I write with many pens.
An invitation...
I write with many pens.
But I return over and over to the ones that glide so smoothly across the page that I feel a sense of spilling forth as my soul bridges to my fingertips.
Sometimes, my pen takes the form of a keyboard, the staccato of keys marking the unfolding of my thoughts.
Sometimes, my pen is a little red button that captures the sound and tenor of words pouring from my lips… those moments often feel like a boggle game, thoughts and words tumbling in a box, and falling into a grid to be explored and sifted.
Other times, my pen takes the form of my hands, as they explore the clues of a body under my touch… drawing maps and building bridges of light to support the unfolding of another soul's song. Or simply scratching the back of a loved one.
My pen can sometimes play with objects, arranging or capturing beauty.
My favorite pen of all is the one that moves me. The one that is both a remembering and returning. A remembering that it’s not really about the pen at all… It’s the Ink. Ink that is spilled from any willing vessel.
This Ink is always guiding the vessel in writing an invitation. An invitation to wonder. An invitation to beauty. An invitation to meaning. An invitation to Presence. An invitation to chase delight!
That’s what you’re going to experience here.
Invitations.
They will come in many forms, as I write with many pens.
My invocation is that the Ink will flow clear and true and that it will open you.
I’ve been spilling ink since I was a little girl. Pouring my musings, struggles, inspirations and conversations with the divine onto beautiful bound pages. Almost always, these beautiful books of gleaming potential were gifts from my mother, an author and curator of words herself. To receive a beautiful book to fill with my own inner world gave me the experience of my essence having innate value.
These empty containers of potential treasure always stirred and inspired me. Their covers have been prophetic of what would flow into them. The color mattered, the artwork mattered, and cohesive ink REALLY mattered! I don’t much care for a change in pen mid book and certainly never mid page. Many times, I retire a journal long before it is full, because it just doesn’t feel right anymore.
All through my life, the pressure of words will build in me for weeks or months but will not flow until a new pen or scroll breaks through a mysterious and invisible dam.
As you might imagine, finding the right container to share my musings with you has been important. I wanted it to be a place that was quiet. A place that didn’t hijack our nervous systems into the endless vortex of validation and scrolling. I wanted a place where we could come together, sip tea, spill ink and create a sense of intimacy. I wanted it to be beautiful, and a place where I could share in multiple mediums… as I am a writer with many pens.
The calling of Ink has been swelling in my chest and I am grateful to have found this place to pour it out. For when the Ink flows it always guides me inward and slows me enough to listen. It always facilitates Presence.
Come be with me here anytime you like, you are always invited.
Love,
Elizabeth
Here is a peek into my treasure chest:
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