Listening to the Body, Not the Deadlines
Three key reflections I will take with me from my artist residency:
All I ever have to be is myself.
Practice the art of non-attachment by being fully present in each waking moment.
Listen to your body and not the deadlines.
This Week, my final week of the residency, was the host of another one of my shroom adventures. On Wednesday, I planned to finish a manuscript completely. I was just a few pages short of finishing, so I thought it would be a great idea to take some mushrooms to assist me in the task. I can agree it helped me, but not as I expected it to. Upon taking the shrooms, I realized shortly after sitting at the desk that I began to grow very antsy. My body grew very bored of just sitting and writing. It almost felt like I was being a disobedient child with it’s schoolwork. So I decided to pack my tote, including my journal and pens, cellphone, and vlog camera. I quickly hurried out the door as if the kid in me was dragging me out the door by its excitement to be away from the desk.
It's amazing how the simple act of walking outside, in nature, can serve as medicine for calming the nervous system. I walked downhill the dirt path from my studio down to the Rock House, the main cabin. I decided to stop at the outdoor lawn and grabbed a seat, flopping down my bags beside me. I sat for a few minutes, closing my eyes, practicing a few deep breaths to bring myself down a bit from the peaking microdose of shrooms that was the cause of all of this. I prayed for guidance on the last few pages of the manuscript. I was certain the microdose of shrooms was going to grant me the furl to finish it, but it had other plans. I sat with my body for a moment to see what it was that my body was asking for. Certainly, my body was trying to tell me something. Why else would it bail on today’s workday when I was so close to the finish line? I was eager to power through the last few work days, totally ignoring that I was busy for the entire duration of the residency up until this day. I had plans to rest for the final two days, and I had reserved “taking it easy” for those days only.
After several minutes of searching for the answer to what my body needed, I decided to take a walk. This time, I decided to go down a short scenic trail that went to the pottery studio. I was stunned by how full the trail was of bright yellow, red, and orange leaves. Some leaves are still on the trees, making the trail a lush journey of bright fall colors. I walked back and forth on this trail for about two hours. Stop and take my time to look at the trees the view of the mountain tops, and talk to the creator. I even took a few notes on my phone with some topics I could write about in the manuscript. All inspiration was pulled from what I saw on the trail.
I came from out of the trail and then sat on the grass, not far from when I began this adventure. This act of sitting on the grass felt much needed for my inner child's satisfaction. After spending some time sitting, playing in the grass, and organizing my thoughts, I walked back to my studio, still very much in search of what I needed to finish this manuscript. On the walk back, while practicing slowing down and not rushing back to get to the writing table, I was amazed at how much the leaves had changed colors, and a fairly good amount of leaves had fallen, leaving a lot of the trees completely naked. It changed right in front of me, but I was too busy completing projects to take too much notice of them.
Walking through the door of the studio, I immediately went to my sofa. Which then led to me lying on the rug, blankly staring up at today's tasks on the whiteboard. The studio was silent except for when it filled with the sound of the neighboring birds singing. I enjoyed the nothingness at that moment. It was like that was the answer to my prayer. What my body needed was to do nothing. To just simply be. It was in this enlightenment that I permitted myself to take the day of writing. And in that moment of permission, I was given more enlightenment. I realized that creativity is much like a stubborn child. We can tell it what to do and have a world of tasks for it to complete, but that doesn’t necessarily mean creativity will listen. Sometimes, it would much rather do its own thing. It is our responsibility as artists to be ok with that. For the maintenance of our productivity, we have to allow creativity to be excused from the dinner table when it chooses to be.
