So I did, in fact, do a card reading for myself about The Journals: what they mean to me, what I am missing about their value and what I “should” do about them.
The most surprising thing was to learn that I was projecting an inaccurate image onto the journals. While I’d come to regard them as the unwanted residue of immaturity, loneliness and alienation – i.e. the musings of self-absorbed adolescence extended into adulthood – in fact, they are the summation of years of valuable work.
Frankly, I’d always intended them – at least in part – to be valuable. For many years, I studied mystics such as Saint John of the Cross, Saint Teresa of Avila and particularly Thomas Merton, and it was in many of these journals that I reflected on their relevance to my life.
It was reading and writing on these topics that prepared me for a graduate degree from The University of Chicago Divinity School. Yet, like so many women whose ego seems to exist not to exalt but to belittle them, I’d devalued my own work as juvenile and deemed it not worth taking seriously.
Life deals us all some unexpected blows and we are all challenged to hold on to our dreams in the face of growing up. My dreams have always been to bring spirit into people’s world – first through performance and later through filmmaking – and as much as my journals are at times filled with immature bitching and some dreadful self-loathing, they are also filled with my relationship with spirit and my observations of its presence in our world.
I wanted my journals to be valuable. But I thought it was thinking too much of myself to believe they ever could be. To consider that they are, in fact, worth something is to consider something new of myself. Something I desire, but which is threatening at the same time.
Is there something in your own life you want, but at the same time fear?