Good Morning Starlight,
Today’s post is a few pages from this week’s sketchbook.
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It is not a secret
We are all writers
We are all artists
We are all movers
We might not know this
We might not believe this
We can help each other rediscover our alivenessÂ
In the beginning there was the word
What is that word?
To gather and together are the sameÂ
I wonder if two, to, too was the one
Language is searching for language
We write something to express something
For someone in us and outside of us
Our words find each other across time and space
Our words offer connection, direction, and understanding
Our words are our way
We write ourselves
We right ourselves
Our words are our trail markers
Our words are our trials and tribulations
We write to see
We write to feel
We write to be seen
We write to be felt
We write to exist
We write to be found
We write to leave an impression
Our words impress themselves into paper, minds, and hearts
Our words are carried by others
Our words shape our thoughts
Our words shape our actions
Our words shape reactions
Our words shape our lives
Our words can be scattered or lined up in marching order
Our words can be bound by rules
Our words can run vertical, horizontal, or backward
Our words can be uniquely our own
Children make up words
We can invent new language
Our words change meaning
Our words change with time
Our words don’t mean the same thing to different people
Our words create change
There is the language of the birds, the whales, and the wolves
Our words can be strung together like a strand of found beads
Our words don’t need to be seen by others to exist
Our words need only us
Our stories are shaped by our words
Write your story as many ways as you want and watch it change
Write one word
Write many words
Write your way
Right your way
Choose a word for that way
I choose love
I choose joy
I choose yellow
I choose hello
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Tin House Live : Writing On Your Own Terms with Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore. A podcast that encouraged me.
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How was your eclipse week? I bled. I felt like a C-. I woke up and wrote. I had temper tantrums. I cried. I felt scared. I advanced towards what scared me. I made mistakes. I corrected mistakes. My hips were sore. I experienced synchronicity. I dressed up. I ate two servings of flan. I celebrated my husbands birthday. I watched the eclipse. I marveled at how the black moon looked three dimensional, suspended, floating, gliding in front of the orange sun. I cried. I cried twice at yoga. I cried twice on video chat. I cried once at a coffee shop. I dreamed of home, of waves, of seals. I built vessels to hold water and flowers.
I did not cry. I ran. I saw my first bobcat. I felt dense, legs like trees. I felt like things were finally moving. I was finally moving, but with great effort. I watched the light go gray and weird and wondered if when the world ends, will it be like this? Will the sun go dimmer and dimmer and will we expect less and less warmth? Thank god, not yet. For now, I turned my face up toward the sun- against all good advice- and let it go through me.