Counter-migration

Photograph is property of Ariana Salvo. May not be reproduced without permission.

“There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique. If you block it, it will never exist through any other medium. It will be lost. The world will not have it.

    It is not your business to determine how good it is, nor how valuable it is, nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open.” 

-Martha Graham  

This morning I did a writing exercise with my dear friend Ahava Shira, who lives on Saltspring Island in British Columbia. Ahava is a creativity mentor, writer, performer and loving inquirer whose work brings together creative expression, entrepreneurial business skills (which she calls Heartrepreneurs) and personal development to help women find success and fulfillment in work that is joy-filled and life-giving, and in their relationships with friends and family. She leads courses, workshops and retreats, and conducts one-on-one sessions. I highly recommend you visit her website and learn more. She also hosts a radio show on which she reads poetry, plays music and talks about the practice of Loving Inquiry called Love in the Afternoon on Mondays at 1pm PST (it is best enjoyed with a hot cup of tea ;-)). 

Ahava and I have been writing together once a week for about a year now. We do so via Skype, which is such a blessing, because it means she can be right in front of me as we write, and I can see her facial expressions as she shares what she has written and vice-versa. The last few weeks she was waiting for a new computer to arrive, so we could not write, but today she was all set up again and rearing to go, so at 10am we were both seated in our respective creative spaces ready to write. 

I rarely share my more creative/journal writing on my blog, but Ahava was convinced that what I wrote and shared with her this morning needed to be on my blog, so I thought I would give it a try and see what you think since I did say that I was going to be incorporating more of my creative writing into my blog posts. So here you have my creative journal writing piece from this morning. It does not (yet) have a title. I think it may end up being "Counter-migration," but I am not quite sure yet. Reading it again now I am quite certain that is is a sliver of a larger piece in the making. Perhaps I will write the rest of it in the new year, looking back. 

Counter-migration 

Morning sunlight on my sheer cream curtains makes me wonder into another day and what it holds. I think my life is shifting, but I have thought that too many times to be sure. The land of snow is pulling my heart north. Soon my body will be island-bound, returning to its natural habitat, bound by water and community. Its wildness reflecting and amplifying my own.

They say when you leave land you love it misses you as much as you it. That there is always a gap there waiting for you to return—slip back into, belong. The way you can sometimes slip back into a relationship with a dear friend with complete ease even after years apart.

If I were a landscape, I would be an island – a small one at that. I don’t really know why that is, in case you are wondering. It just is.

A week ago I watched hundreds of birds migrate overhead, their dark bodies fluid v-shaped streams, one after the other, dark waves against the blue vault above. It reminded me of a fall evening after picking up a load of turnips for market at the end of a long day. Limbs tired, contentment warm in my chest. We heard them before we saw them, pulled over at the side of the road on our way back to the farm, leaned up against the van, our necks craned up, eyes squinting against the last radiance of light stretched out long across the coastline and the inky darkness of the Atlantic. Above, wave after wave of geese determinedly pressed forward on their arduous journey south. Sunlight the colour of honey gave the left over stubble of the hay fields a grainy, dreamlike appearance. A cold wind blew steady. The sensation inside my body was one of contented yearning—for what I am not sure. The seasonal migration perhaps? The biological urge to give in to the pull of the land and sky? There was, back then, a daily conversation between my body and the land. The moon pulled my tides with her full pale face. At the most basic, biological level I was in synch with the universe.

But this is not about the past or discontent. This is my life. I am finding my way home. I am getting on a plane headed north in two weeks--my migration counter-intuitive. Am I fighting the inevitable, or giving in to some inner truth? It is hard to know. I pray daily. Morning, evening, and often in-between. Will something come of this trip north? Will I remain, the return portion of my ticket unused? Will the land, I wonder, still have me? Will it have held my spot open for me to reinhabit?   

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Do you keep a journal to record your thoughts? If you do, how long have you been journalling, and what do you enjoy most about having a journal? I invite you to and write an entry entitled "Migration." If you feel like it, post a sentence or two from your entry in the comments section below.

Have a beautiful Wednesday night, and an inspiring day tomorrow, friends!