On drawing a sacred circle
The Muse Letter No. 145
1
Working on a book is a strange time. It meanders and overlaps with everything else yet feels intimate and elongated by the constant push of new ideas and decisions to be made. Currently in the middle of it, I can finally see it more clearly the ground I want to cover, the ocean I want to reach.
I try not to talk about its content too much and stay course as explaining what I am about to do costs energy that I need to preserve for the later stages. Any form of feedback or even validation would only set me back, could sink me down into a place of premature gratification.
The sentiment of writers talking about writing and not actually doing the writing is true and there’s a reason most things grow in darkness first.
2
I’ve started dating again. I explain to my date that I used to have blue hair and a nose ring, that I just took out recently. That I used to look adventurous and unconventional. He observes my hands and my long fingernails that I’ve started to grow. I catch his look and the assumptions he is making. These hands look like they wouldn’t dig in the dirt. You’ve got lady fingers a girl from South Africa once attested to me. You’d be a great pianist.
On another night another guy that I’m dating is showing me an old picture of him as a goth. And I wonder why some people outgrow their youthful personas whilst others don’t. His tattoos still give it away. A past that was debauched and full of excess presumably. Or very lonely.
3
Then I’m ill for a week and everything comes to a halt. I watch One Day and find the female character Emma incredibly judgmental and obnoxious and sadly I have to admit she reminds me of myself. Asking someone who they want to be when they’re 40 during a one night stand is something I might have done, too. My love language is talking someone tired.
4
On the first night I feel better again, I decide to go to a Tarot Salon. This week’s theme is: change. Of course, it is. I am not phased any longer by how everything is connecting to the book I am writing. I draw the Emperor, which tells me to take up space and be regal. And the Nine of Wands which tells me to let go of unnecessary forms of protection I no longer need. This is where the tension lies, I think. The main narrative of my life: how to be safe?
5
Immersing myself into writing a book I become a sponge.
The people I am surrounded by now are contributing to my writing in a myriad of ways, I‘m drawing a sacred circle around a collective consciousness, not everyone is allowed in.
I write in my notes app on the bus ride home.