Like an overzealous baker who refuses to let the dough rise, I have a tendency to overwork my problems. I knead and think and knead and talk and knead and write and knead and plan, refusing to let the yeast do its work. Occasionally I let go and allow an answer to rise to the surface naturally. This usually happens when I am too tired or too distracted to work the problem myself.
A few weeks ago I found that my writing practice wasn't working for me. I didn't fret over it. I simply put it down and held the intention for a new practice that would work for me now. It is during these times, when I stop thinking so much, that my best plans emerge. First, I had a dream that guided me to consider writing fiction for a time. Then I started to take notice of the ways that Bill and I are being moved by the experience of cancer. The moments that remind me that cancer is a good teacher. I'm not sure why, but I know that these are moments I need to record.
Suddenly, I have a new writing practice. It is like taking a golden loaf of fragrant bread from the oven. I can't wait to cut into it.
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