Artists Anonymous

We are huddled in our little groups of twos and threes, passing around in whispers our empty bowls of prayer requests.  She is a seasoned veteran in this business of service, sacrifice and self-negation.  Her husband a respected leader. Each of us hesitates a little before I finally take a chance and set out my bowl first.

I am doing this… I search for words to describe the Artist’s Way and keep falling short… A book? A workbook? A 12-step-like recovery program for wounded artists?

Their gentle eyes rest on my face, waiting patiently for me to clothe my squirming thoughts into ill-fitting syllables.  Finally I confess, settling on a simple action verb that has over-arched my existence since before I could talk.

I write.

Three pages.

Of longhand.

Every day. 

Of whatever goes through my mind.

Even as I say this, the filled-out pages flash before my eyes, and I know that these words don’t give a shadow of justice to the reality of what these pages represent.

Oh! Her eyes having endured the burden of my quest for adequate wardrobe light up in recognition.

It’s like a prayer journal!

No! I blurt out. Not at all! I would call it more like … vomit, I explain and my eyes pop wide open the moment the word reaches the auditory processing system inside my head. I am thoroughly mortified together with my shocked praying friends.  We laugh even as I kick myself for being such an idiot and I want to kick God for making me look like a fool in front of these women.

My internal editor hisses: 

You blabber-mouth! You should have said something like,

"It's a ham radio for the soul." Or, even better,

“It’s a lush, ever-present oasis of absolute safety where you get to hear your own thoughts and feelings...”  Or,

“It’s a critics-free zone where I get to be fully myself!” Or at least,

“It’s a self-deception lie detector that helps me navigate through confusion of life where truth and appearance often don’t occupy the same space.”

The Editor, of course, is right. There is a million other things I could have said, but no!

Of all the beautiful words in richly stocked up English language, my brilliant brain chose to humiliate me by landing on vomit!