This is an invitation to you. I want to hear your story. I want to hear your story about that time the Earth attuned you to your own body. Or about that moment your body flooded your heart with waves of intuitive knowing. Or the instant when your heart unlocked a portal to something beyond the physical world. Whatever that might mean to you, in your own precious words.
Metaphysical Mulch was born from a desire to write as well as a desire to collaborate. Though I often write in the quiet corners of my own solitude, my writing is always a relational act. There’s always someone I’m writing to, even if that someone is myself in a future moment reading through an old journal. Every time I write, I am addressing somebody; the real or imagined Other for whom these sentences were crafted. We write to one another to be known, to explain, to reach out, to explicate the intricacies of our psyches, to place the squirming contents of our inner world on a table for review. Look. This is where I’m located. This is the stuff I’m trying to process. This is what I have dug up from the deep soil of human experience and feel eager to share with you. Patti Smith¹ once answered the question “Why do you write?” with the sentence: “To prove, within a scramble of words, that God exists.” We write because we must believe in something beyond ourselves.
The moment someone opens a tiny door into their experience, a connection is established. Connections are the mechanisms that make our world possible, that make us possible. To share a story is to build a bridge. To listen to someone’s story is to cross that bridge and to honor their existence.
You are being invited to share one of your Stories From the Field. The field being your life, your very own personal experience as a human being on this wild and wondrous planet. How do you manage to live here? What magic do you wield to make it through a day? How do you connect the dots between your mind and your heart and your body and the other bodies and the entirety of our cosmos? What keeps you anchored to a sense of wonder? What continues to enchant you? What do you need to get off your chest? What moves you to tears? To desperation? To joy?
You may have noticed there are no comment sections on this magazine’s website. That’s by design. There’s the practical reason of not wanting to bother policing bots or trolls with ill intention. But on a more interpersonal level, I feel like comment sections rarely invite true interaction or dialogue. They often remain superficial in nature, and tend to feel somewhat hierarchical; the readers vs. the writer of a piece. I often see comment sections with some rendition of the same sentiment stated over and over again by different people. They can significantly influence how we interpret something, and that doesn’t always help us to have our own experience and to form our own thoughts. At the same time, I am genuinely interested in your voices, your experiences, and the ways in which you may resonate with something you’ve read here. A memory or anecdote that relates to a topic we’ve addressed. Your musings around metaphysical gardens and dreams you are propagating from seed.
I don’t want your comments. I want your whole stories.
That’s what this section of Metaphysical Mulch is for: in-depth commentary, essays, poems, reflections, letters, heartfelt arguments, insights, and other gems your beautiful mind wants to share with us. From your field of experience to our collective sense making tapestry. This space is for you, for us. Inspire us, enlighten us, re-connect us to the root of what it means to be human.
Share your Stories From the Field and add your voice to the mulch pile. Let’s grow this communal garden.
To submit a story from the field, you can use this contact form to share your intention, and we will get back to you as soon as possible. We can help edit or shape a piece if you would like an extra pair of eyes. You can write with all your credentials and social links published, or anonymously, whatever works for you. We so welcome your words!
¹ Patti Smith’s exact quote about the scramble of words can be found at the 20:40 minute mark of this wonderful interview.
Metaphysical Mulch 