Writing down the Bones: Feeling the Writer Within by Natalie Goldberg
Composting
Our sense 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 grinds, and old steak bones of our minds come nitrogran, heat, and very 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.
When we are raking our minds and taking our shallow thinking and turning it over, if we continue to work with this raw matter, it will draw us deeper and deeper into ourselves, but not in a neurotic way. We will begin to see the rich garden we have inside us and use that for writing. ... Suddenly all of the disparate things we have to say are filled with energy and unity – a bright red tulip shoots out of the compost. ... Suddenly, after much composting, you are in alignment with the stars or the moment or the dining-room chandelier above your head, and your body opens and speaks.
I was pleased that our last day of my week with the MWP Open Institute included a writing prompt. Our prompt was based on a passage called Compost we were to reflect on our week.
Although I wish I had something grand composting in my mind, I am saddened to say that I don’t. Maybe it’s because it’s churning and becoming rich soil, and I have yet to realize all that lays in the heap of discard. It’s not as if my mind isn’t constantly moving and thinking and challenging; it’s that I can’t come up with the “bright red tulip” that has formed from the rich fertile ground of the composting. I agree that I need to “practice” and engage my mind in writing every day. Perhaps the daily writing prompts are something I could continue. If I had a writing prompt to cultivate each morning, I’m sure I would have even more compost and a bright red tulip. As for this morning, I only have composting, sitting in the hot, smelly bin.
Maybe, just maybe, this is the new blog challenge. Someone could post a writing prompt each day, and others could use if for their daily writing.
Composting
Our sense 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 grinds, and old steak bones of our minds come nitrogran, heat, and very 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.
When we are raking our minds and taking our shallow thinking and turning it over, if we continue to work with this raw matter, it will draw us deeper and deeper into ourselves, but not in a neurotic way. We will begin to see the rich garden we have inside us and use that for writing. ... Suddenly all of the disparate things we have to say are filled with energy and unity – a bright red tulip shoots out of the compost. ... Suddenly, after much composting, you are in alignment with the stars or the moment or the dining-room chandelier above your head, and your body opens and speaks.
I was pleased that our last day of my week with the MWP Open Institute included a writing prompt. Our prompt was based on a passage called Compost we were to reflect on our week.
Although I wish I had something grand composting in my mind, I am saddened to say that I don’t. Maybe it’s because it’s churning and becoming rich soil, and I have yet to realize all that lays in the heap of discard. It’s not as if my mind isn’t constantly moving and thinking and challenging; it’s that I can’t come up with the “bright red tulip” that has formed from the rich fertile ground of the composting. I agree that I need to “practice” and engage my mind in writing every day. Perhaps the daily writing prompts are something I could continue. If I had a writing prompt to cultivate each morning, I’m sure I would have even more compost and a bright red tulip. As for this morning, I only have composting, sitting in the hot, smelly bin.
Maybe, just maybe, this is the new blog challenge. Someone could post a writing prompt each day, and others could use if for their daily writing.
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