The Earth is My Wise Teacher
I embrace the wisdom of this earth. I accept my own life's seasonality in all things. I embrace my times of apparent dormancy as well as my showier seasons of growth. I trust the quiet times of apparent absence as the necessary gestation time for a fruitful future.
Julia Cameron
Heart Steps
How affirming it was to read this in my studio one day in early January! Each time I go to there to create, I meditate for a few minutes, to ground myself and to clear out whatever energy doesn't need to be there, allowing space for necessary energy to enter. Then I read an affirmation from Heart Steps, a companion to Julia Cameron's wonderful Artist's Way. The readings never fail to meet me where I'm at, where my physical/emotional/spritual self is currently experiencing life. This affirmation was spot on.
My writing self has indeed been dormant for the past couple of months. My sewing self has been in partial hibernation. My creative spirit has preferred to knit rather than write or sew. This happens to me a couple of times a year, in late summer and winter. It seems I am truly tuned in to the natural world, which in my part of the planet is deeply dormant right now. Even in a mild winter such as this, every living thing seems to be in sleep mode. Oh, some of the animals stir enough to forage a meal, and some of the plants show tinges of green. But for the most part, they're asleep. Their dreams are processing memories and considering possibilities, their bodies are resting and gaining strength for the renewal cycle coming soon. They are conserving energy for self-preservation. Some of them are creating new life within themselves.
When these energetically quiet spells first showed up, they puzzled and frustrated me. Why didn't I feel like sewing/knitting/creating? What was wrong with me? Why couldn't I muster the where-with-all to do something, to make something? It's what I live to do, so why don't I want to do it? As my self-evolution process has progressed, I've come to see these times are necessary for me. Just like sleep, I need them. Even though I cannot sense it, creative juice is flowing. Sometimes it feels like nothing is happening in my creative spirit, and sometimes I feel tiny sparks of inspiration there. What's important is that I honor this process - not judging it, but allowing it to be.
Lately the sparks are firing more frequently. Ideas for sewing projects are formulating, and I actually spent two productive days in the studio this weekend. Not that I've been unproductive the past two months. I hemmed a top, and I spent many hours on a vest that went wrong at every turn and now lives in a bag with its scraps. I finished knitting a shawl I started nearly 10 years ago. It's the autumn-toned one shown in my current header photo. I knit two scarves, one easy, and one more time-consuming. I knit a pair of socks for my brother. His birthday is tomorrow - Valentine's Day. I had never knit him anything, so it felt good to make him something beautiful and utilitarian. I've taken photos of all of these things (except the scrapped vest) and will be writing about them soon.
I've missed writing here, reading your blogs, and reading Stitcher's Guild and Pattern Review. Soon I'll catch up on it all, as my creative self wakens and begins another cycle of designing, painting fabric, sewing, and writing. And knitting will eventually go dormant for a time, in preparation for its next cycle. This dormancy, this hibernation, is a necessary element of my creative being, and I'm grateful for it.
