Writing from the heart and other difficulties

...words...don't come easy...to me...

I am in recovery. I love community/arts development work. I find it exhausting because I give it everything I've got...and feel that it is deserving of this devotion. But there is a cost. This cost is my inability to write while I'm living through it. I sit down with all these words floating through my mind and just can't get them out through my fingers and into some kind of form.

Part of this is the desire for honesty in my writing and not all of community development is a bed of roses....or maybe rather it is, thorns included. I feel nervous to put into permanent record the things I haven't worked out from my side. How to communicate with people when every conversation feels like an attack. How to find out practical information from an organising body that is the opposite of organised, how to keep the dream alive when you feel despairing of just getting to next week. All of this with the highs of genuine collaboration of ideas and purpose and direction, great conversations about story and how crucial it is for our lives etc, making connections across country, across the country and across the world. It's a mixed bag and feels good now it's coming to a close but I lost my ability to write and I'm wondering if this is important or not...or does one lead to the other, times of darkness and light, going in then emerging out....no easy answer ...only to just keep going, to write when I can and maybe consider that there is a preparing that happens and a readiness that emerges of its own time, that this time is ok and necessary. 

This process is mysterious and I have always loved a good mystery.