Marica's meanderings

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

I'm in love

One of my passions is journalling - the old fashioned version that is. In more recent times I have ventured into creative journalling where words are not the primary means of recording a message. This has been a challenge because I have always considered myself to not be artistic. This new form of creativity has led me into a new interest area - book binding.

As I have juggled study, FLLinNZ, work, and everything else that life has decided to throw at me these interests of mine have all been put on hold. The exciting thing is that change is happening. I am back on the road to the creative Marica. New journeys and new learning lies ahead and I am so excited.

Journalling has kept me sane through some of the most difficult times in my life. I have sat in the wee hours of the morning writing and crying. I have laughed with my journal. I have expressed anger in my journal. My journal became my best friend. I could pick it up, and take it anywhere with me. I could say anything in it and it wouldn't answer me back, argue with me or judge me. I didn't need anything but me, my book, and something to write or draw with. No internet was required. The life of the battery on my laptop did not matter. Whether or not there was a power plug close by was totally irrelevant.

My journal was my saviour. It just let me be me. This in itself was incredibly liberating. Through my darkest moments I found a compelling need to write.

In a journal everything is important because it comes from within. Our inner wisdom has a chance to shine through and with time we learn to listen to it.

Our senses by themselves are dumb. They take in experience, but they need the richness of sifting for a while through our consciousness and through our whole bodies. I call this "composting". Our bodies are garbage heaps: we collect experience, and from the decomposition of the thrown-out eggshells, spinach leaves, coffee rinds, and old steak bones of our minds come nitrogen, heat, and fertile soil. Out of this fertile soil bloom our poems and stories. But this does not come all at once. It takes time. Continue to turn over and over the organic details of your life until some of them fall through the garbage of discursive thoughts to the solid ground of black soil.
p.14 in Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within by Natalie Goldberg

Tonight I received a gift - a special gift - and I am in love with it! It was love at first sight.

Florentine leather journal available from Eastgate
Mark Bernstein, one of the Blog Hui international speakers, arrived in Wellington today. He came bearing a gift which has captivated me - it is a journal. I don't have the words to describe this beautiful Italian leather journal because no words can depict the reality of having this book in your hands. It is truly stunning. The look of it. The feel of it. The sheer beauty of the leather, the binding, and the blank cream coloured hand cut Italian paper pages. I was speechless. This journal is so beautiful and there is absolutely no electronic equivalent to holding this divine book in your hands.

My new journal is now waiting for me to turn it's empty pages into my treasure trove. I can't wait. Thank you Mark.

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