Before I sit to write. . .
Coffee, decaf—a little too sweet. Anytime of day. A notebook & fine-point marker pen on my right, a book feeding my wisdom to my left. Sitting at my kitchen table; window cracked, curtains pulled open, copious amounts of light pouring onto my work station—even on a cloudy day.
Laptop. Flowers. Post-it notes at my wrists. Heater whirring. Music; likely Air’s Pocket Symphony or Zero 7’s Simple Things or Björk’s Vespertine.
Then begins the writing.
In the process of writing. . .
Typing. As fast as I can before the inspiration leaves me. Short, quick fragments of thought. Trying not to edit & fuss over sentences not yet fully birthed. Anxious, hurried, passionate typing—I don’t want to lose this! Looking to my right, face to the sun, watching clouds pass & birds fly & squirrels hunt for food in the rain gutters. More, more typing.
Working for hours, working for minutes, depending on the content. Nearing the finish. It reads good, but I want it to read great. I bring it to Jonathan—reading it aloud to him or having him read it himself. Pacing, heart-thumping, hopeful; expecting him to say, “This is no good. Start all over.” He never says that, just smiles & says, “Beautiful.” Always.
One more read-through to check for typos & see if any darlings need to be killed. Asking Jonathan one more time, “Are you sure it’s ready? Are you sure?” He nods. Asking myself the same question; a resounding Yes.
Then, I publish.
Before I get on the phone with a client. . .
An hour or so before: Going inward. Opening space for what’s to come, while simultaneously sealing off a part that’s all for me (for self-protection). Glasses of water. Indulging in quiet, intimate, slow, playful moments: reading a book, stealing kisses from my beloved, taking my dog for a little walk. Then. . . making tea (Tulsi, Indian Breakfast), gathering my supplies (headphones, matches, my notebook). Then, upstairs I go to my office-slash-Goddess-Space.
Thirty minutes before: Lighting candles, lighting incense, lighting sage. Cleansing the space, cleansing my energy. Deep breaths, little stretches, a little cleaning & rearranging of my altars. Then . . . tarot reading for the week, + a card of the day pull, all while listening to my Spiritualized soundtrack. Making note of what was uncovered in the reading, placing it on my altar. A quick read of one Hafiz poem, jotting down words that resonate. More breathing.
Ten minutes before: Heart beating strongly, steadily as I read through last weeks notes; anticipation & excitement is beginning to rise up from my belly to my throat. Opening my heart even more to prepare for the space being held for her, my client. Resting a bit, waiting for the moments to tick down in stillness. Saying her name in my heart. Still breathing.
Moments before: Heart racing in eagerness. A chime of my singing bowl, vibrating. Waiting for the phone to ring—then it does. I take in one deep, big breath, let it out slowly as I smile. Then I answer.
As I’m in session. . .
Breathing. Deep listening & witnessing. Note-taking, truth-telling, praise-giving. Heart staying open, holding sacred space. Always coming back to curiosity, always allowing my intuition to guide me.
My focus is only on her: the sound of her voice, the pauses in between, the inflection in her sentences; I notice everything. I give space for her blossoming. I laugh, I cry. The way I work is a lot like being in a constant state of prayer: lots of gratitude, lots of trust & openness, lots of sinking in to listen. Patience, compassion, empathy. Also: heart welling with pride; she is so courageous, so strong, & blossoming beautifully.
After session. . .
Blow out the candles, turn off the lights. Smoke begins to billow & fill my space. Collecting my things—tea cup, notebook, pieces of wax that spilled & dried at my altar. Then. . . crawling out of my space, stretching my legs & smiling big as I celebrate the fact that I showed up fully.
Going downstairs. A hug & a kiss to Jonathan; a kind word & made-up song to my pup. A bubble bath. A walk around the block. Tea. Starting to make dinner. Unwinding, relaxing, deep breathing, resting.
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