I'm Writing a Book

a shift in what you'll read here

“Nothing is going to happen in this book. There is only a little violence here and there in the language, at the corner where eternity clips time.”

- Annie Dillard, “Holy the Firm”

Whale bones. Southwestern Iceland

“Write the book you need to write,” my spiritual director, Sue, tells me. I sit with that word - need. This is great advice. I’ve heard it before from other writers at varying times. The word plumbs it’s line deep into my chest and hooks a corner of my heart. Around this word swirls atoms of a certain desperateness. Deeper than want. Maybe it’s good we all have a bit of desperateness when we write? I’m not sure.

I picked up Patti Smith’s Devotion this morning. I’m waiting in line for a decaf cortado at Literary Arts, and books about the writing life line the pathway like candy or People magazine in the grocery checkout line.

The hook grabs more flesh:

“Why is one compelled to write?

To set oneself apart, cocooned, rapt in

solitude, despite the wants of others.

Virginia Woolf had her room.

Proust his shuttered windows.

Marguerite Duras her muted house.

Dylan Thomas his modest shed.

All seeking an emptiness to imbue with words.

The words that will penetrate virgin

territory, crack unclaimed

combinations, articulate the infinite.”

I’m being pulled down under now, and the hook reveals my need.

The need has soft, yearning eyes. She stands at the threshold of a heart beating with desire and curiosity in a disordered world. If we’re lucky, we’re all given the chance to have the rug pulled out from under our clay feet and find ourselves standing on holy ground - where right in the center, there is peace. I stand here now, knowing what I need to do. I shift my gaze outward, past the door of my heart. Within the cave of my heart, Jesus has been born. There have been many witnesses and midwifes, wise men and trees clapping their hands. I hold them close in these birth places - these sacred wombs of dark and vital nurturement and growth. Warmth and labor has served her purpose. Blood and tears stain the ground, evidence of life. It’s time to step out.

I’m writing a book

This is where you come in, friends. As I shift my gaze towards what I am to write about for the time being, it is towards the discernment of spirits. Most of you know I am a spiritual director, and therefore a student of St. Ignatius of Loyola’s Rules of Discernment.

• Discern - “from the Latin discernere, means to separate things according to their qualities, to distinguish between one thing and another. In this case, to identify one spiritual reality as different from another.”

• Spirits - “describes the spiritual realities that are being discerned, i.e., affective stirrings of the heart (joy, sadness, hope, peace, anxiety) and their related thoughts that influence our life of faith and our progress toward God.”¹

You see, that need I mentioned earlier on, hooked my heart. And it keeps tugging. I have a very natural inclination to gather widely for inspiration. But this is different. It’s narrow and deep. I can’t help but think, this is how Jesus leads us out. On a path that is truly narrow, yet it’s depth knows no bounds. This path asks for courage in the face of resistance, faith in the dark, and enough hope to carry on towards the horizon. It only asks that we have eyes to see and ears to hear. So, as I set out, I don’t entirely know what this will look like. But I’m inviting you along. That is, if you’re up for it.

Most likely, I’ll take a break from publishing Apertures, as some of what I gather there could embody this dream of a book of discernments. I dream of offering Christians a companion for their soul - a place we can return to, again and again, to taste and become aware of the affects within us. Thereby gaining a deeper understanding of our humanity, the world we live in, our desires, and the voices speaking for our good, and the voices speaking for our downfall away from God.

I have yet to discover what this book will look like, but as Annie said, there might be a little violence here and there where eternity clips time. Seemingly, nothing will happen. Until you notice something has indeed, happened. There might be openings in the sky, and like a curtain drawn shut at the severity of the sun, she blinks. There might be wonderment and distillations, tasting and mulling around on the tongue. There might be rims of the world explored in your neighborhood or in your heart. There might be pricks when our faces are turned away, and courage when our faces are turned towards the One who loves us. Most likely both.

But most of all, there will be a hook plumbed deep into our fleshy hearts, waiting for a Word.

1. Gallagher O.M.V., Timothy M. The Discernment of Spirits, An Ignatian Guide for Everyday Living. The Crossroad Publishing Company, 2012.