After my weekly Yin/Meditation class, I went to hug Carly, my guru mentor. Her peaceful energy and wise nature somehow heals my soul, even if just a little. She asked how I was doing, I suppose she sensed trepidation in my eyes. As I was telling her about my best friend who was sick in the hospital and how petrified I was, I giggled. It felt both natural and strange, for this was no laughing matter. I asked her, “Why would I laugh instead of cry?” Crying has never a problem for me.
She told me this was a sign of an imbalance in my heart.
Interesting, I thought. My anxieties were bubbling up in odd ways.
“So how do I fix that?” I figured child’s pose or open heart postures would be recommended.
“You write don’t you?”
“Ya, I guess.” I said, thinking about my journals and memoirs stacked on my shelves at home. For decades, I have kept journals to write down the ramblings of my mind. Not as much to organize as to spew and release my thoughts. Knowing that no one would ever read my words, (remind me to burn said journals later) it has been my private confession.
My overload of ideas, unruly emotions and sometimes confused and incoherent thinking requires focusing on one train of thought. Like meditating on my breath, writing is one of my favourite ways to help me become more centered. While living in the North, a hot Dead Sea Salt Spa bath was a guarentee to sink me into my Zen place. Also read Heal with Self-Massage with Spoil me Body Oil. Living in Costa Rica, a hot bath is not only unappealing but unavailable! Time to find another way.
Like everything on my healing journey, I need reminding. Lately my hand reaches for a glass of wine, instead of unrolling my mat. When my practice eludes me, dwindling from daily to weekly, and I find it difficult to reach for my mat. I try to pick up a pen instead and write until my heart’s content. I find instant gratification without the side effects of the wine.
I ask myself questions and keep writing until they are answered. No matter what is happening in my life, I can always write it down. As I confess to what I consider to be "mistakes" in my faulty character, I realize the mistake is not something I said or did or didn't do or say, it's in the self judgment.
Writing didn't heal my friend, but it can help to mend a broken heart.
Do you find writing beneficial? If so, how?