Depuis 2011 que j’écris entre 4 et 6 fois semaine. J’ai 2 blogues remplis de bla bla.

First thing in the morning, la plupart des matins, je m’assois à mon fidèle MacBook Pro et j’écris. C’est mon yoga, ma pratique pour faire le vide, et mettre un peu de désordre dans mes idées.

Avec la musique, et le silence partagés avec mes ami(e)s virtuels dans le cadre de nos méditations en ligne, mon tape à l’âme constitue le coeur de mes activités quotidiennes, la première le matin du moins. Avec des marches en forêt, pas mal de pelletage en hiver, et diverses communications pour les activités de notre petite église dans la forêt et de notre CLUB MÉDitation.

Ma vie est relativement simple. Simpliste même. Volontairement. En compagnie de ma voisine d’amour, parfois ensemble et souvent côte à côte, j’aime vivre ma vinaigrette tout simplement.

J’ai pas mal trotté le globe jadis et désormais, je ressens moins le besoin de déplacer mon corps all around ces temps-ci. En fait, je sors d’ici en moyenne une fois par semaine, pour aller chercher nos légumes bios au village et faire quelques courses. Avec quelques voyages en ville chaque année pour aller voir mes filles pour leurs anniversaires, ainsi qu’un voyage annuel au Brésil pour aller fabriquer notre thé sacré et le ramener. Cette année, gros luxe, deux voyages en Arizona chez mon ami Gordon. Mais probablement l’exception qui confirmera la règle.

Désormais je vis petit, en circuit fermé, à petite échelle. Je fais dring dring wow wow parfois, je fais tape tape le matin sur mon clavier, et je marche mes bois. Une fois par deux semaines, mes ami(e)s d’église viennent ici pour chanter et partager le silence.

Je ne sais pas vraiment pourquoi j’écris. Comme une pulsion, un instinct. Ça se fait un peu tout seul. Peu de gens me lisent et c’est bien ainsi. Pas tant besoin d’avoir trop d’yeux sur mes mots. Je vous sais là chers quelques lecteurs/trices.

Est-ce que j’écris pour faire sortir le méchant ?

Pour transformer de vieilles blessures ?

Peut-être. Je ne sais pas si on peut parler de guérison ou de transformation, mais je sais que ça me fait du bien, que ça sort encore, et toujours. Jusqu’à preuve du contraire.

J’écris parce que ça coule, parce que ça sort. Peut-être ai-je besoin d’aller au-delà des mots à-travers eux ?

C’est le bis mort qui allume et nourrit mon feu.

Ces temps-ci, j’écris pour découvrir ce qui en moi se cache en lien avec toutes ces guerres extérieures. Toute l’injustice , l’horreur que je vois, l’impuissance que je ressens. J’ai besoin de mettre en mots ces maux du monde qui vivent en moi, qui passent à-travers mon corps.

Mais chose certaine, j’apprécie tout autant le silence que mon bla bla. Et la musique. Peu importe la raison. Le simple plaisir de vivre ainsi et aussi simplement me suffit.

J’écris peut-être un peu pour la peine, mais j’écris surtout pour la joie.

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Un ami m’a fait parvenir le message ci-bas hier. Beau clin d’oeil qui me dit que je ne suis pas seul à taper ainsi compulsivement au quotidien. Un frère des mots.

I write a lot. Daily. It is a moving, healing grace for me as I start my days. I am blogging, writing essays, and working slowly on my first book. And I often questioned why I needed to write so much from an early age. My deep desire to connect with others arose in that inquiry. Being « on the spectrum » was always hard to communicate through spoken words, so writing gave me the safe outlet I needed. Well, I thought it was safe…

For years, I was terrified to share my writings. Who will read? Is there any actual value in what I write? What if people do not like my writing? Also, as an avid reader and a major in philosophy, I always found « other writers » writings much better than mine.

There were many layers of shame, unworthiness, and fear of breaking into a place of deep vulnerability. Like any artist, I see my writing as a naked photo of myself and more vulnerability from my heart and soul.

As someone who has dealt with the shame of neurodiversity, often misunderstood, still to this day, and also bullied at school for my nerdiness, the opinion of « others » was never always safe nor kind, and created a long-term silent depression that took me years to understand and live peacefully with. No one knew about those terrifying experiences until I could write about them. No spoken word would come out, but the pages were flooded with words…

I often acknowledge, as I see it in full display daily, the violence of the world for those who are different, misunderstood, and not conforming. We are in the epic time of individualism where every opinion is legions, speaking is loud, but listening without an immediate thought is rarely present. In collective trauma, we cannot hear with our hearts but only see the world and the words through the lenses of an often dysregulated nervous system.

When I started to share my writings, the silence of my « friends » never supporting my writing was intimidating and hurtful. This writing process asked me to go deeper into my healing and what was projected, seen, received, and perceived so I could get more free into my weaving of words. But there were also the « silent words » ushered to others, making fun of my writings. Indeed, those hurt more; I am deeply human, after all. I felt disappointed and betrayed.

It is when I often remember to keep daring greatly. So, I kept writing and sharing again and again. In the beautiful words of Brene Brown: « If you are not in the arena getting your ass kicked on occasion, I am not interested in or open to your feedback. There are a million cheap seats in the world today filled with people who will never be brave with their own lives but will spend every ounce of energy they have hurling advice and judgment at those of us trying to dare greatly. Their only contributions are criticism, cynicism, and fear-mongering. If you’re criticizing from a place where you’re not also putting yourself on the line, I’m not interested in your feedback. »

Over the years, I learned to go beyond any desire for feedback and could finally write from a place of truth beyond any expectations from myself and others. It was also the process of finding my authentic voice, freed from the conditioning and expectations of the world, and seeing what my heart wanted to truly see beyond my mind’s narrow and robust filters.

It was when some magical messages came to me from the 4 corners of the earth. People I had never met and did not know were starting to reach out. And their messages, as they continue to come, really shifted how I related to my writing. What they were sharing was how my words, this one phrase they quoted, changed their life, took them out of depression, healed their pain, helped them battle depression, made them feel seen, cured their addiction, repaired their broken heart, soothe their grief, made them understand their mind, made them feel normal when the whole world rejected them, and so much more…

There were so many messages of kindness and love from the strangers who became my guiding light and most profound proof that the words in my heart had meaning, power, and deep value not only for me but for a few others scattered in faraway lands in lives there were now sharing with me. The words were like the spider web, catching the vibrations and callings of those in need while allowing me to connect beyond myself to the power of words and the great web of humanity.

And yet, to this day, when I write, I only write for that one person who might need to read those words. One is enough; one is everything.

As I started to delve more over the past 20 years into ancient wisdom, time with elders, ceremonies, and the ancient healing arts of plants, rituals, and shamanism, I realized my song, my most profound medicine, was very much in the depth of my words.

Word not only as the messengers of my love and truth but words as vibrational sentient beings who travel in the deepest part of the soul, magicians, and surgeons of life, true angels in disguise who, once freed from my inner world, could travel in unknown places, do their own work, without my control or perception of them.

I have always had a hard time singing for those who know me. For various reasons, there is still a blockage to this day, and despite being deeply aware of it, the resistance and intense emotional response when asked to do so is constantly shaking me to my core. In a ceremony this past year, I asked the master plant, « Why? Why cannot I sing?. » Her answer was profound and direct: « You sing through your writing; you are an amazing singer. » This answer struck me profoundly and opened a deeper acceptance of my gifts.

Why am I sharing all this with you? I am sharing this journey of personal discovery, healing, and transformation in the deep desire and hope that this will touch your soul so profoundly that whatever medicine you carry, art that wants to be birthed will open the gateway of Creation in you. You will trust to drop the resistance, break the spells of shame and unworthiness, and let your gift be witnessed and welcomed into this world. I sincerely pray for this.

Without freeing the gifts sent from heaven to your soul, we will miss the most unique and beautiful piece of this puzzle of humanity we are building together. So please join me… join the symphony of life. Create. Share.

Do not control the desire to create; this is the core of life’s desires.

Constant re-creation. Constant expansion. Constant connection.

And I want you to know that in me, your gift will always be received with gratitude, blessings, and love.

Dare greatly,

Angell Deer

You can find my writing at www.thesanctuaryheal.com/blog