Hearing Voices

I want to tell you about this little shop I know. It’s in a small town on the border between Texas and Louisiana. A semi-famous little place that has a shadowy history. The first time I visited, I almost wrote it off as another small town full of small people. But then I stumbled into this shop and something changed.

See this shop, set in the middle of a town where shops proudly sold Confederate flags, specialized in the mystical arts. You could buy crystals and books on the occult. You could get your tarot cards read by Miss Karen. While you were waiting for your reading you could chat with Miss Ellen, who is a sensitive, and she’ll tell you that this town calls people to it. She also told me a story that I plan to turn into a novel at some point, but I don’t want to give it away here.

The town has ghost hunts and recreates the trial of a famous murder every year. Under that facade of charming cafes and antique shops and boutiques, there’s a layer of something … more. It was these contradictions that made me return multiple times to this place for writing retreats and getaways.

Anyway, on my third trip to the town, I visited the shop with a friend. We went in to see what new goodies they had to offer in the shop—they had clothing and jewelry and other accessories in addition to the woo woo stuff.

So we’re perusing and chatting with the ladies. I remember I kept going back to this bright green crystal necklace, but I also have this habit of talking myself out of stuff that’s not practical.

On my third or fourth return to this necklace, I said, “I don’t know why I keep coming back to this.” Miss Ellen looked at me really hard. Then she said these words:

“You’re trying to give a voice to your heart.”

I have never had anyone say anything that resonated with me more than this sentence did. Yes, it was weird, but it also felt so true that I accepted it as fact. (In case you’re wondering, green is the color of the heart chakra.)

At the end of the day, isn’t that really what we’re doing here: Trying to translate the mysterious language of our heart into songs, stories, paintings, etc.

We get screwed up because that might be reason we’re called to create, but it soon gets all mixed up. Our heart gets lost in translation as it’s drowned out by the siren song of money and the ego’s screams for validation.

But if you can step back and get really quiet, you can still hear your heart. It’s down there under all the noise. It might tell you scary things. It might whisper uncomfortable truths. But you probably need to hear them anyway.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned through this roller coaster of a career, it’s that my heart will never steer me wrong. If I can write something that feels honest—especially when it’s painfully so—then I will be proud. But every time I have tried to let ego or money drive my storytelling, I have felt anxious and greedy for more. Because when you create for money or ego, you’re trying to fill black holes. There’s never enough.

When you create from the heart place, you’re far more likely to deeply connect with the readers who will become your for-life readers. The connection isn’t the surface mania of fandom. It’s the deep respect of one heart recognizing its kindred.

Mind, when I say give your heart a voice, I’m not saying it should be rainbows and bluebirds singing on windowsills. Some of the truest words I’ve written have been filled with ghosts and shadows. In fact, the funnier my work is, the less likely it’s coming from my heart. Comedy and sarcasm are the voice of my ego. For you it might be different. Bluebird messages might be the voice of your heart, and we need to hear that song, too.

Today, when you sit down to write or paint or meditate, I hope you’ll get still first and try to hear that little voice. It might take a while to understand what it’s saying because it might have been a long time since you’ve listened. But if you keep trying, the rust will fall from your ears and you’ll soon hear from that self that got buried under expectations and shame.

You might even find that you want to create, not because you long for other people to love you, but because you love yourself.

Happy creating, friends.

Jaye