Creativity is not a noun or even a verb--it is a place, a space,
a gathering, a union a where--wherein the Divine powers of creativity
and the human power of imagination join forces.

~ Matthew Fox, Creativity: Where the Divine and the Human Meet

Matthew Fox identifies what I love most about facilitating workshops and groups or sitting with a person who is attuned to his/her spiritual journey. Together we share a place, a bubble of time and space that opens and contains at the same time. Together we create something new, a sanctuary of sorts. It is a place, a where, as Fox puts it. It is intimate and quiet, yet pulsing with connection and excitement. When we gather to share our true stories, those experiences or insights that have made us who we are today and that urge us forward to continue becoming, we sense Divine presence. Fox calls this New Creation and says it "brings renewal, resurrection, and forgiveness with it."

When we chose to sit down, reflect and write of spiritual wonders or the everyday ordinary that moves us, we create a sacred place for ourselves. Our best self expands, we tap our truth and we feel larger, less confined and aware of more possibilities. And when we share such writing with others, we invite them to join us there.

Writing Your Spiritual Journey creates space for individuals to mine their life for events and experiences that seem now to have been significant to their spiritual journey. Through writing and reading our own stories and listening to and affirming the stories of others, we celebrate and honor creativity.

Peonies

At dawn I walk our tri-color spaniel down the mountain lane and tug the warm blue fleece robe against my throat to block the early morning chill. As Cheyenne trots and sniffs, I am drawn to the peonies in a neighbor's wild garden. I associate peonies with my mid-western childhood, the large bushes barely able to hold the enormous flower heads bobbing in a breeze. Today beside the wire fence, two small plants attempt to keep their blooms aloft. One sturdy stem boasts five pink blooms from bud to dropping petals. Cheyenne stands with me as I kneel.

I take a cleansing breath and inhale: first the subtle blush of the pink peony, soft and gentle like a newborn baby, then the burgundy ‘s robust and hearty perfume. I stand to face the bright sunlight beaming through the forest at the end of the lane. In such a simple moment, immense joy pulses through me. I am grateful to witness the beauty of the peonies and realize they would have gone right on being beautiful whether I saw or sniffed them or not. They do what they do, create what is their essence to create. As I turn to walk home, I consider my essence and what it is for me to create. I feel charged for my day of writing and revising, eager to begin.