This morning I took the first of three classes based on writing a spiritual memoir. I have no desire to write a spiritual memoir, but I thought the classes might be interesting. Actually, a little bit of guilt was also involved in my participation although I do not regret being part of today's class and look forward to the next two. Our first exercise was simple. We needed to write an extended metaphor about our spiritual journey. I compared my spiritual journey to road construction.
The second exercise proved difficult to quite difficult. We were to write about a childhood sacred object. An object full of mystery, love, and/or energy. I started the writing by saying, "One of the difficulties I have is not remembering my childhood. When asked to remember an object from my childhood, only two objects come to mind, a bar of soap and a box cutter." Unfortunately this is true. I decided to write about the bar of soap. I wrote, "I'll write about the bar of soap and hope something else surfaces."
When I started writing I was thinking about having my mouth washed out with soap, but then another image came to mind. I pictured a bar of soap sitting on the edge of a dock. The location was my grandparents' home. As I started to write about this bar on the dock, I remembered swimming then bathing in the lake with the soap when we finished. Without discussing everything I wrote, I finished with a sense of love and safety. It made me wonder more about my childhood. Did my grandparents let us bathe in the lake because we were unkempt and needed to be washed but also needed to have fun? I'm not sure I had much fun as a child. Maybe this was a way for my grandparents to keep me safe and give me a bit of enjoyment.
The second exercise proved difficult to quite difficult. We were to write about a childhood sacred object. An object full of mystery, love, and/or energy. I started the writing by saying, "One of the difficulties I have is not remembering my childhood. When asked to remember an object from my childhood, only two objects come to mind, a bar of soap and a box cutter." Unfortunately this is true. I decided to write about the bar of soap. I wrote, "I'll write about the bar of soap and hope something else surfaces."
When I started writing I was thinking about having my mouth washed out with soap, but then another image came to mind. I pictured a bar of soap sitting on the edge of a dock. The location was my grandparents' home. As I started to write about this bar on the dock, I remembered swimming then bathing in the lake with the soap when we finished. Without discussing everything I wrote, I finished with a sense of love and safety. It made me wonder more about my childhood. Did my grandparents let us bathe in the lake because we were unkempt and needed to be washed but also needed to have fun? I'm not sure I had much fun as a child. Maybe this was a way for my grandparents to keep me safe and give me a bit of enjoyment.
Comments
My great-grandparents, who lived on an island, regularly bathed in the sea. Fresh water on the island was hard to come by and used mostly for cooking, drinking, and laundering clothes.
I think it's a lovely, fun, summery thing to bathe, with soap, in a freshwater source and have done so many times myself over the years.