Writing my way out April 30, 2008
Posted by Liz Mead in : Matters Yellow , trackbackLife goes round in circles.
It is this process of repeating things that creates the pattern of our life. Some of those patterns are unique, but most are reminiscent of other, collective or universal patterns. In these we share histories, geographies, myths and dreams. They may have a different personal colours and shades but many of our life patterns are similar to other people’s. I find this immensely reassuring.
As individuals we repeat certain lessons, behaviours, or thoughts for as long as they serve us. Even negative patterns. After that, we try new ones. Now this is nothing very earth shattering, but it always surprises me, in those unguarded moments to actually see the patterns – like wind washed sand, circles within circles of filigree lace.
We repeat patterns because they are reassuring and sustain the image we have of ourselves: as successful, caring, creative, provocative, entertaining, funny, serious whatever. They’ve worked before and will work again – for this is the concept of self-efficacy.
One such useful technique I have is to write my way into new life situations. I have done this a couple of times in the past, and I believe I’m doing that now, with this blog. The result of the writing will be known much later. 18 ago I was in a bit of a mess. I was depressed, alone and retrenched from a job I had enjoyed immensely. My brother had just been married and following the wedding I decided to go home to the USA with my sister Cate, her husband and their twins who were 3 at the time. I stayed there for 6 months. Blissful and joyous.
Over that time, I wrote. I wrote 2 stories. One was called “How to make a career out of choosing a career to make” and the other was a stream of consciousness, regarding my own fecundity and depression. In that second story, I played the central character who thought she was a turtle, who deposited hundreds and hundreds of egs, and the second character was a psychologist called Stephen who tried to address this psychosis. This story I kept private and no-one knew of it at all.
It repeated itself, however in the following way. 5 years later I married a psychologist called Stephen. Like the theme in my story, we had trouble conceiving. As one of many treatments we visited a chinese herbalist who prescribed – you guessed it, crushed turtle shells. Of course I discontinued treatment and alas remained childless. At the same time Cate sent me a postcard out of the blue, with a picture of a turtle. This turtle was part of a polynesian myth in which she gave birth to all the peoples of the south pacific, hundreds and hundreds of eggs. Neither Stephen nor Cate knew of my story. Nor had I read the polynesian myth before.
I love that sort of synchronicity. It doesn’t change the outcome, but it does change the energy around it – marking it as moment of significance.
Several years ago, a psychic I have seen several times, told me my life was an open book. The first half was written but the second was completely blank. I asked if this meant I was going to die. She told me that it was blank because that half had yet to be written.
So let’s see where the Blue and Yellow Post ends up. Perhaps a year or two from now, there will be a pattern, like another pattern, reminiscent of a further pattern. And I’ll know it had served the right purpose.
See you in the next chapter
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