I'm listening through the silence. I'm waiting for an answer. I don't know why I am expecting a big, booming voice to tell me what my next move should be. I do know that it isn't entirely silent in my head. I also know that if I can hear them, they are not me. So I listen through their chatter too. No booming voice.
What happens next is hard to describe. I am with my art supplies and my journal is open. I let go of thinking about what I should do and there is a tiny space, thinner than a hair, no deeper than a breath. A gap, an opening. It is between the thoughts of "I don't know what to do" and "I can't do this". After I think I want to give up and before I decide that I have to, there it is, my entrance.
I am quickly making marks, painting shapes, collaging elements, writing words or phrases. No thinking, just moving. Deciding one tiny moment at a time. Not thinking ahead, just one tiny decision and then freshly again, one tiny decision. Time passes without notice when I'm here. I only know later that the afternoon has passed or the morning is over. I am in the quietest, most precious place I know. I am in my soul. And it is here that the answer comes. Not with a booming voice, but with a whisper. "You are fine, right where you are."