Today, I choose to cherish myself like a beloved child. I treat myself gently and with compassion. Practicing alert attention, I find delight in the small treasures of the day. I allow meaningful moments to assume enhanced perspective. Counting these blessings, I enrich my impoverished heart.
It is always necessary to acknowledge creative injuries and grieve them. Otherwise, they become creative scar tissue and block your growth.
Today, I release the urgency of outer events. I listen to the inner rhythm of God. I set my pace by divine guidance. The world and its busy agendas do not control my soul.
There is just this dream, this feeling, this urge, this desire. There is seldom any real proof, but the dream lives on.
The world is a forest of verdant possibility. No one person controls my happiness. No one person is the source of my joy. I am rooted in universal flow. My needs for love and affection are met by many sources. I am blessed by the ability to receive love through many channels. I open my heart to the love that is offered to me by multiple sources. My heart is a mountain meadow fed by many streams.
The act of making art is both scary and healing. Art brings light to places that have remained dark. Art brings perspective. Making art, at any level, is an act of courage and an expression of faith.
Help your brother’s boat across, and lo! your own has reached the shore. HINDU PROVERB.
Nothing that grieves us can be called little: by the eternal laws of proportion a child’s loss of a doll and a king’s loss of a crown are events of the same size. MARK TWAIN.
Allow me to bring you companions worthy of your love.
As a rule of thumb, it is best to just admit that there is always one action you can take for your creativity daily.
Pages clarify our yearnings. They keep an eye on our goals. They may provoke us, coax us, comfort us, even cajole us, as well as prioritize and synchronize the day at hand. If we are drifting, the pages will point that out. They will point the way True North. Each morning, as we face the page, we meet ourselves. The pages give us a place to vent and a place to dream. They are intended for no eyes but our own.
YOU HAVE the right to my help. I am your creator. Your problems are my problems. Ask me for help. I give it to you gladly. I am saddened when you try to live alone. My desire for you is union and fulfillment. I am your answered prayer. I am always what you seek.
A mind too active is no mind at all. THEODORE ROETHKE.
Think of me as deep music. You can always hear me if you try.
Self-expression is something that does not – and should not – ever stop.
Every child is born an artist. The trick is remaining one as an adult.
When people ask, “Why do we write morning pages?” I joke, “To get to the other side.” They think I am kidding, but I’m not. Morning pages do get us to the other side: the other side of our fear, of our negativity, of our moods. Above all, they get us beyond our Censor. Beyond the reach of the Censor’s babble we find our own quiet center, the place where we hear the still, small voice that is at once our creator’s and our own.
Pages must be done longhand. The computer is fast – too fast for our purposes. Writing by computer gets you speed but not depth. Writing by computer is like driving a car at 85 mph. Everything is a blur. “Oh, my God, was that my exit?” Writing by hand is like going 35 mph. “Oh, look, here comes my exit. And look, it has a Sonoco station and a convenience store.
We want to set aside time for our creative work, but we feel we should do something else instead. As blocked creatives, we focus not on our responsibilities to ourselves, but on our responsibilities to others. We tend to think such behavior makes us good people. It doesn’t. It makes us frustrated people.
Boredom is just “What’s the use?” in disguise. And “What’s the use?” is fear, and fear means you are secretly in despair.