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

recalibration

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.

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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.

Try this (this is adapted from a prompt I did with Pat Schneider last year):

On a clean page of paper (or in a new document), take 5-7 minutes and write about what you or your character are most excited about or looking forward to with this transition. Then take another page of paper and write for 5-7 minutes about what you or your character are sad or scared about with respect to this transition. In each case, try to go deep into those feelings, and let them pour out onto the page.

After the second write, you’ll create a new piece using alternating lines from each: take the first line of one piece and make that the first line of your new one, then use the first line of the second piece the second line of the new one — alternate like that until you’ve used all the words from each piece. Make adjustments, if you want, to the flow from line to line, then read it through — what’s there now? In responses to this exercise, it’s often been powerful for me to notice the flow between difficult and excitement, and the power and release of not having to be only happy or sad…

Thank you for the way you can let all the feelings be there, even when they come out in different or difficult ways. Thank you for the way you can be with those you love in all of their changeling emotions. Thank you for your necessary listening, your necessary words.