don't know what I don't know

For the most part, I write to find out what I'm thinking and feeling -- and to go beyond. Sometimes I find a gem, sometimes not, but generally there's value in showing up.

I have a small desk calendar (page-a-day) with lovely mandala artwork. Today's meditation: "As happy as the stream of a great river, so is the sage who enjoys the stream of thought." Nice.

I was reintroduced as an adult to journal writing by a friend who recommended the Progoff journal workshops/process in 1987. Dr. Ira Progoff worked with Carl Jung and employs the image of an underground stream (of consciousness). It was a compelling experience to delve into that underground stream through guided meditation and writing. I remember the exhilaration of being swept along once I stopped trying to grab every branch and outcropping that rushed by. There was a freedom that came with letting go.

What followed were years that included a deep commitment to writing that profoundly influenced -- and reflected -- my life. I tire of hearing people proclaim that something "changed" their lives, but my experience was that writing helped me become more of who I am. In that sense I was changed.

Over the past couple of years, however, what was a regular writing habit has taken a backseat. Not sure what that is all about, but perhaps it was simply a hiatus -- a fallow period. Sometimes doing nothing is exactly what's needed. But lately I've felt the urge to think out loud again. I couldn't find a journal to suit and find myself creating this instead. Who knew?

Intensive Journal