Over the next week I'm going to post some of my favorite essays I've written for All About Women magazine, mostly so they're archived somewhere besides my laptop (which I suspect will die any moment).
This post is a copy of my last column in All About Women, published June 2008. Jill Jordan-Wilson, my publisher/editor, moved and the new folks didn't want it. I mention this mostly as a fact, not a whine (or, at least, not intentionally so!). But since my 2nd anniversary writing Grounded coincides with its conclusion, I’ve been pondering this personal adventure.
In a nutshell, I found my voice. Yet, what is “voice?” And what does it mean to find it? More importantly, what does it mean to express it, to amplify my voice so strongly that family, friends, strangers, and even my own dang self, can hear it?
This was Jill’s intention – to give voice to women of all backgrounds and experiences, to explore their diverse tones and melodies. And I’ve loved my part in that harmony. Sharing my own story, I’ve found common threads with others. It seems lots of folks lose enthusiasm for their jobs, advocate for peace, explore spirituality, recognize hypocrisies, and question their own sanity. Evidently others also find dating to be a bewildering nightmare, get embarrassed when falling in love, and occasionally shriek with horrifying bitchiness at their most intimate partners. Lots of us can relate.
Learning my life is similar to the lives of strangers is very cool, but I’ve discovered something even better. Finding my voice taught me to let go of the “my” part. I’ve found Voice, that’s partly me, partly something else altogether. And that is way cool.
I believe we are born on this earth to create beauty. Period. That’s it. Nothing else. Beauty expressed in as many unique ways as there are unique creators. Beautiful paintings. Beautiful words. Beautiful ideas. Beautiful organizations. Beautiful governments. Beautiful relationships. Beautiful experiences in learning algebra, playing tennis, giving massages, baking bread, birthing babies, healing illness, growing vegetables, managing investments, building houses … the “what” is irrelevant. It’s the intention and process that matter. In creating beauty we must be absolutely harmless and remain fueled by a type of love and truth we cannot, and should not, define within the limits of language, policy, belief, or doctrine. Our beauty must not oppress. Instead, it must feel joyful – or at least kind -- to the creator and everyone else. This life and earth are entrusted to us as ultimate gifts, and they must be respected while we’re here, left enhanced when we die.
This is not new age Pollyannaism or pipe-dreamed nostalgia. If humanity is to survive, this is the only way to do it. We have no other choice. And I believe it takes far more discipline and diligence, let’s say, than even raising healthy children, attaining financial security, or reverently praying. We must be fearless to create beauty, especially now. Creating beauty requires that we unblinkingly know and express our deepest passion. All the time. No matter how intensely history, economics, culture, or religion have beaten the life out of that practice.
That’s where Voice comes in, for Voice is the ultimate blending of human and divine. We have Voice when a human’s unique passion joins seamlessly with a spiritual impulse to affirm life. I don’t know what Spirit is, and, to be honest, I don’t care. But when I write I feel it in ways that far exceed any other mystical experience I’ve had. Doesn’t matter if I’m writing this column or a novel or the policy manual currently paying my bills. Time disappears, and I feel connected to something utterly amazing and completely indescribable. I have a passion for stringing words together, and the more I do it, the more I am god. Not the almighty silver-bearded God sanctioned by Constantine and King James, but the god within all of us. Plato calls it “Self,” Krishna calls it “Atman,” it’s implied in the Tao, and in the Gnostic Dialog of the Savior Jesus said, “Truly, the living God dwells within you, and you in Him.” The god that opens space.
The more my husband draws the more he is god. The more my daughter dances the more she is god. My stepson with his Legos, my nephew when he studies, a friend who raises endowment money, another who counsels drug addicts, another who manages retirement accounts, a Humane Society volunteer, a biology teacher, a manager, a bank teller, a waitress … a parent who cares for her children, a child who cares for her parents … they’re god, too. Again, the task is irrelevant. We just have to be our greatest passion, with enough chutzpa to do it often, to open the door when spirit knocks, and to let everything else go. It doesn’t require brilliance or uncanny skill (although talent often accompanies passion). But we need to be fearless, chucking comfort, safety, and habit when necessary, and going for the deepest urge that our hearts both protect and offer. Then we have Voice, the one thing that helps us and the world immeasurably. Having it even briefly has changed my life profoundly. Not because I’m a good writer or because some readers enjoy my column. But when I finally said “yes” to my passion I created surprising space for more life-enhancing things. And that’s what matters.
