I’ve been working with other members of The KaBooM Writing Collective this week, planning a one-day writing retreat that happens tomorrow. It’s exciting to work with the possibilities that a day can hold, and I look forward to what will happen during those hours.
Retreats of any length are all too rare. A week or month is the classic model, and good to aspire to. But it’s not easy, and often not possible, to check out for so long. Shorter retreats are more accessible, though finding even a single hour out of the day’s course can be a challenge. An entire day is a pretty big deal for most of us, and I appreciate those writers willing to set that time aside.
Claiming any time at all requires attention and commitment. Even the intention to retreat is evidence of a change we’re already making.
Once we do that, a retreat unfolds differently from everyday hours. It’s a time entered hopefully, with openness to surprise; it’s lived out expectantly, but without an agenda. Retreat is a time we prepare for, but without planning what will transpire. It’s a time of asking a question and waiting for the response; allowing something new to happen and paying attention to the movement of the spirit.
We need to enter that mindset often to keep our spiritual and creative life nourished. Prayers and practices in everyday life help. But looking back I see important growth, in both my spiritual and artistic life, from the renewal that comes from retreat. Time taken off from “being productive” ends up generating the most productivity of all.
So I see the day as full of possibilities. We’ll enter our writing through the doorway of the senses, bringing life to words by being centered in the body. We’ll ground ourselves in a particular moment through focus on the physical, sensory experience of being alive. The context of a day of retreat adds another element as well: a chance to connect to the spirit that breathes life into our lives and our work.
The question I’m asking is, What new opening will the day bring?
Ahhh, so true, and if I only could. I am so up to my neck in alligators, I could scream. I’m currently in the process of closing a church, yes, closing a church, a 112 year old church that is no longer viable. And then, I have enough web and publishing projects to choke Leviathan. It would be so wonderful to just slip away into the quiet for a few days. Damn, I hardly remember what that’s like.
I can only imagine how painful and sad it must be to have the task of closing a church, holding the memories of what it has been and caring for the remaining members, even while letting it go. I’m sorry it has to happen, and sorry this is yours to do.
The wise woman who helps me interpret my dreams tells me that death in a dream is a very good thing, that it shows the old ways we no longer need making room for new life. Death in real, waking life is not the same. It’s genuine loss, and not merely symbolic falling away. Yet I hope that closing the spent church makes room for something good to happen.
Perhaps when that task is accomplished, before you take up something else, you can make a retreat. It makes sense to go into the desert for a while to process what has happened and prepare yourself for whatever might come next. If you block out the time and tell the alligators you’re outta there, they’ll wait for you.
You have my prayers. I wish you well.