this body finds comfort out amid the trees — in the old oak groves, walking through the scent of bay or eucalyptus…
Hello and good morning! It’s late-ish for the blog post; I did my morning pages offline today, longhand in the notebook, then breakfasted and readied for a working day of writing. I notice, when I’m working at home, it’s easier for me to take myself seriously if I make like I’m actually going to work when I head into the little writing office–change out of pajamas, for instance; shower; eat breakfast away from the computer. These steps help me transition out of home mind into work mode; this is a new practice for me. I’ll let you know how it progresses.
I have a more today from FemmeCon 2012, a write from the Body Empathy workshop that Alex Cafarelli and I co-facilitated on the first morning of the conference. Our introductory writing prompt (after some movement and improv exercises to get to know one another and playfully ease into our bodies!) had to do with where we are, or aren’t, comfortable in our bodies.
What a good morning is this morning: lovely cool morning air that promises to heat up as the sun fully takes over the evening damp; a puppy who gets to run in the park grass, gets to leap high in the air for her ball; morning pages and candlelight alongside green-anise-cardamom tea.
What happens when it’s time for something new? When it’s time to claim independence from some part of yourself, to allow another part of yourself to rise?
Good morning good morning! It’s grey out today, the sun still tucked under fog, and I’m watching the people with their dogs: the smoker lighting his cigarette while his german shepherd runs around off leash; the young man holding a leash attached to his pale-furred barker in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other; the woman walking the little Boston Terrier that Sophie so loves to wrestle with.
This morning so far it’s quiet out, the commuter traffic not yet picked up and I’m here with freesia on the table and a cup of jasmine green tea. Today is maybe all about the smells. My body’s a little tight this morning; some yoga or stretching would be good — how do you welcome your body into a new day?
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Yesterday, my analyst said, “You don’t have to the the body of evidence anymore.” He was reflecting on this thing that I am wrangling with inside these days, this idea that perhaps my identity and self is not Incest all the way through.
good morning good morning! Oh, it’s late here — I set the alarm for 4:30, but when the puppy woke me up after 6, I looked over to see that perhaps that alarm had gone off, but my sleeping self had taken no notice whatsoever. After a full (and mostly offline) weekend, I guess my body took what she needed.
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Write Whole begins again this evening, and April’s Writing the Flood is this weekend (join us!) — lots more coming up, too, including a new daily blog project for May, which I’m very excited and a little nervous about! It’s going to be kind of like NaNoBloMo, with a twist.
This morning I woke up at four with the puppy standing up right next to my head — I’d been in the middle of a dream, the only bit of which I can remember now involving times that were divisible– preferably by parts of themselves into other parts, like 2:42 or 3:09– and those times being more comfortable than other times — than prime times, I realized, when I woke up and wrote it down; interesting, no? I wonder if she felt me in REM sleep and wanted me back. Or else she just wanted some attention. This was going to be the first morning in more than two weeks that I woke up to an alarm — and then she thwarted that electronic wakening, thank goodness.
good morning good morning to you — how is this day holding you so far?
I snuggled my hands around the pup for a bit, then got out of bed and went to make my tea. I wrote hard for about an hour, letting words for this new project that I began in earnest back at Hedgebrook push down through the pen and onto the paper.
Good morning good morning — it’s a tired morning over here. The puppy, who has been sick, is curled up in the middle of three pillows, sighing. I’ve got Edna St. Vincent Millay’s “First Fig” churning and dancing through me this morning: My candle burns at both ends; / It will not last the night; / But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends— / It gives a lovely light. Today I am feeling these lines especially poignantly.
I would like to share with you everything that is happening around these parts, this side of the street, around Jen & writing ourselves whole both, but there aren’t words for all of it. At least not words I’ve found yet. I’m in a place of invention just now, though, so maybe new words can arrive, alliterate and at the ready.
There was something I wanted to tell you this morning, but the red lentil hummus is calling to me, wanting me to make sure it doesn’t burn, and there’s writing to offer feedback to, and a candle flame to watch dancing. In total this week I have four workshops and one performance — plus a day job and a personal life. That’s my burning at both ends. I keep breathing. I hug the puppy, do some situps, some pushups, I listen to what my body wants to eat, and try to feed it that. I can’t always manage to meet the exact craving, but I’m coming closer most days. How about that?
Hi over there. This is me waving with some new words. This is a quiet morning, or more like a thick blanket of quiet spread across fat noise, clanging cymbals (I wanted to write symbols, which, also, yes), the marching band of the soul. That’s how it feels this morning.
I have a poem as a prompt or just a reading-to-be-with this morning. I spent last night with a book of poems I’ve loved for many years, and it felt good to go back into those words, into all that they’ve held for me over the last decade plus. This is one of the books that I wrote about for my MA thesis, so I got to push really deep into these lines, wrangling with metaphor and possible meaning, stretching out onto my own pages the emotion and resonance that they brought up for me about desire, about claiming one’s own passion even though… (whatever your even though is: someone else doesn’t like it, your dad tells you to get a real job, your friends make more money than you, your lover wants to know when you’re coming to bed, etc.)
So, this is one of the poems from Alison Luterman’s The Largest Possible Life. Use it as a prompt, if you like. Notice what lines or images stay with you, grab them out, drop them on your page, and go. Write for 10 minutes — follow your writing wherever it seems to want you to go. Continue reading
Good morning good morning out there — how is your today so far?
(Sometimes when I start these posts, I hear (of course I do) the lyrics to Pink Floyd’s “Comfortably Numb” (hello hello is there anybody in there), even though numb isn’t (almost) ever how I’d describe myself here at the writing desk, during this morning time…
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good morning good morning. I haven’t offered a tea report for awhile here — this morning’s tea is wulong with mint and nettle, and some crushed anise and cardamon seed. Thanks to my sister and her sweetheart for the wulong — I’ve been doing a bit more caffeine lately, drinking more black and a lot more green tea. This morning my heart is pounding, but I don’t think that’s the aftermath of alchemical buzz. It’s something different.
What do you do on the mornings you can’t remember your dreams, but you know you had them? Meditation would be ideal, I think, wouldn’t it?
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