The Purpose of RITUAL: Drawing the Circle
/
- Invocation
- Drawing the circle
- Taking the path
- Numen/Connection
- Breaking the circle
- Benediction
Before we start in on Drawing the Circle as the second part of RITUAL, I want to clarify something I said yesterday about Invocation. When I said that it was like an ON/OFF switch, I did not mean that you turned your creativity on like a space heater. That's now how it works.
Rather, Invocation is like turning the lights on in your studio as you get to work. It's an announcement to the universe that you are ready to enter that space where you Make the Thing That Is Not.
Drawing the Circle is the next step. Once you've invoked your muse or turned on your lights, it's time to set your space. For most of us, that means closing the door in some way: protecting your time and concentration so that you're not interrupted by spouses or children or pets or Facebook (!).
Arrange your desk, set out your drawing materials, sharpen your pencils, set your word count goals. Do some practice scales, review yesterday's orchestration, proofread yesterday's chapter. Ask your big question, set your sights, gird your loins.
What you're doing is entering what students of ritual call the liminal space: you cross a boundary from the "real world" into a space where change is not only possible but practically inevitable. (Why else would you willingly enter it?) Religious rituals sometimes even make the boundary a real one; they draw a literal circle for the liminal space, and when you come out of the circle you are now a man, or healed, or married.
Drawing the Circle can also mean setting aside a specific time for your work. I blog first thing in the morning, after checking email and social media, followed by work on the book or on music, followed by lunch, and then in the afternoon I can run errands, or garden, or exercise, or write letters, or read, or volunteer, or other stuff. (Yes, I am retired; why do you ask?)
When I was not retired, my time was more restricted, of course, as I'm sure it is for most of you. I found that I was most productive by setting aside specific nights for composing/writing and making very sure that the other nights were open to family and friends.
I've always been fascinated by artists like Jane Austen, who is said to have written her perfect novels on the fly, whenever she could grab a moment. She didn't closet herself in her study or head out to her personal writing cabin; when she went to Bath, it wasn't on retreat. If someone came into the room, she would slip her papers into the drawer and rise as if nothing were going on.
It may sound as if she was able to switch her creativity on and off, but I think the actual deal was that she Drew the Circle in a different way (because she had to). She created her workspace in her head: during all those long walks, or household duties, or quiet evenings at home, she was working on Miss Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy in her interior writer's cabin. Scribbling on her foolscap was just stenography.
The point is that whether you have your secluded cabin that you go to every weekend to write your next symphony or you have to scribble your novel on envelopes as you walk the dog every morning and night, it's up to you to create your liminal space and then—deliberately, willingly—enter into it to Make the Thing That Is Not.
Next: TAKING THE PATH
—————
Feel free to leave comments on this or any other post!
