What is aligned writing?
First I will say this to you. Most of my writing (at least what appears publicly) isn’t all that aligned.
I realized this when someone pointed me back to a piece I wrote a few weeks ago—Reorienting in the Chaos—that did feel that way. It came through so spontaneously, so purely, so fast that at first I didn’t even want to include it on my blog. It felt rogue; like it didn’t belong with the other more polished pieces over which I labored. Or, my mind labored. My ego labored.
This particular piece fell right through me. It felt fully embodied, expressed, and true.
That is what I mean by alignment, and it’s what I invite us all to do in Soul Writing—though “do” is the wrong verb. We allow, we make space for, we surrender to. This is not easy, given how most of us were trained to be in this world: Effort! Strive! Take control! Direct!
Even with my dedication to this, my own moments of aligned writing—especially when I’m writing alone—are rare. There is a vivid feeling to these moments though. So let me try putting myself back in that place: behind the eyes I was seeing the world through when I wrote it.
My state of mind
I was relaxed, I remember. It was a Friday. Though my weeks these days are way chiller than they ever used to be, there is still a particular vibe in the air on Fridays. Maybe it’s because the street we live on is a main route from the nearby BART station to campus, and the giddiness of all those commuters flavors the air. (Mondays, I’m realizing, are also seasoned this way, but with tightness.) Who knows why. I just know I was loose—less apt to fight what came.
It was sunny, warmish, and springy. It was the first day in a long while I didn’t need a puffer jacket and heavy socks. There was that weird and undeniable hope transmitted by wildflowers on sidewalks and buds on trees.
My heart
I was in the middle of some big heaves of heartbreak. I was holding news of loss and ugliness, for a few close-in beloveds and of course in the wider world. There was literally nothing I could do about any of it. I was deeply aware of how out of my hands it all was.
All I was left with was what was in my hands, or, rather, at my fingertips. Feeling into the wildness of the world and transcribing it as best I could. Or, rather, letting it show itself on the page.
The response
Another signal that this writing was alive, aligned, is that it drew more of a response from readers than most of my stuff. People were genuinely moved—I think because I was.
Oh but see I definitely wasn’t trying to move you. That’s another thing: I remember I just wanted to connect with you. Share all this beauty with you.
The observation
Having reflected on all this, something I’m noticing is that my mind, heart, and body all seemed to be lined up. Now, I’m not a physics major, but I feel like things flow more quickly and generously through a straight vertical tube than one that is all windy or leaky or missing parts. And I was supported by a friendly-feeling world: the solid ground into which the writing could flow.
The practice
It all happened spontaneously, but I know we can connect to it consciously. Like anything, it’s a practice. Given what I discovered, maybe here is some of what supports aligned writing.
A day, a moment that allows for it. We can’t usually orchestrate those, but we sure can ask spirit for them.
Letting the body, with all its miraculous senses, be really present to all that is; be deeply observant of the colors and the smells and the feels and the pain.
Letting our heart, with its little heart-arms stretched out, run toward what it loves—or to simply reach for a hug. Let the feels write the piece.
Giving the darling mind who works so hard all day, all week, all life to keep us safe and showing up and organized and on the beam—give her the afternoon off.
Letting the words come from a place of genuine longing we all have: to connect. The soft animal of the body loving what it loves and all that.
Playing with this together
If this is a way you long to express yourself, six weeks of practice are coming up in April. We’ll:
meet in a field (an energetic one, in this case) of joy, freedom, and safety.
get in our bodies and write from there.
hug our hearts back, see what gets squeezed out (ya know, gently).
blink our eyes wide open and let the way the sun illuminates the borders of the gray clouds talk to us, through us.
learn how to ask for guidance from the unseen to help us know ourselves as the powerful beings of creation we are.
All of this is so available. It’s right here. In the series we’ll play with it and, in doing so, will get to know our instrument—our creator self—more intimately.
Maybe we’ll even fall in love with this part of us, and with the art it creates. Eventually, and without pressure, we’ll start to look forward to showing up at the page.
You can learn more and sign up here.
What about you?
What moments do your recall when you were feeling aligned, in flow, and your expression was coming through you purely and joyfully (even if you were expressing heartbreak)? It could have been writing, but maybe it was a conversation, a connection, an experience. What did it feel like, and what did it teach you? We’d love to hear from you in the comments.
