Sarana’s Gift was a gift to me. I didn’t sit down to write it; it came to me shrouded in mystery. I didn’t know what it was or why I was writing it. Someone, I didn’t know who, was riding through a forest on a silver-white horse and then running, running, running, trying to get away from something, but, again I didn’t know what.
But, I kept writing.
But, I kept writing.
When I sat down to write, I never knew what would happen next. She would get into an impossible situation (by then, I knew the “someone" was a she) and I would have to stop. There was no way to get out of the mess She was in, so I would put the writing away. The next day, I would come back and there it was … the next step. I was fascinated, so I kept writing.
After awhile, Sarah showed up as a teenager, a typical teenager if there is such a thing, and I could tell she was troubled, but, again, I didn’t know why. I knew it wasn’t some big, horrible thing like we see in the movies. It was smaller but still scary. The only way to find out what was going on was to keep writing.
In the meantime, She was still on her journey, getting into incredible and impossible situations.
How do you conquer a dragon without guns or knives or great physical strength? I didn’t know.
What do you do when the color blue suddenly leaves the world? I didn’t know.
What do you do when someone offers you what you think you want and you suddenly realize it’s not enough? I definitely didn’t know.
By then, however, what I did know was that the only way to answer those questions was to keep writing.
Something happened somewhere along the line. At some point, I realized that She was Me. I was writing about my own fear, my own desire to hear my own voice spoken with confidence into the world. I was writing about finding the part of me that was brave and creative. I was writing about finding my own Sarana, because, by now, I knew that was her name and that she was telling me to keep writing.
Something happened somewhere along the line. At some point, I realized that She was Me. I was writing about my own fear, my own desire to hear my own voice spoken with confidence into the world. I was writing about finding the part of me that was brave and creative. I was writing about finding my own Sarana, because, by now, I knew that was her name and that she was telling me to keep writing.
It was only later, long after the story was finished, that I learned that the name Sarana means “refuge” or “a place of safety.” That was Sarana’s gift to me. Sarana made me realize that I am safe. She encouraged me to use my voice to save the world, maybe not “save the world” in the sense of ending global climate change, but in the sense of sharing who I am and telling the stories that come to me. And, that matters.
Sarana reminded me that I matter. She reminded me that you matter, that every one one of us matters. She reminded me that we all need to live our life out loud so that those who need us can find us.
Sarana reminded me that I matter. She reminded me that you matter, that every one one of us matters. She reminded me that we all need to live our life out loud so that those who need us can find us.
Be well, imagine joy, and let your voice be heard.
joyce
 |
| Missy at Moonstone Beach in Cambria, CA |
Cliff notes, in case you want to know:
-- I live in Grass Valley, California, with my toy poodle, Missy.
-- I love stories and always wanted to be a writer. While I've written several non-fiction books, this is my first "story."
-- I never really know where I'm going next (I'm not sure any of us do), but I'm always willing to take the next step.
-- I've known pain and sorrow and I've known joy and gladness. Both have made me who I am.
-- It took me a long time to realize that when experts said, "everyone is creative," they meant me, too. (I hope you're smarter than I was and understand that already.)
You have a great presentation for your book.
ReplyDelete