I started hosting Virtual Writing Camps on the way to my BIG dream of creating a Creativity Camp/Artist Retreat/Colony for Multi-Generations. My Big Dream is an actual place for people to go, where some people live all the time to create an environment of creative prosperity which others feel upon arriving.
My dream-being-fulfilled on the way is Virtual Writing Camp where we gather on a telephone bridge line as well as Mini-Camps in communities where I find interested folks and say "We're throwing a Camp!" not unlike a Mickey Rooney/Judy Garland, "Let's Put on a Show!" experience.
I am not sure what got my dander up: possibly my ongoing attempt to do business-y type activities alongside my creativity sprees, but I googled "Benefits to Camp" and sure enough, I hit some paydirt about why parents ought to send their children to "Sleep away" camp.
That ignited memories for me, memories which I naturally turned into a Virtual Writing Camp exercise as well a space for personal growth and exploration.
It was the Summer of 1974 when I went to my one and only childhood "sleep-away" camp experience that was more than a weekend.
It is incredible how that one thirteen day period left such an indelible thumbprint on my memory, and in many ways, upon my life.
Here are seven memories that leaped into my mind immediately.
1. I came home from camp and on the drive from the place where Mom picked me up to our home on Hawthorne Avenue in Glen Ridge, I couldn't stop crying. I still haven't really investigated my heart to find out what brought me the tears.
2. I almost missed the bus to camp because when Mom dropped me off, she took my suitcase with her. I can't recollect why she dropped me there in the first place (and didn't stay to see me off) but I am guessing it had something to do with doing something for one of my other siblings. Mom did make it back in time. I remember sitting outside the yellow school bus, waiting. And her being so scared to disappoint me by not showing up.
3. I went to camp alone, without any side kicks from my local community.
4. I wanted to and didn't want to ride the horses there. I didn't. It cost extra and I couldn't do anything that cost extra.
5. I was humiliated at camp by being put in the lowest swimming group. All the time before camp I thought I was a good swimmer.
6. I was given a reward I didn't deserve at camp.
7. We had a counselor named Happy who I suspected wasn't really very Happy.
And then, during one of the Writing Camp sessions I decided to write along with my Campers.
I teach my students to write what is true and to be present in each exact moment as it unfolds.
Other teachers would be embarrassed to write what unfolded, but today I am not embarrassed at all.
After what I went through today with Samuel's school, I shouldn't be surprised that my emotions raced across the gamut of deeply felt panic-fear and sadness. I stayed with the sadness. I honored it. I did not allow it to take over my spirit.
This is simply what was today. For me, this afternoon.
Here is what I wrote:
How to stay present with my writing projects looks like an impossible task right now. All the gremlins come shooting up. I feel like a camp counselor who has taken her campers on a hike and got lost, off the path somewhere and is struggling to find her way back, like happy who wasn't happy. Like Unhappy like lost. It looks like sweet trusting faces and me, panicking.
Breathe. Go toward the sound of life, Julie.
Breathe. Go toward what you know, Julie.
Stay at the keyboard.
Keep moving your pencil.
Don't be afraid, Julie.
You are loved.
You are love.
Present.
Present.
Present.
I want to run and I won't.
Stay present.
Don't be afraid.
Be abundant love, Julie.
From a distance, I relax into seeing the presence of writing. I crave its closeness.
From up close, I cradle it like a baby.
I wish I could sleep with it under my pillow.
Everything will be ok, Julie. Everything will be ok.
Love, Love, Love, Love, Love. Always. Love.
When I look at this writing from a conscious place, or rather, from an unconscious scared place, I think, "Drivel."
And when I look at this writing from a conscious sacred place, I love this tired, worried me who loves her son more than her own life.
I think, "There are people who are served by me being precisely me right now. So human. So devoted. So filled with love and so aware that writing is the key to coming out on the other side again. We've been down a similar road and we made it through. Here we go again."
Everything will be what it will be.
As will I.
= = =
What did I learn?
Writing "anyway" and writing "through" when the words are nonsense or a jumble of emotions is what brings me back, consistently, to my center. When I facilitated a second campfire I was calm, I was my usual "Gracious, Centered, I am here and present" writing self.
I wonder if I had stayed committed to feeling panicked rather than writing what might have taken place?
Thankfully I don't know.
For that, I am grateful.
I love that Writing Camp continues to evolve, to grow and to nurture Writers who are looking to engage with words in a different way, to "get away" from their usual writing routines to try something different.
On this, the day after the opening of the most recent Writing Camp, I wonder when to schedule the next camp and I wonder what format to use: intensive over several days or two weeks or a longer, once-a-week format?
For today, I will write into that question to see what I come to know.
I will sit in this sea of gratitude and revel in this precise moment as the sun is rising and the birds are beginning to sing.
Follow me on twitter: @JulieJordanScot
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