The Restory Retreat Centre

I have not written for a long time. I’m exploring why. I love writing. I love the process of allowing a story to unfold through me and to then hone it until it shines with the sheen of something made with utmost care and appreciation for the beauty of the material, in this instance, words. How words fascinate me with their beauty! I love how they look formed in my own handwriting, or in the handwriting of someone I hold dear. My long departed mom’s left-handed longhand, or in many cases all capital letters when she needed to make it legible, looking very much like my own. George’s penciled-in notes in books he’s read, make as good reading as the book itself; tiny scribbles often with page numbers as cross references or main themes pointed out. But even if they are typed, there is a balance and feel to every word that make me want to simply sit with it and look at it, pronounce it maybe. “Maybe” – “ Maybe” – “Maybe” – “Maybe” – “Maybe” So why then this long period of not w...

Photo from the Tumblr Account alittlebitofsillinessreally For a long, long while now I've had no inclination to write. I love writing, but for a couple of years now, there’s been a void in me as to subjects or reasons to put my thoughts on paper. Typing the words “a void” my head sounded it as one word, “avoid”, and I’m wondering whether or why I would have avoided writing. Since I believe in being simply a channel, albeit a unique one, through which creativity can flow, why wasn’t I open to this flowing? It wasn’t a complete creative block. I was creating on other levels; busy building out ranges of functional ceramic art, sculpting, facilitating workshops and retreats.   I often felt that I didn’t have enough creative energy to go around. That doing pottery and sculpting are “using it all up” in a sense. Lately, thoughts are starting to gather like sparrows in a rain puddle. I delight in how they splash around, but I’m aware of their wariness, their mistrust of ...