A surprise
arriving from my subconscious
I am working on Part 3 of Embracing Family, but have had the most profound writing experience this week and I am compelled to share it. Part 3 will arrive next week.
I am listening to Kenny Rankin’s What Matters Most if you’d like to listen in here.
It's not how long we held each other’s hand
What matters is how well we loved each other
It's not how far we traveled on our way
Of what we found to say
It's not the spring you see, but all the shades of green
- Kenny Rankin What Matters Most
We are all creatives. What we create depends on our life experiences and our varied interests. I, like many, downplay my talents and often consider them unimportant. This week's experience compels me to trust that the threads of my imagination are constantly weaving the tapestry that defines my life.
I've not explored poetry, which is interesting because, as a Scorpio, I typically gravitate toward any art form that encourages emotion.
A few months ago, I accepted
’s invitation to join her and her daughter on "a 12-week journey of embodied writing to wake up your prose (and your life) in new and unexpected ways." On our last day, Jeannine made good on her promise of something unexpected.What is embodied writing? In Jeannine's words,
For me, bodily awareness has held the key to releasing and writing stored stories.
Our bodies remember. Our cells hold records of the past, awareness of the present, and imaginings of the future. These embodied sensations form the basis of writing that electrifies the primal exchange we continually experience with the world.
This is a visceral phenomenon. Visceral means “relating to the viscera,” or your internal organs. It also means “relating to deep inward feelings rather than to the intellect.”
The intensive encompasses yoga poses and meditations using the body's 12 chakras before each writing session, all led by Billie Oh. I am all in.
Beginning the class one week after it begins, coupled with a planned vacation, allows me to participate in six of the 12 weeks.
The journey is slow and easy. I enjoy the yoga aspect and do my best to write poetry, my inner voice often adding her two cents.
Suzy, I’m not sure about this poetry business. Next thing you’ll be dressing in 60’s garb asking your readers to listen to your readings in the small coffee shop in town.
I read the poetry offered for each intensive, do the yoga meditations, and follow the writing instructions. I upload my writing in the comments each week, not saving anything. I like a few of my writings, but I am critical of the majority.
In this final week, we are asked to print out all of our writing from the class and see if we can find a thread that might run through it to use in our final assignment.
Since I have saved nothing, I must look up every post on WITD's site and search through the hundreds of comments on Jeannine's page to find my posts.
Once I can collect and print them, I am stunned to see that I have unknowingly been telling our love story, Rick and me. How often have I played with the idea of writing about our story, always knowing it would involve a dream sequence? Early attempts mimic fishing, casting my line out and reeling it back in empty. I put the idea aside and forget it until today, when I see the story in black and white on the paper I've retrieved from the printer.
I’ve been patiently waiting, my dear, for you to get around to this.
Thirty minutes of crying as I piece together this final assignment leaves me in awe of what we are capable of and what we can be inspired to do and be. We need to be brave enough to show up. I thank myself for saying yes to
and and trust in my voice.I am including the initial six assignments below in the footnotes1 for those interested in seeing how this poem came together.
I have to tell you, poetry is hard. The urge to over explain is huge. But the beauty of poetry, I’m learning, lies in letting the reader find their own understanding and connect it to their lives. Hopefully, I have succeeded.
Here’s my baby.
The Dream His mouth is moving I cannot hear his words A ripple runs up my spine, nudging me as I slip back Don’t go! It will take many years to arrive at our doorstep I realize that spring has mercilessly come and gone Producing a woody vine Now bereft of the pink wisteria flowers My calves tingle, radiating light They are equipped to carry me where I need to go My body knows the way I leave no breadcrumbs I will not be returning The pendant is simple, inscribed with the Chinese word for dream The morning sun on my skin as I walk down the sleepy streets of Long Beach Shoulders pulled slightly back Heart to the sky Free to dream The love flows through his hands, welcoming me home Jumping off the high rock, Janis assures me I can do it The water is freezing as I enter the river, defying my fear and jumping even though Her laughter echoes from the water below Pulling me into this sacred space Allowing me safe passage when all other borders were closed Smiling inwardly, free to dream Anticipating the cascade of green leaves to come His mouth is moving I can hear his words The taste of sweetened coffee lingers The cool air entering though the open doors Bean plops beside me on the bed I am home
As always, thanks for being on this journey with me.
These are the original poems I wrote using specific prompts from the class.
I remember the love flowing through his hands welcoming me home I remember jumping off the high rock, Janis assuring me I could do it The feel of the cold water as my body entered the river The exhilaration of defying my fear and jumping even though… I remember her laughter echoing from the water below I remember taking hold of her hand As she pulled me into this sacred space Allowing me safe passage when all other borders were closed Staying only long enough to make sure I was comfortable in my new waters My calves tingle radiating light They are equipped to carry me where I need to go Ever ready for the journey It is my mind that has kept me trapped Why do I wait so long? My body knows the way the steps It takes many years to arrive on my beautiful doorstep I leave no breadcrumbs I will not be returning. The pendant is simple, A silver round Inscribed with black script the Chinese word for dream within minutes the pendant hangs from my neck Where it finds its home 20 years have passed since I realized I was finally free to dream The morning sun on my skin as I walk down the sleepy downtown streets of Long Beach Shoulders pulled slightly back Heart to the sky Smiling inwardly Free to dream His mouth is moving I cannot hear his words The taste of sweetened coffee lingers A ripple runs up my spine Nudging me as I slip momentarily back into sleep Don’t go! Wake up! The sound of the house fan Bringing the cool air through the open doors The heat of the sun waiting like a thief in the shadows The comforts of a morning Writing in the Dark Bean plops beside me on the bed, chirping softly as she lands, a sound which distinguishes her from her sister. Without opening my eyes, I confirm it is Bean by the feel of her tail. She rolls over onto her back inviting a tummy scratch. I oblige her silent request. A morning ritual celebrating connection Settling into a comfort that invites a return to sleep My hand resting on her tiny chest, her paws wrap gently around it, I feel her heartbeat along with her gentle purring. What might she be sensing or feeling in me? I open my eyes to peek at her precious face Her eyes closed, she is ever alert We enjoy the gift of connection Until she hears a noise in the kitchen. She is off and running.
Hi Sue, to be honest I was going to skim, but you caught me with your honesty and bravery. I enjoyed reading about your experiences of pushing the boundaries of your writing and comfort, well done . I like WITD, but I am reticent to make a bigger commitment as it all takes time…but for you it really paid off 👏
Oh Sue, this is absolutely breathtaking. Thank you so, so much for sharing this deeply moving read.