Communicating Emotion
Freewrite: Think of a memory in which you were experiencing an intense emotion. Put yourself in the scene where tou tell the reader where you were what you felt inside your body how you appear to others in the details you fixated on. Also try to incorporate the use of active verbs.
I feel the icy concrete through every part of my shivering body. I wonder if they’ll ever call my name, signaling my release. I think I’m supposed to tell Jean Houston, the mystery school leader, why I joined this year-long program. Right now I’m doubting my own sanity. The fantasy is of walking to a temple and being found unworthy are dissolving and all I want to do is get out of here.
And yet I wait. Maybe I’m held by the memories of discovering possibilities I never imagined about myself in the workshop 10 years ago. That week culminated in dancing all night to the thudding drumbeat of Steven Halpern, the yet to be discovered New Age music guru.
Memories of my body gyrating and pounding the floor in ways that astonished me drew me here, but I had no idea of what the mystery school was about and I’m confused by the past evening and day of lectures. The idea of uncovering who I really am is intriguing. It’s especially intriguing after five years of submerging myself to definitions of who I should be that left me not wanting to get out of bed on many mornings.
How many hours have I been here? Names are being called alphabetically for each audition with Jean. There are 150 of us and my name starts with W! Yikes!
Finally, my name. I move stiffly as I’m escorted somewhere else where Jean asks me something. I mumble “I think I made a mistake I’m not sure I belong here.” Suddenly I’m jarred as both her hands connect sharply with my ears to banish the blah blah doubting voice. It’s the only time in my life I have had my ears boxed! Suddenly, I remember “I’m here in this form at this time to connect people to each other with love.”
I don’t know it yet, but my year of profound discovery and transformation has truly begun. Sitting in the Newark Airport less than 24 hours later I’m writing ecstatically about my experience, my new friends, my sense of belonging and commitment to the program.
(This is an edited version of what I wrote the first time. I changed it as I dictated. It’s been months since I wrote it and have learned a bit since then.) ___________________________________________________________________
Freewrite: Now that you’ve put your narrator into a particular setting, expand your use of sensory details and tell us about the images of the past and future that are going to the narrator’s head.
Maybe, if I could see the ocean, I could commit to the joy it made. But the comfortable hotel room window faces the buildings and the “gold” tourist district of Mazatlan. The voices in my mind are conflicting. I gave up my second mystery school weekend. “I needed the refresher. I’m having a hard time staying focused, even though I’m reading writing and practicing at least 45 minutes a day.” Then, “I chose to not give up the free vacation trip. I scheduled it before they canceled the Western mystery school and said I had to go to New York. It’s not my fault that this conflicted. I tried to change it.” Then again, “but I’ll miss out! The tapes won’t even come for a long time. I need support now!”
To shut up voices I open my copy of the mists of Avalon. I love this assigned reading to prepare for the session about Druid culture. I lose myself in the rich details of the totally intriguing story. I’m reluctant to turn off the light because I’m totally immersed in the world of priestesses and water on this magical doomed island. When I finally turn it off, I’m praying to someone, I’m not sure who, that I can do the work and truly assume my life mission of service. “Help me live mindfully and unlock my own potential. I really want to be able to assume the power, once attributed to the gods, that Robert Heinlein’s science fiction heroes learn in their training programs.”
Another Scene
I’m crying and I don’t really care if anyone notices. The crowd of 2000 eager spiritual seekers in this hotel ballroom are forgiving anyway, and the speaker, Dr. Lawrence LeShan has just affirmed that it’s okay for me to love my clients. I’ve been keeping that part of my psychotherapy practices secret. I thought it was wrong. But LeShan had quoted an obscure writing of Sigmund Freud that said the real healing takes place at the moment that the patient realizes that the therapist truly loves him or her.
Fast forward to the end of the speech. I’m watching Larry, as he calls himself, in the conference bookstore autographing his books and making very real contact with each person in line. He’s writing something different in each book. I don’t need to buy the books – I’ve already been profoundly relieved by reading my own copies. When I bring mine the next day and get in line I impulsively blurt out, “How can I study with you?” “Set up a workshop and I’ll teach it.” is his immediate reply. Mine is “Okay, I will.”
Thus begins my relationship with a new and much loved teacher.