Tag Archives: transition

let it dangle

sticker of flowers on a concrete beamJust write today. It doesn’t matter what. Just write.

The candle rests on top of the closed notebook and the morning pages go in here. This morning I am rushed and a bit shot through with panic; the dreams all lifted me into worry. What kind of sleeping is that?

What are last night’s dreams offering you this morning?

Today I will meet and talk and work mostly away from the computer. In the evening I will be with my cousin, and I will remember what blood is for. This morning I feel both tangled and loosed, like a collection of live wires all knotted up. This is what transition feels like, right? These are growing pains — this is me digging into my own potbound rootball, tearing up what hasn’t had air or food or enough room to grow. Today I feel like everything–all my ambition and desire — is hanging out, too visible, too naked. Continue reading


graffiti: blue sun with an eye at the heart of it, green grass underneath, In my dream, everything vibrated when it was time for me to get hurt — like there was a recalibration going on, like the movie was changing, and instead of the truck I was driving flipping over, I dipped into the dangerous gravel patch, still couldn’t make the truck slow down, but wasn’t going to die.


One of the prompts I wanted to offer during the Writing Transitions workshop (which I’m going to offer again later this year) had to do with presencing both what’s joyous and what’s difficult about change, at the same time.

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