The Ache in Our Art

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Through my writing, the wound I'm working with becomes a scar - my words, the story, the craft of my art...it's all medicine for me. And then, when I share it (from the scar) it has an opportunity to help heal wounds in others.

For me, my best writing comes from the wound and my best writing comes from the scar.

Ergo:

WRITE FROM THE WOUND, EDIT FROM THE SCAR.

Heather Demetrios

When you teach (or write) from the scar, you've come into some wisdom about something. There's clarity, equanimity. You're a lava rock, not the lava. Formed by whatever the event in your life was, but no longer dangerous, and wild in your mind about it. When you write or teach from the "wound," you're writing from a place of unresolved pain.

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I have engaged within both, written from my wounds and scars as Heather describes. I’m often not sure which one is taking over until it comes gushing out upon the page. Often blurred, no defining lines, not keeping anything contained or in its lane. Merging traffic, waiting to see which one needs to take the lead. Remaining until it has expressed all that’s contained within it.

Resembling a temper tantrum in a young body. Asking for space, oxygen, no one trying to shush it,  or make it small. Allow it to incinerate the paper if that is what is being asked. Lingering as long as needed in the smoke filled room.

To become totally immersed with the tending to the wound. Bound tightly, dressing changes, no oxygen, until it begins to itch. Alerting me that healing is happening no matter how tightly bound or indistinguishable the wound is.

Our heart wounds are the trickiest. Not easily noticed from the outside at first glance, yet lean in, take a closer look. Our eyes reveal. I have radar for a bereaved parent, and more times than not can spot a kindred spirit from afar. We are the ones who carry our children in our gaze. The sides of our mouths may turn up in a smile, yet the eyes retain the before and after the loss. Pictures become our documentation, I see it.

My husband and I were recently watching a show, where they mentioned the loss of the son of a couple. As the camera zoomed in on the parents there was the look. Comrades on this path of loss which changes our inner and outer landscape. How could it not?

I desire both, I want to read from fresh wounds, yet I’m forever mesmerized by the alchemy that happens within the scar tissue. Both offer me glimpses into the messiness of being a human, fully embodied, and also such a miraculous creation of transcendence over that which is wounding.

Scar tissue begins to form, whether we are actively attending to the wound or not. If I am doing my part, the mosh pit that houses both the wounding and the scar, creates a birth canal. A soft place, where both may exist, side by side, informing one another. Waiting until that which must emerge will. It can no longer be housed within the womb. It is time.

*My gratitude for your presence here. If you like what you are reading, clicking on the heart at the bottom of the page helps me get this out into the ethers. Also, your comments are engaging, assisting our community, and please never hesitate if you feel called to pass any along to someone you are thinking of.