JOURNAL ENTRY

MORNING PAGES

Today is my granddaughter’s 8th birthday. Time goes by so quickly.

Life is a series of adventures that become your life. I keep writing that phrase and it lingers in my mind waiting for a chance to be used.

Life is unbelievable. It calls out to you to live your best life. It hungers for a chance to become great or for you to use your God-given talents rather than burying them.

Could it be that we’re afraid to step out of the “label” that we wear given to us by family, friends, and teachers? Is it too difficult to shine or to take the high road and live our dreams? Is it easier to suffer depression, sadness, or worst of all regret for not living our best life?

Will we cry at heaven’s door, not now Lord, I haven’t finished my novel? Whenever somebody dies, I often wonder, did they live their dreams or did they die with regrets.

I often ask my older brother, “Have you ever imagined how great we might have become if we didn’t have a crazy childhood?”

We talked about how our younger brother always played his two wooden drum sticks on everything in our house.

“Why didn’t our parents buy him drums?” my brother asked. “He might have become a musician.”

“Because they didn’t have any dreams themselves so they couldn’t nurture ours,” I said.

“I remember you always wanted to become a writer. At least you’re writing now.”

What I didn’t tell him that it took my second near-death experience before I picked up my pen to write and it’s been a long process.

My younger cousin, Allen John McMinn died last week. I regret that we didn’t spend more time together. Thirty or more years ago, when most of our cousins attended our Uncle Jack’s funeral, Allen and I decided that it was crazy that we only saw our family when somebody died. We arranged a family reunion on the Island. It only happened twice.

The last time I saw Allen was approximately three years ago at our Auntie Noreen’s funeral and now I’m going to his memorial on Friday. Allen, till we meet in heaven.

I hate regrets. What will you regret?

JOURNAL WRITING

On busy days, I forge through my journals looking for something to post on the blog. I agree with Julia Cameron that morning pages or journalling is a form of spiritual practice.

January 4, 2005

I wait for inspiration to stalk me but I cannot hear its voice. Is it time for focused writing? I will miss the joy of writing randomly and waiting for gold to appear on the page that feels like magic.

I will miss looking forward to the wild abandonment that floods my page. Why should I forsake journal writing with all its pleasure? Writing in flow is awesome. It soothes my soul who longs to express itself. It feels like luxury when I write down each thought that arrives uninvited.

My soul longs to write in this carefree moment without worry or stress. Keep the pen moving and don’t cross out. These are the precious words that my soul gratefully acknowledges. Focused writing isn’t as simple. Journal writing feels like I’m having communion with God and my soul is receiving a love letter.

It is as if my soul has connected with the Oneness and it feels complete. All the pieces of my soul amalgamate together to form words on the page. When I create my soul rejoices.

My soul is the happiest when I seize the moment and allow it freedom on the page. It breathes a sigh as creativity feels like home to it and it relishes each word that I write. For this sweet moment of time, my soul experiences its uniqueness and purpose. Overwhelming joy floods my heart and body. My soul acknowledges my creativity and I believe being creative keeps me healthy.

I am the Great Poet’s daughter.

Amen.

JOURNAL WRITING

Since I started to post to our Blog, I've grabbed entries from my journal. I've written poetry, short stories, essays, and a novel in my journal. After I write three morning pages (The Artist Way by Julia Cameron), I then continue writing especially if I'm in flow.

Label is a poem that I wrote probably in 2004.

LABEL
If it weren’t for the sorrow in my soul,
I might have done great things
It’s not that I didn’t try
As much as I believed
The label that my family
wanted me to wear