Mindful writing is a practice, which straight away places it into a psychic space that overlaps with the practical. It’s not something we just think about; it’s something we do. But more than this, we do it intentionally. In many ways much of the work or process of mindful writing happens with the silent or verbal articulation of our intention. Without the intention to write mindfully we are simply journaling. Not that I am minimizing the benefits of journaling. They are far too numerous and well documented to be dismissed. But journaling is not mindful writing.
Writing mindfully is closely aligned with a spiritual orientation towards accessing the deepest, most hidden parts of our souls, that which is capable of becoming illuminated through other practices, such as meditation, or devotional practices, or prayer. However, although there may be many overlaps between mindful writing and spirituality, they are not co-extensive; neither is mindful writing a form of some new kind of religiosity.
To truly appreciate the benefits of mindful writing we first need to establish a commitment to the practice, better if its daily, but at least as regular as possible. And preferably in and around the same time each day. Somehow the discipline of establishing the practice via the setting of a specific time and turning up to a particular place, the same place and time where you arrived yesterday and will come again tomorrow, these constants set up a kind of expectation which becomes an anticipation, the silent articulation of our intention to sit still in silence and solitude and write mindfully. I don’t think I can stress this more strongly. If you wish to write mindfully, it is necessary to commit to the practice as a practice, to engage with it as a form of spiritual practice, the aim of which is to seek higher meaning for our lives through the medium of words. Words are powerful elements.
“They can be a great help – words. They can become the spirit’s hands and lift and caress you.” – Meister Eckhart
We choose to write mindfully for many reasons, including the desire to slow down, to discover inner guidance, to find our authentic voices and selves, to learn to recognize the meaning of our lives, to find our way back home. There are many forms of mindful activities we could choose to engage with, but because we are writers we have chosen to express our desire for mindful living through the medium of words. We are wordsmiths; we discover who we are through the laying down of words upon the white virginal sheets of our soul infused pages.
“Behind your image, below your words, above your thoughts, the silence of another world waits. A world lives within you. No one else can bring you news of this inner world. Through the opening of the mouth, we bring out sounds from the mountain beneath the soul. These sounds are words.”
John O’Donohue, Anam Cara
Do you have a mindful writing practice? If you don’t what do you need to do to create one? Can you mark out a space in your surroundings where you can be assured of silence, solitude and uninterrupted writing time?
The amount of time required for the practice is not excessive. It is always best to be realistic thereby saving yourself from the ignominy of ‘failure’. We have a habit of always starting out with wonderful intentions and then when we fail to reach our own too-high standards we simply give up, berating ourselves for believing we could do it, that we dared to think we might somehow change the fabric of our lives for the better. Then we leave our dreams languishing behind us until one day something strikes us, some word or image, a line from a poem or a sentence from a writer we admire, and then we feel the desire rising again within. So we try again, and once more we commit the same mistake – we aim too high, too soon.
Far better to start small and slow, and see where our words may carry us. The point of a practice is that it is just that – practice, which is another word for process. The words are what they are, our writing means what it means – it is enough for today. For mindful writing is not about results, trying to make our writing count according to some objective standard.
Committing to a regular practice sends a message to your unconscious that you are serious about your new, life-enhancing activity, so that even on the days when you don’t feel like sitting and writing mindfully, still you drag your resisting feet to the table, you pick up your pen, find a prompt to start you off, or not, and write. Mindfully.
Natalie Goldberg recommends keeping a notebook, a sort of tally of your daily practice. In this notebook you jot down the date and the times you began writing and when you finished. No evaluations necessary, just a simple recording of time and place. Oh yes, and don’t forget to make note of the days missed, eg July 25th : missed! Whether we engage with the practice or not, recording keeps a continual relationship, Natalie reminds us.
In this way, our intention is always before us. This is why intention precedes practice, and is, in many ways, more important than the actual practice itself, or rather the practice has lost its juiciness if it is not illuminated by intention.
So what’s your practice going to be?
Remember – keep it simple.
Start with 10 minutes a day, 5 days a week. This allows room for fudging and adjusting to a new life practice.
Maintain a record of days when you did and days when you didn’t.
Trust the process.
“Words are never just words. The range and depth of a person’s soul is inevitably revealed in the quality of the words she uses. When chosen with reverence and care, words not only describe what they say but also suggest what can never be said.
John O’Donohue, Beauty
[This post was first published on the Story Circle Network blog, Telling Herstories, the Broad View