I am a writer. There it is, staring at me. Written plainly on a sheet of paper tapped on my wall. I AM A WRITER. A declaration I saw in a vision, a reminder of an important piece of my identity. In this skin suit. With this brain and this ego. I received the instruction in a vision, to write it out and put it in a place I would see it often. I am a writer. This hallmark of my soul is something that plant medicine likes to remind me exists. And I need reminding, my inner critic is brutal.
Because what does it mean to be a writer? Does it mean I have an inconsistent journal practice that has followed me for as long as I can remember? Does it mean I painstakingly write out friends and family holiday sentiments on scratch paper before committing the words to the actual card? Or does being a writer mean I have started and abandoned multiple books, scripts, blogs, websites, and social media channels just to retreat to the comfort of my private journals and digital notes…Because I have done all those things. I am forever jotting down what’s on my mind, before weighing if I’m feeling bold enough to share the pulsing topics that insist on being manifest in an alternate form than thought. Is it necessary that the writing be shared to confirm writer status? Who decides these kinds of matters?
Well, if I can be my own self-appointed authority, I am claiming the title. I am a writer. because when I have been stuck, sometimes for years at a time, writing is always there to assist in my growing process. For as long as I can remember, I have found a gift in the act and expression of writing it down. Telling a story. Putting words to the paper. Creating a reality, fleshing out an opinion, sculpting a point of view.
The message reminding me of this personally important and neglected creative outlet was delivered during an ayahuasca ceremony. I had come to the ritual feeling depleted and uninspired after important relationships in my life abruptly ended and I was left with what felt like a phantom syndrome, haunted by betrayal. As I entered the sacred circle of ceremony, my intentions were clear. I wrote them down in my journal…
Dear Source, I ask you to honor my words to you over any other request or contra energy right now and to disregard any energy other than these words that I speak. My intention is to see who I have become so that I can merge with my soul at all costs and remember my true nature.
After drinking the thick tea and dropping into a DMT experience, I heard a voice very clearly ask, “Why are you not writing? It is part of your assignment.” Emotions rushed in and washed over me like a wave, cathartic tears overflowing from my eyes releasing stuck emotion and breaking up dense energy. A clear picture (like the one shared with these words) appeared in my mind. I AM A WRITER. The epiphany melting the walls around my heart and replacing them with a remembrance of a soul goal, a life assignment, and a constant friend. The activation filled my body with a buzzing sensation. An energetic halo pulsing in my atmosphere.
Sharing this in writing feels like the perfect next step in the activation. Oftentimes I find that the solutions I am searching for, are with me all along. They are revealed with an “a-ha” like energy that is the equivalent of coming home to yourself.