She has found what I hope to someday find: "I got pulled through the wormhole of the absolute, and in that rush I suddenly understood the workings of the universe completely. I left my body, I left the room, I left the planet, I stepped through time and entered the void. I was inside the void, but I also was the void and I was looking at the void, all at the same time. The void was a limitless place of peace and wisdom. The void was conscious and intelligent. The void was God . . . I was both a tiny piece of the universe and exactly the same size as the universe ('All know that the drop merges into the ocean, but few know that the ocean merges into the drop,' wrote the sage Kabin - and I can personally attest now that this is true."
"'So, this is God,' I thought. 'Congratulations to meet you.'" p. 199
Suddenly longing, heartbroken, I feel here I have been left behind. She has leapt away from me, from my earthly understand of things. I am left here, dumbstruck, simple rough and afraid. If I should ever be chosen for that experience . . . if only. I'm just stuck at the beginning.
By the way, Richard from Texas had left days ago. She's on her own and doing just fine. I'll miss Richard.
I sent my first submission and got my first rejection. I submitted an article to the writing space's news letter and this was the response: "It was nice to read about your experience, but unfortunately we don't really have a place for your comments in our newsletter, which is a bit more traditional in format. But we'd love to include news of publications, events, readings, etc when the time comes." It reminds me of a writing class where the teacher would often say to me, "It's great writing, just not the assignment."
A friend of mine, who's a published author wrote me this: "Bravo! CONGRATULATIONS on your first rejection--now you are a real writer."
I guess I'm in it now!
However, I'm just a baby at the beginning. No wonder they cry! It's all so overwhelming. And, I'm holding on to the illusion that my creativity comes from me. That's way too much responsibility for when to bear.
Maybe that's why I suffer from indigestion. I don't know if it's from the fear and the stress of my current financial situation or because I don't eat enough. Both are bad. Hell, one could be causing the other. Drinking a lot of coffee so I can stay awake to write probably doesn't help either.
It may be why I also can't take criticism. That's why I fight and protest during the editing process. I take what I write too personally and can't let it go. I can't seem to truly give it away. I can't yet let it stand up to criticism because criticizing my words equals criticizing me. I think I own my work. I think it's mine. I think it comes directly from me, a piece of me, an extension of me . . . not the God's creativity, filtered down through me, this still rough vessel. That's why the littlest of submissions, a small article to a newsletter is so important to me and why the rejection of it is hard to take.
I put on a reasonable, understanding and brave face. But it still hurt a little. My heart still ached a little. I guess I was using this submission to validate myself, to validate what I've been second-guessing the whole way. I was using this article to establish my foot hold, to make all these seemingly crazy ideas valid, worthwhile. This was supposed to be my start. This was supposed to be my reward for taking the action. I can see now that kind of thinking is foolish and juvenile.
Another selfish note of contrast: Liz is off exploring the universe, and I'm still at the starting line and I can't even figure out how to tie my shoes. I finally did reserve my space at the meditation festival. Perhaps they'll have a shoe-tying class.
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