I'm LOVING Eat, Pray, Love. Between Elizabeth Gilbert and Rumi, I have decided to start journaling to the Divine and the Beloved instead of praying.
You see, my thoughts don't collect in my head. If you have a conversation with me, I'll speak in half-sentences, forget what we're talking about, and start going on and forget what point I'm making before I get there.
Even my thinking is severely disorganized.
How can I put this? This is SO silly I'm embarrassed to admit it. Part of the problem DH and I were having is he kept asking me what was in the package I was sending. Like, every single day.
I know you're looking at me like I have two heads.
You don't understand.
The process of trying to remember what's on my list and what's in the box is MONUMENTAL. It just won't happen. I do NOT have that type of memory. Just the thought of trying to remember all that sends me running under the covers with a Snickers bar.
I tell my students never to say I can't, so I guess I won't say I can't, but I will say that it would HURT MY BRAIN SEVERELY to try to recall what's in the box.
You know how I imagine my story before I write? Well, did I mention I imagine it out of order?
I'm fairly certain a large part of why I write is just to get the stories in my mind organized into chronological order. And you wonder why I use Mindola SuperNotecard. I see my story in snippets, then I organize it as I type.
Something magical happens when I type. I honestly don't think I'd be a writer if there were no computers. My brain is so disorganized, I need the computer like a backup brain, like an extra bit of RAM to get me through my daily processes.
This complicates the task of praying when under stress.
On a good day, my prayer sounds like this:
Dear God. No, Goddess. God, you don't mind if I pray to the Goddess, do you? I mean, I'll pray to you, too. Can I pray to both of you at the same time? I know you're a jealous God. It's just I don't want to leave you out, even though I'm not willing to accept you're the only one.
Oh shit, have I just insulted you?
Anyway, life, well. You know.
Um, I'll feel really selfish if I ask for help.
But, um, shit. It's been one thing after another.
That's not to say, you know. I mean, geeze, what am I doing praying about this when there are children who haven't eaten in two weeks?
Well, um, okay. You know. It might be nice if you could make this just a little easier. If you wouldn't mind so much.
On a bad day, my prayers sound like this:
Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. Oh, sorry: I mean, uh-oh. Help!
So I got to thinking: I'm so accustomed to sounding like a bumbling idiot when I speak that it doesn't bother me, but I never feel like a bumbling idiot when I write. If you heard me teach you'd be shocked my students learn anything. I wave my arm around, sing a bit, and say, "you know?" I suspect we develop some sort of psychic connection because how else do they understand what I'm not even saying? It's bizarre.
I'm always sort of shocked that I write in full sentences and coherent paragraphs.
Do you still keep a diary? I mean, not a blog, but a diary, a private one? Who do you address it to? Did you find that blogging kinda stopped you from journaling, or not at all?