writing
Spiralling back to the spark
A Spiritual Journey Towards Authentic Creativity
Excerpt;
When I was a kid, maybe seven or eight years old, I found this big stick in between a couple of boulders by the water. It was a magic stick.
My parents had rented us an old shack named ‘Breezy’ that summer, on the rocky shores of Georgian Bay. It was more than ‘Breezy’ up on that pile of rocks. The wind was an ever present force that left nothing untouched, its shifting gusts silencing everything else, enveloping you in its all-consuming natural strength. It was late one afternoon when that crazy wind called on me to come outside and play.
I opened old Breezy’s screen door and stepped barefoot onto the massive cool boulder outside, door slamming behind me as my long hair whipped around like a wild fire. I pulled it back in one hand and leaped onto the next huge rock, feeling the soft moss growing there beneath my feet. I jumped from rock to rock like that, enjoying the wild sensation of being a barefoot human in a natural place. My toes gripped the unevenness below as I bent my knees to keep from falling in the thrusting force that gave that little shack its name.
By the time I looked up, the wind had carried me to the edge of the rock face overlooking the crashing waves of the bay under a spotted blue sky. I stood there breathing it in, feeling suddenly totally alone and completely accompanied by everything around me. The water swelled and the fir trees along the shore grew taller with each of my deepening breaths. Together we moved in synchronized slow motion.
I was drawn to something stuck between two boulders in front of me so I bent down to reach in and dislodge it like an archeologist making a most important discovery. A gift. About the size and shape of an old man’s cane, that beautiful stick whispered such reverence as I held it out in in both my hands with respectful accordance then shifted to fix one end on the flat rock beneath me and pushed myself back up. Feet planted wide and strong, I stood tall and looked up to the sky as loose strands of hair escaped around my face and my t-shirt flapped in the wind like a flag on a pole. Just then, the sun peeked out from behind the clouds in silent confirmation of what I felt with every part of me. I was part of this, this something more inside me and far beyond me.
I took my magic stick home and propped it up against the corner of the bedroom I shared with my sister Kate. Over the years, that stick would serve as my symbol of what I now come to think of as my first memory of a spiritual experience. A moment when I connected to my authentic self--wholly. It would help to remind me of the limitless and inexplicable mysteries all around us. A relic of the time when the wind hushed the audience of my mind and tugged on my soul to join it on stage and perform a choreographed dance with the waves and the swaying trees, singing my internal note, heart full of the most beautiful song. A reminder to never forget the Truth of it all. To never forget what home feels like.
It would have done anyway. It would have been all of those things-- had I kept it. But, how do you think the world reacts when a kid tells them that they’ve found a magic stick?
© Amy Pitt, 2019
Music, meaning, and the magic of being myself
Finding Your Bliss Magazine
Excerpt;
But I think it’s because for me, when it comes to bliss, it’s not the thing. It’s the thing behind the thing. It’s anything I feel pulled towards by my true self, my most authentic self, or what I choose to call my ‘soul’.
It’s listening to the still, small voice that Ghandi talked about. It’s touching the place where we connect with the infinite and unknowable mysteries some call ‘God’ with a unique fingerprint.
It’s wading into the rushing waters of that river inside.
Don’t get me wrong; that doesn’t mean taking steps in the direction of my soul has been a journey filled with rainbows and butterflies. There have been dark nights and foggy, dense wilderness along my path.
But for me, bliss isn’t about feeling comfortable or happy all the time. It’s about living a life of meaning. A life of unique purpose. A creative and courageous life of contributing to the world, in ways that only I can.
It sounds simple, but I really do believe that if we all had the courage to show up as our true selves from a deep place of authenticity, the world would be a very different place.
Ultimately, we are all here for a reason. I guess for me, bliss means taking that reason seriously.
© Amy Pitt, 2020