Notes from my journal      September 11, 2001

As I write this I am on a spiritual retreat. In the North Carolina mountains lies a small cabin tended by good-hearted creative people who offer a weeklong gift of shelter and quiet to writers of one kind and another. For days I have been sitting with my thoughts, observing the natural world, making music, drawing and practicing yoga, and writing, writing, writing.  This week is presented as a writing residency but for me this is a spiritual residency.  This week is seven days and nights to let my self speak, play, reflect and write in the company of no one else.  No distractions or television or radio or email. No voices other than my own greetings to Mr. Spider or the blue tailed skink who guards the deck steps. And of course, because the silence reigns here, I hear that inner voice. You know the one that we think of as our conscience, the one that guides our choices or actions. In this space I know that this voice comes not from me but from Spirit or God. It comes from that which lies within and beyond all that exists. 

Here I find myself at a time of the greatest turmoil in the history of modern America.  I am here when the hijacked planes destroy lives and buildings in NYC and our capitol. I am here at a time when few Americans have the privilege of isolation from the onslaught of facts, numbers, analysis, questions and constant discussion of every aspect of this horrific act against not just our people and country but against freedom and humanity worldwide. 

As a city dweller I am used to the activity and presence of people around me. Here I am totally alone.  The news of such a violent act and such widespread ramifications for our country and individual lives is unthinkable and frightening.  As darkness falls I notice fear creeping in.  I play chants of Hildegard von Bingham written in the 12^th Century. I read prayers out loud before bed and ask for safety and protection. I rely on my faith in God’s presence to quell my fears. I hear the voice of spirit urging me to write and to notice everything.  One morning I spend 1 hour with a black fly on the white page where I write. He walks the lines of my words as though he wants to know what I have to say.  And I know the sacredness of life in every molecule of my being.  Each day I awake in wonder that I am here on earth, here at the cabin dwelling among the trees and other living creatures.

My intention here is to be open to God, to fill myself and my days with creative acts that come through me into reality.  I know they come not from me but through me.  I feel the channel and honor the gift of my life as a vehicle for my unique expression of values, thoughts, and beliefs in this outer world. Here I am able to practice ways to live intentionally with Spirit. This is a week of Sabbath days kept in the presence and recognition of Spirit in my life.

Give thanks.

Listen to your inner voice

Keep your daily practice

Honor your creative process

Respect your relationship to the natural world.