I am writing this from the heavenly embrace of a rocker on my friend Robin’s porch, looking out over luminous, late-summer fields of Amherst, Mass.
I am working hard and tapping pretty deeply into something sweet which has a clear voice, encouraged and nurtured by the amazing goddesses of the Valley; bountiful, beautiful energy. Before that, I’d retreated for a week of solitude in Brooklyn, which required saying “no” more than I ever have in my whole life put together. The rewards were plentifold.
One thing seems certain, and that is that feelings can not be relied upon; they change constantly. I learned this while living on hundred-acre Tree Toad Farm, on a dirt road, alone, for a month in the winter. It was the most silence and solitude I’ve ever experiencd, in every way. Trippy. Amazing learning experience, to witness my brain – !
And, scary as the unknown under the bed, it is this silent solitude that houses sweet creativity – dripping at first, like early nectar, then flowing, uncoaxed, into the sacred emptiness. Nature abhors a vacuum, you know. So fear not the abyss of the unknown, because, as T.S. Eliot put it, “Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.”