I had not expected to want to write here while I was at Squam, but the words keep bubbling through my mind and they need to be placed somewhere, even if I can’t do so coherently. This Fall session of Squam is a continuation of the cracking open that started for me when I was here in June, but also finds me feeling even more introspective and contemplative than I thought possible. It is a strange contrast – unfurling my heart while simultaneously turning inwards. I spend the evenings processing the photos I have shot that day, or scribbling in my journal or writing here. I watch the people in my cabin talking and I join in when I’m moved to do so. I know I belong at the centre of this place, and that we are all at its axis. Today I have had women come over to me purely to take me into their arms and hold me. Last night I had women share their energy with me simply because I asked. Gentle touches, smiles and wet eyes are integral to this magic and all these elements blend together to create this earthly heaven into which I can breathe my trust and know that it is safe to do so.
I find that my thoughts chase each other, and in Camille’s beautiful writing class today I experienced a stream of consciousness that was overwhelming with its speed and truth. The prompt to which I was writing had nothing to do with Squam but, in the end, I realised that what I had written was precisely my reality here: the stream of consciousness – the dream of consciousness – the awakening that we find here thanks to Elizabeth’s vision and her open, open heart.
“It is music and words and my pen moving across the page. It is the light on the water and having the eyes to see it. It is my camera in my hands and my fingers adjusting the dials, and the dock on the lake, and the loon on the water. It is the want and the heart and the love and the fear – my god, the fear – and the lady skunk in the woods and the spirit moving through the trees on the breeze. It is the cliche at my lips and the knowledge in my heart and the rhythm of the words and the flow of the ink. It is the blood in my veins and the water in my womb, and the movement of my thoughts and the poetry of this moment. It is the struggle of the mind and the longing of my soul and the desire to be moved and the creative path which I seek.”
When Ideas Fail 