A post in Thank Yous

Hee, my Oscar speech!

Thanks to Laini, who gave me a new title for the very first draft of any piece (instead of ‘shitty first draft’ which was giving my Muse an inferiority complex). Henceforth, it shall be known as the Exploratory First Draft (yes, those ARE trumpet blares in the distance).

Thanks to Megg and Michelle, who brought The Red Book to my attention. My spiritual life has been sick, y’all. It’s been a quiet ache, worrisome, like a tooth beginning to rot away. I’ve always been a religious person; it was one of the most important things in my life. I used to say that being Catholic was more important to me than being Latina, being a woman, being a PERSON.

Until it wasn’t, anymore. There are probably a lot of reasons for that, ranging from the increasingly fundamentalist, hardline Christianity my sister Punkish had grown to favor, to the fact that the priest who married TEG and I chose to focus on marriage as “pain and suffering” because he disapproved of our interfaith marriage. But, for whatever reason, the lack is real and the void is cold.

I’ve made some half-hearted attempts to find the wellspring of my religious feeling again, but nothing really helped. But something in the voice in this book, the exuberance, the experimental curiosity and joy, spoke to me. And it lit a small pilot light of tentative exploration—and it caused me to acknowledge that part of my hesitation was that my spirituality seemed to be leading me in unexpected, unsanctioned directions—towards Hinduism and Buddhism. My family already thinks that I have “lost myself” within my genuine adoration of all things Indian; what would they say to that? And yes, I am ashamed to admit that I’ve been guarded with my own intuition, because of fear of what my parents would think. Why can’t I finally just grow up and separate a little? Probably a topic for another post.

Thank you to the Minneapolis Public Library, for giving me the access to The Red Book, and all of the (many, many) other books I’ve checked out. I always feel like I’m gorging in chocolate and pleasure when I am there.

Thank you to my Muse, for helping me stay (relatively) calm even while struggling with a main character’s voice which had suddenly, mysteriously, gone flat and dead like a dropped call. Eventually, I’ve gone back to her genesis and found the core that turns her into a three dimensional person, instead of a collection of unrelated personality tics.

Thank you to the Wonder Pets!, for distracting Madam while I stand at the counter, hurriedly scribbling out my dreams and morning pages. Teamwork, indeed.

Thank you to TEG (who had a birthday this week—another post I was blocked on. Hmmm)—for putting the computer down and saying “I want to talk to YOU. What’s going on?” Talking has always been the magnetic connection between us, and I think always will be. The man gives good conversation.

And thank you to all of YOU, who post your struggles and triumphs, scribbles and poems and self-portraits, and who help make my blank page a little less, well, blank.