Friday, December 26, 2014

Art in Undying Form

This blog might as well be titled "Visions, Experiences, & Practice." That's basically what I aim to share through these writings. My account of information through the first person, and sometimes in the past, but I will try not to.

I guess you could expect this to be a memoir. The last time I wrote in a live journal, I wrote about travel escapades in Hong Kong. Each post was a delicately described adventure, sharpening my writing skills, as well as painting a high defined picture of my silly thoughts and experiences. I was 19 at the time of that blog. When I go back and read it, I want to change it. Isn't that crazy? Our mind evolves as our knowledge and exposure does. Sometimes I want to erase some very silly lines in the blog, because I know better now. Even more so, I don't. Because that's what this is all about.

This time, I will be pulling stories, truths, recipes, sequences, techniques to share about my journey here at home. I am running a yoga studio business in Portland, OR and my days are very short of being boring. So before I begin sharing my tales from the last 6 months to current, I will open the intention of this Live Writing Journal with this:

This journal is dedicated to every thought, dream, word, and reflection that I have to share with myself and possibly others. Each line and page, I vow to fill with truth of that moment, and no other to change it. I vow to preserve that creativity by writing whatever, whenever and never by judging myself through words.

There is nothing that cannot be spoken to be freed to that which is silenced to the murmurs of the eternal heart. I practice transparency in ways I weave words together.

I realize I set a standard for the 'good' stories that can make it into this journal.

I often play the role of deciding what goes into the story of my life or not.

It's not my place to decide, however it is my will to write, to spill thoughts onto a page and out of my head. A space to say whatever? Nonsense is a perfect storm that rolls in and can be disturbing and beautiful. First, rumbling and chaotic, then cooling and liberating. The smell of the earth after lighting and rain, with scribbling on one page, sincere script on another. And the sharp edges of guilt and shame racing down the sides of the margins.

The words through penned fingers are intoxicating yet purifying. 

To surrender the desire for proper writing is to lend out the soul,
A stream of consciousness art, in undying form.