Thin Places

Thin place: 

writing, at least in how I approach it, is really a form of magic and self-inquiry, an exploration into the thin place between the realm of pure ideas and the everyday world where I wait for words to find me. This inquiry is allow the page it's emptiness without projections of my own fears of being unable to provide the proper words to fill it, it's not to judge any idea that appears and needs to be expressed, and most importantly it's simply asking what wishes to be told, listening as the early morning whispers from its own thin place of dawn, with night still touched against the arriving day for just an instant longer.

in Celtic lore a thin place is a rare location where the space between heaven and earth is more porous, a sacred place where our prayers are more easily heard and answered. Writing is it's own thin place, sacred too through our petition for words and the way we use them for the invocation of meaning and purpose, ideas arriving clearly from an unknown source. It's all magic of a kind. 

the aspect of self-inquiry comes in by asking ourselves if this holy location is as far  from us as we seem to believe, or perhaps that the thin place between writing and ideas has always been our own exact location, existing all along within the framework of our minds. With this we ask ourselves the important question of if indeed there is another side, that really any line drawn as a border is simply and only our own skin between a higher world of conscious order, just a continuation of what we truly are, border-less and free in our expression. 

again, it's all magic, writing, a world of ideas existing at our fingertips, just waiting to be expressed and explored. It's a thin place here, my desk and morning hours, the ritual and invocation of the warmth of coffee and relaxing breath as I begin my wait for words. My inquiry begins by silently asking the page what ideas it wishes to be known, finding my own reflection through the emptiness of it's hold, and waiting for that first glimpse of ideas to appear from whatever world they belong to now. Writing is just the end result of ritual, the true magic isn't words alone but the entire process of their arrival. To miss this is to deprive ourselves of the enchantment of this thinnest place of all...

between wherever we are now,

and the holiness of our own true nature. 

always.

~

Peace, Eric