Writing is my breath, my awareness, my way of connecting with myself through meditation. When words find themselves through my fingers, I can breathe more easily because a thought or a thought process is released. They are released through my fingertips on the this keyboard, or through my hands with a pen and paper. Both work equally as well for me. I write with “white ink” (Cixous, 1975). It is the ink of transformation given to me by the Mothers who graced life before I was born. White for the milk pouring from their breasts to nourish countless children over countless generations since Time began. I am one of them, now. At 40 I was graced with a child of my own, whom I breastfed for over three years. Giving him life, nourishment and protection. As he grows into his six year-old Self, I learn. How to be a mother, a healer and an artist. In this moment, before tomorrow begins, I learn to be brave as he lay sleeping in another room, in another house. Where, for tonight, I am not. When we talked before bedtime, he, in his sweet child way, asked for a motorcycle helmet. And, I, in my sweet motherly way said, “I’ll think about it.”
He is my breath, my life, my measure of awareness to which I am held at the highest of standards. And so my Channeling begins with white ink upon my paper.