I was missing out on. They tasted asparagussy, but they had nothing of their usual sea-salty freshgreen magnificence. My blocked nose blocked the flavour out.

This led me to wonder how much else is offered to us that we miss out on. I thought of all kinds of things which filter out the good stuff. Our preoccupations. Our busyness. Our physical and emotional limitations. Our simply-not-noticing.

I can’t do anything about my blocked nose tonight. But I can take time this evening to receive the lovely messages from my friends when I complained about feeling poorly on Facebook. I can miaow back to Roshi cat, who’s just come in from outside and announced his return. I can remember that there is probably more love on offer than I am able to receive, and feel grateful that it shines on me. I can write you this message, to remind you to praise praise praise.

Thank you, asparagus, for your emerald green, for your jaunty caps, for your satisfying snap, and for being amazingly delicious, even if I failed to taste you properly tonight. 

“Do you have doubts about life? Are you unsure if it is really worth the trouble? Look at the sky: that is for you. Look at each person’s face as you pass them on the street: those faces are for you. And the street itself, and the ground under the street, and the ball of fire underneath the ground: all these things are for you. They are as much for you as they are for other people. Remember this when you wake up in the morning and think you have nothing. Stand up and face the east. Now praise the sky and praise the light within each person under the sky. It’s okay to be unsure. But praise, praise, praise.”
~Miranda July (I love you, Miranda July)

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Asparagus by Esteban Cavrico

What hurts is what draws you
ever nearer to what we can’t reach.
~Rachel Barenblat 

Fiona writes: What’s cracked can be beautiful. What hurts can take us closer to love.

My blog about being broken resonated with a lot of you. You send me replies which touched me in return. Admitting the broken-ness, showing you my vulnerability, has led me to a deeper connection with you. This is always the way.

It’s scary to break the clay open. Maybe we just start with an eensy teensy crack.

You know what Leonard Cohen says about these cracks. It’s the only way the light can get inside.  

One of the things you sent me last week was this exquisite poem by Rachel of Velveteen Rabbi. Do visit Rachel’s blog to hear her reading this poem, and consider buying her collection ‘70 Faces: Torah Poems‘ (which I’ve just done). 

Go well.

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VESSEL (SHEMINI)

And if any of those falls into an earthen vessel, everything inside it shall be unclean and [the vessel] itself you shall break. –Leviticus 11:33

The heart is an earthen vessel,
the body an urn: made from dust

and patched with slip,
divine fingerprints everywhere.

Clay is permeable. What you see,
what you touch changes you.

The small grey kitchen mouse
with its neck snapped, dry and grisly

or the body losing integrity, blood
welling someplace it shouldn’t

or the friend who lets you down,
the fierce hope that withers away:

each of these charges the heart
with uncanny energy, untouchable.

All you can do is break the clay
wide open, crack the very housing.

What hurts is what draws you
ever nearer to what we can’t reach.

Rachel Barenblat

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‘cavity’ by bluecinderella with thanks

It’s fashionable at the moment for coaches and teachers to tell their potential students/clients that they are not broken.

As you start to walk out on the way, the way appears.
~Rumi

Fiona writes: Our pathway towards getting things done can sometimes look like a bit like this broken bridge.

This can be especially true when we are working on creative projects.

Whether we’re a professional artist or our creative work is important-but-squeezed-into-odd-moments, creativity often involves reaching deep into our guts, hauling them out and and putting them on display for the whole world to prod & pass judgement on.

I have two offerings to help you with your exposed guts.

Here’s an article on how to survive rejection and carrying on carrying on.

I also have three spaces left on our Creative Intensive, starting today (but you could squeeze in on Monday if you’re reading this then). At the heart of the offering is two 1:1 coaching sessions with me or Kaspa (via Skype or email) to get you onto the right track and to make sure you’re carrying on. It also includes daily doses of inspiration, a private group and weekly musings/exercises.

It’s suitable for anyone working on (or wanting to start) any kind of project – if you’re not sure if it’s for you, drop me an email or we could have a quick chat. You can pay in installments if that helps, and if you’re on a lower income do get in touch.

Creativity requires guts. It’s also often the MOST IMPORTANT THING. Whether you decide to sign up to our course or not, start showing up.

Seventy percent of success in life is showing up.
~Woody Allen

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The Broken Bridge by Stuck in Customs

Fiona writes: Here is my dilemma. As a writer, I need to be able to handle rejection. I also need to be able to process negative feedback, in order to improve my writing. But I need to feel good enough about my work to not throw in the towel altogether.

My experience of being a writer is that I walk a constant tight-rope between thinking my writing is sheer genius, and thinking I write the worst sentences ever written by man. There have been extreme highs and extreme lows over the years, and I’m not expecting things to get easier as time goes on – as my career progresses the challenges will just be different.

My guess is that this balancing process isn’t just a challenge for writers. How can we remain positive about ourselves when the going gets tough? How can we incorporate advice without letting our negative thoughts overwhelm us? Here are a few suggestions on how to support yourself through the inevitable rough patches.

Find your ground
We all already have ground underneath our feet. We can breathe in and out. We usually have enough food and shelter, and access to beauty (look outside your window). Nurture the things in your life that don’t depend on anyone or anything else. You might enjoy running, or golfing, or listening to the birds. You might have a religious faith or a spiritual connection with nature or classic cars. Re-connect with the fact that we already have everything we need. Any praise or success will only be the icing on the cake. Sometimes this is easy, and sometimes it’s the most difficult thing in the world. This is why they call it a spiritual practice – the best we can do is continue to PRACTISE!

Learn more about your own relationship with success and failure
Although there are similarities between different people’s relationships with their success and failure (i.e. most of us like to be ‘understood’) we all have different idiosyncrasies and ‘weak spots’. I’m prone to get caught up in judging my success by listening to the outside world, rather than focussing on what I believe is important. As I began to realise this, I wrote about it in my journal, asked for advice from friends, and did reading around the subject. When this happens nowadays I’m much more likely to catch myself before I get too dispirited. What kind of feedback or rejection is particularly likely to floor you? What might be behind this? What work could you do to lessen the blow, and to support yourself through it?

Manage the feedback you do receive
When I finished my second novel and I was sending it out to various publishers, a work colleague asked if she could read the manuscript. I kept forgetting to bring it in for her, and eventually realised that I just didn’t feel strong enough to hear her opinion on it at that point in time. I couldn’t guarantee that she’d like it, and I felt too wobbly to hear anything less than glowing. I explained this to her, and several months later I was in a completely different place and handed the book over to her happily. There’s no rule that we should be on the look-out for feedback at all times, and listen to everything that everyone says. Think carefully about who you ask for feedback, what kind of feedback you ask for (e.g. please can you tell me three things you liked and one that could be improved), and when you ask for it.

Turn off your internal critic and allow yourself to enjoy what you’re doing
There is a time and a place for our internal critic. I ban mine from the first drafts of novels, because if I listened to it I’d never finish a page (never mind a hundred pages). It comes into its own during the second and subsequent drafts, telling me exactly what it thinks about that weak characterisation, or how bored it is by that paragraph. I also try to turn it off again when the book is ‘finished’, so I can read it through once more and just enjoy it, and feel smug about what a skilful writer I am.

Create a ‘hurray for me’ file
Harsh words about our work are much sharper and stickier than words of praise. I could repeat word for word an entire rejection slip I received a few years ago, but my memory of recent positive feedback isn’t so clear. For this reason I collect the best of the positive feedback I get (emails from people who enjoy my books, positive reviews etc.) and keep them in a ‘hurray for me’ file. When the going gets tough I can re-read these words to remind myself of the things people have liked and get a little perspective again.

Enjoy doing for its’ own sake
This one is crucial. If I can find a way to enjoy writing, then it doesn’t matter to me (so much!) whether other people enjoy reading my books or not. I have already gained the satisfaction of getting to know my characters, and telling their story. I can feel pleased about putting down all those words in the right order. This can apply to anything. When washing up, relish the heat of the water and the lemony smell of the bubbles, and notice how a sqeaky-clean plate makes you feel. Enjoy the challenge of seeing all those figures line up on your tax return. Some tasks are more difficult to engage with than others, and some days we need to be very kind to ourselves when we struggle. Like the first suggestion, this isn’t an instruction but an invitation to practise.

Add to this list with a few ideas of your own
You’re the one who will learn how best to sustain yourself through the sticky patches. Try out different ideas – have ‘mutual fan-club’ meetings with a colleague, collect stories of other people who have successfully faced rejection, copy out the best bits of inspiring books… Keep going until you find some things that work, and then keep on doing them. You, and your work, deserve nothing less.