Sinking into Passion

In remarks after the movie last night, "The Monuments Men" author Robert Edsel said that the day he had arrived at the National Archives to begin his research in the morning, he had become so absorbed in the fascinating material that he was shocked when someone tapped on his shoulder.  It was one of the archivists, saying to him that the Archives was about to close.  "On Thursday we close at 9 p.m.," she said to him. He hadn't moved from the table since his arrival.

"Wow!" I thought.  How cool to be so absorbed with something that he totally lost himself for a day.  I was envious.  Then, I almost laughed out loud when I thought that was exactly what happened each time I've written a book.  The realization was like sinking into a hot bubble bath, wrapping me with warmth and reverie.

This is another weekend that I have set aside to work on my new book.  When I finally got in the groove the last time, words did flow easily, and I worked for five or six hours each day before tiring.  But, it wasn't that intense flow when I lose track of everything, and like Edsel, I forget all biological needs. 

Today was my normal day off, and it has been almost a month since I had time to tend to basic housekeeping needs.  I cleaned, changed the bed, did laundry, paid bills, and even filed my taxes.  (There's money coming back! Yeah!)  Was I avoiding?  I didn't really think so.  I could hardly see my small desk, and I didn't think it would be conducive to writing to try to create amidst such clutter.  I reminded myself that when I've worked on a book before, the "nesting phase" has been an important, maybe even an essential step.  So, I've had mercy on myself, even if this is avoidance behavior.

Before I go to bed tonight, my desk will be cleared, and my work space will be clean. The laundry is already folded, and the ironing put away. I am imagining myself getting up, stretching, making coffee while the computer boots, and sitting down to work with my special Peruvian good luck scarf, wrapped on top of my pajamas.  (Thank you, Deb!) 

I have a good feeling about this.  By the time Monday evening arrives, I will have had the experience for which I had envied Edsel--sinking deeply into my passion and totally absorbed in writing.  I've been there before: there's a kind of drunkenness without alcohol as I reenter the normal world from a place that is moving much faster and with its own rhythm.  Perhaps a bit like Dorothy landing in Oz.  Actually, that's exactly what it is like: "Where am I?" I'll ask while the room will spin about me.

Sinking into passion...into timelessness...has only happened for me when I write and when I dance, but is the most delicious space into which I tread.  It is truly sacred space, and each time I go there I am truly grateful for the privilege.