“Wild Moon Woman
You were not made to be tamed.
You are an earthquake shaking loose
everything that is not Soul.
Shake Woman Shake!!” elyse morgan
My photos of the Lunar eclipse.
This fall I took a writing workshop on Martha’s Vineyard with the legendary, Nancy Aronie, who I have deemed a “Literary Guru”. As a writing teacher she moves fluidly, dancing gracefully through her life, sorrows, pain, and joy in such a way that it invites and inspires her writers to do the same. Nancy has the uncanny ability to create the space that allows each writer to submerge themselves in their memories, dreams, disillusionment, and prayers to evoke words, prose, and stories that made me weep, laugh, and applaud with astonishment and joy. Nancy creates a safe place for each writer to slowly shed their cocoon and emerge into the brightly beautiful butterflies we are constantly struggling to become. She allows us to become the writers we have each longed to become. Every day each person was required to write from one of Nancy’s daily prompts and no one disappointed, although collectively we bemoaned, “what would we say? Could we even write about ‘that’?” “Am I even doing this right?”.
These amazing writers showed up with their humor, their heartbreak, their tragedies and they wove a web of stories that enthralled and entranced everyone within earshot. As the rain steadily pounded the studio’s windows, these unique voices, shared their eloquent prose, poetry and purpose. They told stories that made me feel honored to have sat among the last vestiges of fall’s, leaf-colored, canopy, in the in bleak ending of November and weep with unabashed abandonment. Tissues were quietly passed from person to person as we heard stories of suffering, and so much sadness that people have endured in their lives and have lived to tell about it. Each testimonial and written word was as individual as the writer but the collective experience of being human beings trying to navigate the morass of our own childhoods, teenage angst, and adult lives made me long to comfort them in some way. The best thing I could do was to sit silently, breathe deeply and bear witness to their incredible stories and then applaud like I was at a rock concert when they were finished.
You could hear a pin drop as each one of us were preparing to read our words, tell our stories and share our hopes and dreams and often revisit the very pain that had brought us there. Each voice was as distinctive as the writer. There was a richness, a catch in their throat honesty and the willingness to endure, that allowed us to be swept away into their worlds and into their shared moments of dreams, triumphs, successes and sorrow. At the beginning of each class I was sure that we had heard the best writing and then I would be lulled, lead, and laden anew with fresh tears as even deeper stories emerged and these brave souls bared their spirits and shared their lives with such courage, writers who were strangers to me no more.
All writers were funny, raw, theatrical, heartsick, loving, imaginative, vulnerable and unflinchingly truth tellers who sat in a sacred circle and bared their underbellies for the rest of us to see. What I heard was a cacophony of vibrant voices, experiences, and writing styles, but these were WRITERS, true artists. No one else could have told their stories and shared them with 23 strangers with such rawness, profound honesty, honor and grace. Each voice, each piece was an expression of what that writer brought to the group and it could not be duplicated by anyone else. That is what being a writer is about, I suppose. Telling a story that only you know the intimate details of and making us see, feel, and step back into the piece with the same clarity and tangible, tactile feelings that the writer sees in their mind’s eye. It is the ability to draw other people along, to envision your steps, your views and your emotions that makes someone a talented writer and an artist.
As I sat listening, laughing, and languishing in empathy, sympathy, and pain, I realized, this is writing. Each person is responsible for telling their story, their way, with no apologies. Each writer’s words and voice lent itself to the story being told and on some days I wondered how it is that we have all survived. If you’re a writer, you put the pain, sorrow, and longing on the page and you tell your story because invariably the other people reading or listening are sharing in the triumphs and losses, just as your exquisitely chosen words intended to convey. It’s like writing music, the tempo, the melody and the visionary, inextricable placement of each word delivers the listener to another world, another layer, where you are the star and we are the audience, there unseen, unknowing, and unaware of where this beautiful song will lead.
I have been changed by this class and as my favorite quote reminds me, “When I move, Providence moves with me.” Stay tuned as I write about the other revelations that have emerged from this one simple act of stepping out on faith. It turns out, getting out of my comfort zone, challenging myself, and standing in the presence of greatness allowed me to find a bit of my own greatness amidst the crowd of writers that I now call friends.
#writers, #gratitude #inspiring
I swore when I was a kid that I would never be like an adult or worse, like my parents. You know, all-knowing, superior, smarter than..well any kid I knew. Basically an all around, “do what I say, not what I do,” adult. Mostly, I just wanted to stay up late, eat whatever I wanted and talk on the phone with my friends, (yes the ones I saw everyday in school). It’s sad but that was my measure for becoming an adult.
As an adult, you can buy what you want, (Hey Mom, isn’t that $20.00 in your wallet? I thought you said you had no money for my new jeans, that just everyone is wearing?). I certainly was never thinking that the $20. was budgeted for something we needed, not just what I wanted. You can stay up past 11pm, (they don’t tell you that you pay for that by not being focused the next day and your boss wonders if you meant to write the word snail instead of sail). No one can tell an adult what to do. No one, (unless you count your boss, your partner, the law, your kids, your teachers and the nagging voice inside your head that never shuts up). You are free to go where you want, when you want, (except if you have kids, then just the thought of them having to go to a new school sends them into paralysis, shock, and whining about you ruining their lives). You can swear, ok, I still do that. And you don’t have to listen to your parents anymore, (except they are the voice in your head that you will never escape, and I mean NEVER).
Now I am the grownup and damned, (sorry, I had to swear here), if I am not saying at least half of what my parents said to me. I hear their words pouring out of my mouth and I find myself looking around to see if they have snuck into the room to berate or reprimand me or my perfect children. I even find myself, (stay with me now), quoting the very sayings that caused me to roll my eyes in disgust at my parents when I was a kid. Did I realize I just said, “haste makes waste?” I know because my kids are rolling their eyes at me, right now, as we speak.
I don’t blame them, truly I don’t, but I wonder when I lost my ability to throw my cares to the wind and just climb a tree, or slide across the ice, without thinking, (I can’t afford to break my ankle because I have a thousand things to do and it could lead to me walking with a permanent limp), or eating dessert before dinner…just because. Or not taking a bath because I don’t smell dirty, to me.
No, I think I have grown up to be the kind of parent that I had, all-knowing, exhausted from repeating the same thing over and over and wise, (read wise-ass if you’re a kid). I have found myself saying things like, “Your teacher is looking for you to use what you have learned so far, so please, at least capitalize states, and the beginning of sentences, to prove you learned this in second grade”. I never really used Algebra in real life so I don’t know why I am so insistent that my kids learn it now especially given they all have cell phones and Google. My 10-year-old swears that Siri knows everything and “she never lectures”. I think that’s a slam to me because I do find myself lecturing and using way more words than necessary to illustrate a point.
Yup, being a kid means you don’t need to think about the future because the future is only a week away. Essays to your teacher, well what’s the point, they read the same material you did so you don’t need to give them details about a story they already know. Staying up late and watching your favorite shows, playing your favorite games, texting your friends or lobbying for Netflix, now that’s the life of kids today. They don’t even think about climbing a tree unless we lose electricity and they are bored. We never said bored in our house because my mother would hand us the vacuum, (we never said that within ear shot of her again).
I’ve turned into my mother and father and my lectures are the same lectures I hear in my head, daily. It is those voices that my kids will hear and will no doubt relay to their own kids. They will look around and wonder just how they turned out, just like their parents. Unless, and I look around before writing this, they break the mold and live the life they dreamed about as a kid. Being a pirate, or a professional baseball player, or an artist may just be the ticket to ending that vociferous and odious voice that preaches what they should do and they go off and do what they want to do, when they want to do it, just like an adult.
#Iwon’tgrowup #not like my parents
“The vision must be followed by the venture.
It is not enough to stare up the steps—
We must step up the stairs.” Vance Havner
Happy 2015 to one and all.
I never pictured what the year 2015 would look like, except maybe in crazy sci-fi movie scenarios. So this year will be the first of many firsts.
It is my intention to step into the person I’d hope I’d be, someday, and to achieve the dreams I dream daily, out loud and in color.
My hope for everyone is that 2015 exceeds your wildest imagination. I hope we all dream bigger and share those dreams with people who will support and encourage our dreams.
May this year be the year that the slates are cleaned and we all begin anew, refreshed, and reinvigorated.
So with gratitude and goodbye, I send 2014 on its way and I open my heart, mind, and soul to the joys, challenges, glory, and long and winding roads that will lead me through 2015 and on into 2016.
Happy New Year Friends and thanks for each post. Some days it seems you were writing or sharing something I really needed to see or learn, on that very day.
This year, for some reason, I am as excited about Christmas as my sons are. Usually I am alone in a room drinking a glass of wine, surrounded by echoes of curses, wrapping paper strewn about my feet, tape stuck to my skin, and A Christmas Carol playing in the background. Yep, I’m almost always running around trying to get everything done and exhausted when midnight hits and I’m still tying ribbons, sticking bows that don’t stick, and labeling the presents with my left hand so no one recognizes that I wrote them myself. My youngest caught on to my handwriting being on the gifts a few years ago so I switched to using my left. Ah, the things I do for the people I love.
Well this year, everything is already wrapped, except what Santa is bringing and I getting ready to actually watch, A Christmas Carol. The anticipation in the air is electric and I am glad that I get to enjoy each moment without panic about forgetting someone or something. This year, I might have finally gotten this thing down, maybe. I don’t want to set the bar to high for next year.
I hope that everyone has a wonderful Holiday Season with the people they love most in the world. “God Bless Us Everyone.”
No more whispering.
Curious thoughts from a vivid imagination, with no rhyme or reason weaving them together.
My journey - The good, bad and the ugly
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