Jun 252015
 

Dear Readers,

Since I’ve started Reiki at the end of October 2014, all sorts of unusual and unexpected things have been happening to me. I won’t go into details. Not yet. Mostly because it is theory that I don’t completely understand. Not yet. But what I can honestly say is that I had underestimated the power of the energy transmitted during a Reiki session.
There is a bit that is quite important and it is easier to explain. The energy finds the blockages stoked inside my being, which are then surfaced and shown to me so that I become aware of them and of all the wrongs that they are doing. In time, I will describe these episodes into more detail. But yesterday afternoon, something very interesting happened to me and THAT is what I want to write about today.

While on the bus heading to Jiko clinic for my usual Reiki session, I was thinking about all sorts of causes that could block the 5th chakra located in the neck from functioning properly (it is the chakra that deals with communication, creativity, originality, self expression and hearing). For the past 6 weeks I have become aware of the entire energy in my body and not just the one flowing inside my brain, which feels wonderfully. However, everything happening from neck up is killing me. And I have wondered many times what could cause such damage.
But after taking a seat on the bus, unable to look through the window or understand what was happening around me, it dawned on me: for 14 years I’ve wanted to write a book.

On the bus

While on the bus

I am sure many want to write a book. But some do, some don’t. I know how to write a book, except that I’m not in the mood for it. Or I lack inspiration. Or time. Or I have something else better to do. Or I think that what I write is not good enough. Or I think no one would read me. Or I think that even if I write something it won’t be published. Or I believe that writing a book is too hard. Or that it will take me too long to write. But then I begin estimating: if I write 10 pages a day, then at the end of the month I will have 300 pages written down. That is what I can surely call a book. But what if I write 3 pages a day? Then in 6 moths a book of approx. 540 pages will be completed. But what if I write short stories instead? A short story should have around 2500-4000 words. THAT is something that I can write in a day! But writing short stories? Do I even understand what that means? I’d have to think about dozens and dozens of characters and scenarios and episodes and circumstances and situations and histories and only God knows what else I’d have to come up with. It is far too difficult. So I’m going back to the idea of writing a novel. But it looks like it is very popular nowadays to write prequels and sequels and sagas and etc. So what am I supposed to do now? Would I have to continue a story in a second book just for the sake of…what? Money? Or fame? Or…? I donno. But I do want to write a book. But how should I start? The beginning is the most important part of a book. If I don’t manage to make it appealing, then the book is lost right from the word go. Should I get inspiration from my life? Should it be comedy? Tragedy? Fantasy? Psychological? Thriller? Romantic? And what about the characters? Should they be kids? Teenagers? Young adults? Old people? Kings? Queens? Animals? Dragons? Spies? Political matters? I can’t even think straight. Should I write it I Romanian? I like my language but if I want to get published somewhere else, I’d better write it in English. But it’s not my native language! And I don’t know THAT many words. What if I end up sounding repetitive.

But all these thoughts have been my blockages for years. I can obviously call them excuses too. However, yesterday, while in the bus, I became aware of all them. Right away, I felt sharp stings inside my fingers and a powerful energy was discharged from my brain. This is a process that always happens when my being releases and eliminates toxic energy.

Getting off the bus, I told my sister that I have to write a book. But while coming back home and on the bus again I thought once more.

“I forgive myself for not having written this book yet. I won’t make the sole purpose of my life writing this book. If I do manage to write it, then congratulations to myself. If I don’t, then no harm done. I am doing what I can, how I can, when I can. “

My inner self smiled. Somehow I am becoming wiser.

Have a good week,
Cătălina.

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