In My Own Words, From Henry Miller's Mouth

How many times have you read something so profound, something that resonates with truth so deep and sure that you know you could have said it yourself if you could have found the words?

I ran across just such a quote today by author Henry Miller. Ironically (or maybe by Divine plan), the quote is about that very thing:

Every day we slaughter our finest impulses. That is why we get a heart-ache when we read those lines written by the hand of a master and recognize them as our own, as the tender shoots which we stifled because we lacked the faith to believe in our own powers, our own criterion of truth and beauty. Every man, when he gets quiet, when he gets desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths. We all derive from the same source. There is no mystery about the origin of things. We are all part of creation, all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up to discover what is already there.

My wonderful 3AC Writer's Guild sisters and I were talking last night about the voices in us that still ask, Are you really a writer? What makes you think you have anything to say that anyone cares/needs to hear? Your work doesn't sound anything like his/hers/theirs. How can you be a writer? Those voices try so hard to drown out the one true voice inside, the one that knows, the one that aches to be heard.

Today I'll be brining a turkey, baking biscotti and shortbread, and making a last-minute grocery run for tomorrow's feast. I'm setting my intention right now to listen and observe and let my true voice speak without censorship or reservation. I think I'll carry the camera with me, along with a pen and notepad to record the dozens of things I see each day and want to write about. And in my kitchen, I'll light a candle for myself, my 3AC sisters, and everyone whose tender shoots have ever been stifled from lack of faith.