Last Wednesday seven women gathered in a cottage on the edge of a frosted wood. No, its not the beginning of a fairy story, we really did. The class I teach would have been disrupted by builders re-roofing our house so we swapped venue and met at the home of one of my students. That she lives in a Victorian cottage surrounded by woodland, and the world was lit by a heavy coating of frost simply helped. We were starting the proprioceptive writing together and it seemed an auspicious mood in which to begin.
I lit the candle, feeling a little silly, as though I was trying to add some false solemnity to what was, after all, merely a bit of scribbling amongst friends. Then we put Bach’s Goldberg Variations on the CD player and began. There was the usual short spell of kerfuffling – whispers, sneaked biscuits and giggling, and then the music pealed out loudly over all of us, surprising us. We turned it down, picked up our pens and wrote. And wrote and wrote and wrote.
Today there was a consistency in both their concentration and their energy. It seemed easier for them than usual. And it certainly was for me. The breakthrough was the use of the Proprioceptive Question (I know. Such a pompous title but if we ignore the surface bluster and dig at what’s underneath, it’s gold.) The question you keep repeating is: What do I mean by X and you ask it every time you get even the tiniest hiccup or glitch in the flow of your thoughts.