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Reflective Journaling and the Creative Imagination

November 9, 2020

Reflective Journaling and the Creative Imagination

By Amba Gale

My poetry corner is a sacred space for me, into which I enter every morning, before anything. There, I allow the poetic imagination to speak to me and to speak for me, and I listen, deeply, to whatever comes, and then take pen to paper. The touchstones and keepsakes, mementos, from my travels all over the world, remind me that wherever I go, I belong. Whether it is the colorful cup that looks like a Gaudi wall in a house in Barcelona, or coasters with fine precious stones cut by the men whose ancestors built the Taj Mahal, they bring me to being at home in the world.

Surrounded by photographs of spiritual teachers, a book of poetry by Mary Oliver, statues of Ganesh, the energy of the Hindu God who teaches through the bringing of obstacles our way, so that we may move through the pain of being human, and learn; or my tile of the whale leaping exuberantly out of the frothy waters, knowing he will go back down into the deep; or my red and white plant, always growing, beautifully, into new leaves, I come to rest here, to be at home here, to belong here, to be guided by the Voice that speaks, where I can be in conversation with something or someone that cannot be seen, but is yet very real.

I listen, and then I write whatever comes. And what I write is food for my soul.

I call this “Reflective Journaling.” I invite you to tap into your creative imagination as well, each day, in whatever way you do, in whatever way pleases you.

I would love for you to join me in a special conversation in January and February of next year, called Crossing Thresholds, a New Opening. It is a time in which we re-marry our own creative imaginations, enter into inner space, space in which we do not see, but hear quite well, our own poetic imaginations, leading us through these dark and troubled times, bringing us inner light. Each morning, I let go of my story from yesterday, and enter into a new story. Each morning I enter my world from this space of sacredness.

This is My Poetry Corner

In honor of Mícheál Ó Súilleabháin, whose poem, “This is my Prayer Room,” from his book, “Early Music,” inspired this poem.

This is my Poetry Corner.

This is where each morning

I light the candles

and watch the incense smoke

gently rise, and circle, to the ceiling of my room.

One straight thin strand of smoke, and then the circles. Who knows what invisible breath

shapes its climb

shapes mine

shapes yours.

For one who knows nothing,

it is enough

to be still, to let

the spirit-breath grow

shapes around me

that stir my senses

into wakefulness.

This is the corner in my home

where each morning

the silky smooth goodness

of the warm tea

settles into my body and sends

its healing goodness

to start my day.

This is my poetry corner

where my pen and pages of poetry

and blank white pages of poetry not yet born,

await me,

curious, wondering,

ready to discover what new surprise

will find them and fill them

with the soft, loving, wise, artistic voice

of my Muse.

Additional Posts

June 28, 2022

Debbie’s Story

I am creating a special edition of my blog posting this week, as I have had the privilege of being in a particular conversation that I’d say is vitally important at this time, a time of shifting sands, beneath our feet, a time of importance for intentionally crossing thresholds. This posting points to a potent distinction that allows such a threshold crossing. The painting, above, was created by Debbie Hulbert, a participant in our fall 2020 virtual offering of Crossing Thresholds, a course that was based on my newly published book, designed to facilitate participants in crossing their next threshold.…

June 20, 2022

Phoenix Ascends

Every five hundred to one thousand years, it is said, the Phoenix, a beautiful, scarlet and gold, giant, mythical bird, rises from the ashes of its own death. There is, the myth says, only one Phoenix on the planet at any one time. It sets itself on fire, inside of a nest of boughs an spices, and is consumed by the flames. Out of its own ashes, it arises, born newly. The regeneration of itself contains the ashes of its predecessor as an aspect of its next being. What a metaphor! This is such a time, for such an Awakening.…

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