#meditativewriting

[miyasanchez7]

Finding Peace in the Pen: The Meditative Quality of Writing - Brian Clements

For many worldwide, reading a book about short stories and poems can be transformative, cathartic, and soothing, but for a few, that distinc

Meditation is the practice of achieving mental clarity and emotional soundness through techniques that train one’s control of their awareness and attention. While reading a book about short stories and poems can be a way to meditate, most people are unaware that writing can also be a suitable method...

[ambar-being]

Visual Meditation Writing: Balloon Thought POP!

Visualize a balloon (choose a color of your choice)

Fill the balloon with any negative self talk you engage in with yourself

Allow your imagination to manifest the negative self talk creatively (ex. maybe it’s a dime sized cashew with angry eyebrows carrying a large mirror that is reflecting my fears)

The balloon is gradually increasing in size (at this point, the mini cashew, who is bouncing on a trampoline inside of the balloon, laughs maniacally as it begs me to face myself in the oversized mirror)

Now imagine a sharp object slowly approaching the balloon (ex. a unicorn spiraled horn)

And then make the choice to...

POP it!

(disclaimer: no cashews were harmed in the destruction of said balloon)

How did you visualize your negative self talk?

Write about how you felt before, during and after the visualization.

[abeautyfullmess]

I knew you from a lifetime ago. Reincarnated from the blood of gods, warriors and legends. You are fair in your judgement, regal in others eyes and a true gift from grace. Shine your beautiful flesh onto the glimmering warm waters and soak in these golden sun rays. #meditativewriting @abeautyfullmessphotography (at Lake Galena) https://www.instagram.com/p/B0mvBmDjjXP/?igshid=11ikgdz3ylxwo

[dimeriot]

space for change

This week, I intend to align my actions, words, and thoughts to: 

COMMUNITY.  Lately I’ve been feeling really bored, lonely, and bored of being lonely. I think a big part of it has to do with moving back home after college, but I don’t really care about further describing that experience. 

So I joined Meetup.com. This Saturday is my Spanish conversation group meet up. I took Spanish classes throughout high school and college, though I stopped just shy of finishing requirements to complete a minor. That was a few years ago now, and I don’t want to let that time and practice be for nothing. I want to be fluent. 

The other thing is, I’m tired of the thoughts in my head. I’m tired of the peanut gallery, the hecklers in my head who have something to say about everything. I don’t even know what I’m trying to say anymore. 

I used to feel embarrassed about my (shitty) accent when I tried to speak Spanish. But these days I’ve been embarrassing myself regularly just trying to speak English, as it’s impossible to get a coherent thought out against the shrieks and calls of the hecklers in my head. The peanut gallery. I wanna try speaking Spanish. I’ll have fewer words and phrases at my disposal so hopefully my mind won’t feel as cluttered when I try to express a thought. 

Besides, it can’t be more embarrassing than trying to speak English. 

In high school I used to volunteer as a facilitator for an adult ESL class. It was fantastic. Sure, I had to drag my ass to the library every Monday night, but I was always happy that I came. It was... cleansing. Relaxing. The participants were mostly women from the towns surrounding mine. Most of them had moved here for their husbands’ jobs, and many were stay at home moms despite having completed advanced degrees in their native countries. It was nice to see them every week. It felt like I’m actually living, not just occupying, the town. 

The second thing is EASE. I've gotten pretty used to being tweaked out all the time. I’m high stress all the time now and it’s not okay with me anymore. I mean, sure I was stressed out before everything happened, but that doesn’t make it okay for me to continue tolerating it. I wanna take it easy.

I’m gonna chill out at this new job. I’m going to make friends, actual friends, not just people I work with. I’m going to just say things. Don’t think about it too hard. Don’t proactively redact myself. Just say things. Don’t live in the fear of their judgement. Don’t think that there’s nothing that needs to be added to the conversation. Don’t be shy. I wanna actually be friends with my coworkers. I’m going to actually be friends with my coworkers. 

I also signed up for an improv class. I love stand up comedy and I love the instances when I can make someone laugh. I wanna be able to do that more often. I wanna be silly. I think this improv class will give me some practice. Help me shift my mind state. 

The third thing is CLARITY. 

I heard that your bedroom is a reflection of your mind. I believe it. There was a time in college when I was living in a tiny bedroom, really a closet, with a ceiling that sloped down towards two windows that peered out to the sunset. I lined it with tapestries and fairy lights and the whole thing was pretty cozy except for the rivers of clothes and the single moldy orange that languished on my desk. At one point I put a Victoria’s Secret bag over the orange just so I wouldn’t have to look at it anymore. 

My bedroom at home is nowhere as grim, but it still needs work. My closet is full of clothes that I don’t wear anymore. Like, I haven’t worn 80% of my clothes in several years. They’re just taking up space because I feel too guilty to throw them out. Some pieces were gifts, others were just expensive and I don’t think I’ve gotten my money’s worth out of them. But guilt isn’t serving me anymore and obligation never has. Also, it’s preventing me from going shopping for new clothes which I would actually wear because I can’t justify spending money when my closet is full. But these days, getting dressed is a real challenge for me. Between the OCD and the weight loss, there isn't much that makes me feel good. And that has to change. I’m gonna make space for change. 

[caseyleary]

Eyes of light.

Sometimes I see this vision in meditation. I am a woman in torn clothes beating her fists and wrists into the gravel of an unpaved road in a poor European town. It is pouring rain and I am screaming after a wooden carriage. I believe it is taking my children away. I am unhinged, screaming, sobbing as my soul is being ripped from my body and is torn from this horrifying place my body has found itself tethered to, in a moment no person should live. My soul is taken up into another dimension- illuminated and serene- how? How is there ever serenity again?. They take my broken soul and mend it. My clawed apart heart has been torn only to mend stronger than anything worldly I’ve ever felt. It beats as a waterfall; forever, reliably with a roar unimpeded by struggle. I feel and know in my eyes that it will beat passionately forever as it nor any other human heart has, because it is no longer one human’s heart. I watch the veins of my spine illuminate bright pink purples blues and grow like vines out into the air and soil of the ground. I feel; I see them grip into the trees and sky; to intertwine with those of others like me floating in the sky surrounding the earth. They are all women. They have been shredded apart from the heart to the mind to become something of hot white light that innervates the Earth and protects it. That is my pain becoming my purpose. It is so beautiful and I find completeness. In my purpose among my sisters and mothers and daughters, I am one.