************************************Denial covers the pain of the past * A blanket over the world * Lift a corner * Don't be afraid * Your life awaits you*************************************

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Buzzword Writing Exercise Submissions

I was struggling yesterday, and so I didn't get a post up. I'm still struggling but I'm making myself do what I need to do, so that's an improvement. There are still things I'm avoiding and I still feel very overwhelmed, but the hopelessness is a little less intense, today.

Anyway, Here are the submissions to Sunday's writing exercise. The assignment was:

Think about what you are most striving to learn, do, complete, or accomplish, at this time of your life. It can be a life-long goal or a simple daily task. Come up with a word or short phrase to sum this up. This word or phrase becomes your “Buzz Word.” Write the “buzz word” on a piece of paper. Next, write one sentence beginning with each letter in your "buzz word".

And here are the submissions:

ClinicallyClueless said: "Here is a quick one on my goal of becoming a psychologist."

Prepare for GRE
Stay focused on my goal to earn my doctorate
Yes, I can!! Yes, I will!!
Choose to just be me
Husband and my therapist are 100% behind me
Other people's responses are not a relection of my self worth
Let go of eating disorder
Other people's responses are not a refection of my ability to succeed
Gary, my T, believes that I will sail through school and make a great psychologist
Increase my EGO strength
Stay committed to therapy and getting better
Therapy will help me meet my goal

Gail chose SELF PRESERVE as her buzz word.



Dawn said, "I was kind of stretching it a bit finding a word to begin some of my sentences!" (I hear that, Dawn! It wasn't easy...  but it seems you did very well.) Her buzz word is PHOTOGRAPHY
Photos, as a means of expressing oneself, has always fascinated me.
However, I have never explored this interest much.
Opening my camera's manual and studying it would help!
Taking a photography class is something I would like to do.
Often, I look to nature for inspiration.
Good photos are sometimes subjective to a person's interest.
Recognizing what makes a good photograph is something I would like to learn.
Attracting people's interest in my photographs would be cool.
Panoramic photos are interesting to me.
Hopefully I'll make the time to explore this interest.
Yellow is a pretty color in photographs.

Desiree  had a free-and-easy approach to this exercise. (I love that - nice when we can cut loose and have fun). She decided to use Buzzword as her buzzword, only she did it backwards. Here's her explanation and submission:

"OK, Shen! Slept on it...still BLANK! So, what does that mean? I am a 56 year old woman, living my life without a BUZZ WORD! Does this mean I'm directionless? (OK, I just used the 'd' in "word"...perhaps I'll continue in this vein, going backwards through the letters that make up buzz word...my word can be "drow zzub" :) So, continuing now, with 'r'...am I guilty of...
Rarely taking the time to ponder my situation?
Or am I so caught up in the moment, that I give little thought to yesterday or tomorrow?
Would that seem to be a good enough explanation?
Cheating now, I'm combining the two 'z's...ZZ is an acronymn for sleep...perhaps I'm passing through life too drowsily?
Until you prodded me into being aware?
Bingo! That's it...I need to make time to focus on the areas I still need to develop! :)

Although this started out as a bit tongue-in-cheek, Shen, it seems the old saying 'never a truer word than one spoken in jest' may well apply! I really did try to come up with something profound and meaningful to dispel any notions that I might just be simple-minded, but at the moment, my days are taken up with puppies and I don't seem able to think beyond their next meal or my next trip into the garden to clean up after them ;)

Maybe this was my 'wakeup call' to remind me that I need to be more balanced? Not to become so immersed in the here and now, but stretch my mind to think about what comes afterwards? After all, these puppies are going to grow up, just as my children did and then I have to find other things to fill the gaps...I think you've got me on to something here, Shen ;
Either way, I had fun not complying strictly with the rules of this exercise!

From middle child I received this submission about the Buzzword Clean house.

Cancel extra magazines.
Learn to keep busy.
Eat three meals a day.
Appreciate what I have.
Notice how good I feel when something is clean.

Honor my husband by keeping a nice house.
Observe his reaction to what I have done.
Understand that this mess depresses me.
Serve the Lord with gladness.
Enter into a clean home.

And finally, here's mine. Originally, I was going to write about Forgiveness. I even had it roughed out, but I felt like shifting that just a little bit to “self forgiveness” because of how this week has gone.
Shame is an out-of-control vehicle with no one at the wheel.
Erratically, it overwhelms me and sweeps me away.
Love myself?
Fear and anger come together.
Floundering, I think about how easy it is to be gentle when it’s someone else.
Overwhelming hopelessness, a traveling companion I thought I’d left behind, once again joins the wild ride.
Reaching out to others for help, I await responses I can already predict.
Giving in to worthlessness is more than I can stand, so I hide from it all.
I need to do something, but I can’t make myself do anything.
Vacantl.y I check my email, again and again and again.
Eventually, gentle replies appear but they can't ease the angst.
Nothing seems to help.
Each word and phrase I read I could have written myself because I've had the answer all along.
Sneaking a look at the little child inside, I know she doesn’t deserve to be treated this way.
Slowly, I acknowledge the truth: Accepting all that I am is the only escape.

That's it for this week. Thank you all for the great submissions - wonderful distractions and each one a reflection of an individual I feel privileged to know.

I have a lot of other stuff I want to post... but I haven't been very productive this week. It's bound to get better.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

Sunday's Writing Exercise: Buzz Word

It's Sunday, again! Here's this week's writing exercise:

Think about what you are most striving to learn, do, complete, or accomplish, at this time of your life. It can be a life-long goal or a simple daily task. What one word or short phrase best describes this important part of your life? This word or phrase becomes your “Buzz Word.”

Write the “buzz word” on a piece of paper. Next, write one sentence beginning with each letter in your "buzz word". For instance, if you were to write, “Learn to Cook”, you would have a total of eleven sentences. The first one might be “Learning to prepare better meals for my family is really important to me.” The second one might be, “Every day I struggle with what to make for dinner.” The third could be, “An important aspect of this is the sense of accomplishment I get when I can put a meal in front of my kids that they’ll actually eat.”

The fourth sentence would start with R, the fifth with N and the sixth with T… and so on.

One thing I’ve found in attempting this exercise is that in putting a restraint on the words I can use, I’m more aware of what I want to convey. Maybe it’s just that I have to think more about how to construct the sentence in a way that works, or maybe my mind is actually more able to let the other thoughts come through when I’m not focused on them so directly.

Entries can be made by submitting your writing in a comment to this post. I'll delete the comments and put them all up together in another post on Tuesday.

I hope you can have some fun with it!

Monday, May 16, 2011

Spring Retreat Part Four: Birth of the Rag Doll

(continued from THIS POST. To read about the retreat from the beginning, CLICK HERE.)

Journal Five 5-12-11

I hear my husband’s car pull up, outside… the car door opens… the jeep door opens and shuts… footsteps… the car door closes.

I could go  out and said something to him, but I keep to my silence.

Tires noisily kick up dirt and gravel. My phone buzzes with a text.

 “I put your bag in the car. love.”

I decide a texted thank you doesn’t count as breaking the silence.

If I’d had my things all along, I would have felt driven to immediately begin working with the things I’d packed, and I might not have fallen into this quiet state of mind so quickly. I also  might have missed out on playing in the creek and seeing the tiny fawn.

At the top of the cloth shopping bag is one of my most treasured things - a baby-sized hand-made quilt. My grandmother gave it to me when I was pregnant with my first child. It was the last time I saw Grandma, and we both knew it would be… she died a few months later.

I spread it across the bottom half of the bed where I will sleep tonight. I pull the stuffed tiger from the bag and put him next to the pillows. Then, I carefully remove the rag doll from the bag, straightening the collar on her plaid dress and her red yarn hair. Impulsively, I hug her for a moment, closing my eyes.

The rag doll…
The Rag Doll…

The Rag Doll has hidden in a dark corner for almost my entire life. She doesn’t talk and she thinks in pictures. The eight-year-old is the only one who can understand what she says… and it’s the eight-year-old who has brought her out of the corner and shown her to me.

She is the one who calls C “the Dancer.” The Rag Doll feels as if the Dancer accepts her exactly as she is. It’s a hard thing for me to accept the Rag Doll as C does. I know it’s what I need to do, but it doesn’t come easily and I’m finally beginning to understand why.

There are many reasons this little one had to stay hidden for so long. It hasn’t felt safe to her to come out, just as it hasn’t felt safe to me to simply accept this part of me. She holds the truth. She is the one who experienced the abuse, from the beginning, and then she would crawl off to her corner, holding tightly to the secrets so I didn’t have to live with them. Each time she was needed, she came back.

Acknowledging her, accepting her, means accepting the truth. I’ve looked at all the ugliness… I’ve seen it for what it is, and yet I’ve kept a clear glass wall up between me and that little girl who was hurt so long ago. Accepting the Rag doll means I have to know that it was me in that bedroom, so long ago.
It wasn’t her father.
It was mine.

To a child, ugly things that happen to her feel like her ugliness. I so didn’t want that to be me. I wanted to scorn her for her ugliness. I had to believe that she was the ugly one, the dirty one, the one who is unloved and unlovable… not me.
It couldn’t be me.
I fought it forever.
When a sliver of light first fell across the Rag Doll, last fall, I found many reasons not to see her.

She’s persistent. The longer I waited, the harder she was to ignore. The eight-year-old haunted me. She sent emails to C without my knowledge. She told C she wanted her to hold her hand, to hold her while she cried, and when that didn’t work (because I was having none of it) she asked C to brush her hair.
There was no way I was going to let that happen.
At appointments, I’ve found that the brush I keep in my car has somehow snuck into purse.
I was embarrassed and appalled.

At one point, C suggested that I buy a rag doll. I never got around to it. Then, C saw one at a second-hand shop. She gave it to me, saying she felt it was meant for me.

The eight-year-old fairly squealed with delight. She was so excited.

The Rag Doll part, inside me, looked in awe at the pretty dress and the ribbons on the doll’s shoes and in her hair.

I felt utter panic. While I was very touched that C had thought of me and brought me the gift, I was afraid to even touch the doll. Even when I got the doll home, I didn’t know what to do with her. I straightened her dress and arranged her on the rocking chair in my room, but I didn’t touch her again until my next appointment.

I’m starting to understand how important it is for me to accept the Rag Doll. I need her as much as she needs me. I brought her to my last appointment, which turned into a very emotional double-session. We finally brought the Rag Doll out of the corner. The eight-year-old held her hand and led her into the “healing circle”.

That was three days before this retreat. I felt intense relief after that session, but that night I had the same terrible dream twice, and woke up screaming. The dream was so hard to explain because there were no words, only pictures. Something was in my room. Something was covering my face, smothering me. I could see it, and when I recall it now it feels as if it was something like a mattress, but as big as the ceiling. I know that makes no sense, but since the dream was only in un-labeled images, my adult mind couldn’t grasp it. All I knew was the fear, and a thought something like, this time it’s real and an overwhelming dread of death.

(back to the journal)

I look through my CD case in search of the April Steele CDs. I want to imagine the Rag Doll as that perfect little one April describes in her “Imaginal Nurturing” CDs. The first track depicts a newborn baby meant to symbolize the core self. I can work my way through the other three tracks, which deal with a slightly older baby and toddler.

Start at the beginning.

T hen see a CD I didn’t know I had. I read the title: “A Place For You Here – A Loving Re-creation of Your Birth Journey,” By Cathy Chapman.

I don’t remember buying it, but it seems as if it was meant for this occasion. I lie on the bed, holding the rag doll.

While the meditation is really quite wonderful, Cathy’s voice and accent take a little getting used to.
I relax and gradually fall into her words.
The Rag Doll at conception
The Rag Doll growing, forming perfectly
The Rag Doll before she was broken and scarred
She is growing into a perfect little girl
She's almost ready to be born.

It’s me…
I'm right there, and it becomes very real. Cathy talks about a wonderful loving woman who catches the baby and brings her into the world. I feel the energy of this woman, I see her looking into the baby's eyes. I look back up into her eyes.

But then, there is a male voice on the CD. Cathy talks about loving male energy... I cry. The tears are unexpected and confusing. I don’t have words for this, just a kind of block in my mind which seems to mean no.

The meditation ends with a song sung by Shaina Noll and her husband. Waves of energy pulse through me, making the crying more and more intense every time I hear the male voice.

I want it to be true. I want to believe that this male energy surrounds the perfect little being I’m re-creating through this meditation… but it seems impossible. I think about my husband and how wonderful he was with our kids when they were born… but I can’t and don’t want to bring his energy in, here.
He is my husband, not my father, and there is nothing that will make it okay in my mind to transfer his loving presence then to this scenario now.

I cry for some time after the CD ends. I decide to listen to the first track of April Steele’s “I’m So Glad You’re Here”. I bring the perfect newborn image of the Rag Doll into the second meditation and I begin to feel better.

Still feeling shaky, I warmed my dinner and ate it. I felt drained, and looked around the room, trying to understand what I was meant to do next. My eyes fell on the prayer book I’d seen earlier on the piano. This isn’t the kind of thing I usually read, but I carried it outside and turned the pages.

I had a cigarette, catching a word here and a phrase there. Again and again, I tried to get back to “just being” but my mind continued to react to the impossible concept of positive male energy in relation to the Rag Doll.

Thunder in the distance pushed me back inside. I decided to pull out my markers again, now that I have some actual drawing paper to work on. I have no idea what image I’m going to come up with… but I have a feeling the Rag Doll knows.

Friday, May 13, 2011

Reposting something which disappeared...

I've just gotten back from the retreat and it was awesome. I'll be writing about it this weekend... but for now I'm reposting a photoshop drawing I put up before I left. I know it was posted because I have some comments on it in my email, but somehow the post disappeared... weird, huh?

Anyway, here's the drawing again and I'll be back soon

This is entitled "Somehow All the Pieces Fit"

Monday, May 9, 2011

Writing Exercise: The Golden Key

As you may have noticed, I never got a writing exercise up yesterday. I had such a nice Mother's Day I just never had time to stop in here. I hope you also enjoyed a lovely weekend.

Most likely, if you grew up in an English-speaking country, you've heard of Grimm's Fairy Tales. In fact, a little research just informed me that the stories written by the brothers Grimm (and by others using the famous name, later,) are now read and enjoyed in over 160 languages.

It's widely known that the many of the stories the brothers wrote were already in circulation through word-of-mouth, in one form or another. One such story is The Golden Key.

This story has bothered me since the first time I came across it. Apparently the story came to the brothers Grimm from a German story. In that story, a small piece of red fur is found in a treasure chest, and very abruptly, the story ends there with the line, "If the piece of fur had been any longer, this story would have been." How frustrating for a child to have such an engaging start end with such suddenness!

So - here is the Grimm version of the story. My request for this week is to write a proper ending for this enchanting start:

The Golden Key

In the winter time, when deep snow lay on the ground, a poor boy was forced to go out to fetch wood.  When he had gathered it together, and packed it, he wished, as he was so frozen with cold, not to go home at once, but to light a fire and warm himself a little.

So he scraped away the snow, and as he was clearing the ground for the fire he found a tiny golden key.  Hereupon he thought that where the key was, the lock must be also, and dug in the ground until he found an iron chest.

 "If the key does but fit it!"  thought he; "no doubt there are precious things in that little box." 

He searched, but no keyhole was there.  At last he discovered one, but so small that it was hardly visible.  He tried it, and was very surprised when the key fitted it exactly.
 The next (and final) line, as it stands, says simply that wonderful things were found in the box. Nothing more. That, in my opinion, is no way to end a story!

Where does your imagination take you? What does he find in the box? Try to keep your answer under two hundred words, and post it as a comment (which I will remove when I see it). I'll post the submissions on Wed, this week, since I am posting this so late.

Saturday, May 7, 2011

Saturday Morning

I drop off a sleepy teen in time to take her college placement test, very early this Saturday morning. From there, I drive straight to the bookstore where my writers’ group meets. I'll arrive way too early, but I don’t feel like heading in the opposite direction to go home, in between.

With over an hour left before the stores open, only the Starbucks shows signs of life. I take my coffee from a girl who seems impossibly chipper.
A test sip.
Two sharp turns
The sky spits on my windshield.
I watch the world wake up from the mall parking lot...  
and I think about the Rag Doll.

My therapist thinks I'm avoiding the Rag Doll.

I know it's true. It shows in the anxiety which wanes and crests like the tides, and in the recurring dreams of running in circles, and of searching through room after room, and all the while knowing I am circumventing the one place I need to be.

Another car pulls into the empty lot. The driver chooses to park in the spot right next to me, despite the hundreds of other options. She drops a still-lit cigarette butt, jingles a large key ring, and walks towards a mostly hidden alcove which likely leads to a store’s back entrance.

I think about the past couple of weeks.
A terrible stomach flu coinciding with the death of my dog.
A surgical procedure in my mouth.
A disagreement with a close friend which is still unresolved. 
A change in medication.
A name from my past popping up and then shutting me down
and my therapist buying me a real rag doll… which I love but have no idea what to do with.

The rag doll sits in the rocking chair in my room, where it’s been since Monday. Somehow the rag doll is supposed to help me with the Rag Doll... but I don't know how to make it happen.
A Volkswagen beetle parks right across from me.
Slug-a-bug blue, I think, my daughter’s face popping into my head.

A schnauzer pops out of the bug, a woman on the other end of his leash.

I peruse the options; Lands End, Borders, Subway. No pet supply store or grooming shop in sight.

She walks the dog in the gravel and low bushes between rows of cars. With a perplexed look, the dog sniffs. Eventually, he lifts a leg, looking up at his owner for approval. She’s talking on her cell phone, unaware of his offering.

Time passes slowly. I look over the pages of editing I've brought for the meeting, adding another comment or two in red ink. I’m so glad for this group. Today they’ll be going over a big chunk of my book, which is basically finished. I just can't seem to accept it as finished until someone else puts an okay on it.

The line at Starbucks moves forwards in twelve-foot intervals. I imagine the cheer slowly dissipating from the girl’s voice as she serves her sixty-third coffee of the morning.

Welcome to Starbucks
Would you like to try a cinnamon caramel mocha Frappacino?
Please pull forward.
Thanks for coming to Starbucks! Now piss off.

I turn my attention to a new arrival. A man is unskillfully opening a complex-looking contraption. It turns out to be a double-stroller. He extracts a kicking toddler from the car and straps him into one seat. A moment later it’s déjà vous. Two identical squirmers struggle against the seat belts.

His wife must have picked out those matching outfits.

Futilely trying to keep the drizzle off the twins, he opens the stroller's tiny canopy.  As he pushes the wide-load baby-containment-system towards a store, I glance at my watch.
The stores won’t open for another ten minutes.

This being the most exciting thing to happen so far, I watch intently as he tries both doors of a children’s clothing store. He looks at his watch and then back at his car.

That’s when he catches me watching him.

I guiltily look down, and then rifle through my purse as if I have a sudden desperate need for lip gloss. I pull out my phone and sign into my email account. Scrolling down, I find the email my therapist sent the night before.

I finally asked her for suggestions about the rag doll, and she sent me a list of options. Some of them seem like possibilities.... I know I need to get serious about this, but I’m tired and I  have a meeting this morning and two soccer games to watch this afternoon, in the rain, apparently, and tomorrow is Mother’s Day and, wow, there sure are a lot of ways to put this off.

When I look up, the man and the twins are gone.
I gather my things, and kick the now-burned-out cigarette butt on my way out of the car.
The schnauzer barks twice as I pass the Volkswagon.  
The sun peaks out for a moment and I push the Rag Doll back into her corner for another day.

Thursday, May 5, 2011

Disillusioned: An Encounter with a Shaman

I'm adding this image, which I created last month, entitled "Safety"
It seems relevant. In the image I originally had, the wall went all the way around the figure in the middle. I realized that is no longer how I am... and opened it up. Opening up does allow for some pain to get in, but without that opening I've missed out on a lot. I don't want to do that again, and this experience (below) illustrates why.

I've been on a Spiritual Quest for some time now, and it has brought me again and again to the fundamental beliefs of the ancient Shaman. So, yesterday I was looking at Shamanic retreats and workshops. Suddenly a name I hadn't said out loud in thirty years, jumped off the screen and knocked the wind out of me.

I will call her Nando.

She moved in across the street from me when I was around eight, but we really didn't became friends until I was eleven. Our friendship lasted through middle school and a year or two beyond.

Nando was an interesting mix of shyness and enthusiasm. I loved her in the way many twelve-year-olds love a best friend. I remember sleep-overs and walks to school, the stories she loved to write and how excited she'd get over a new, favorite song. I remember that her first crush was on a boy named Brett, and I can still see how she looked when he held her hand.

I was not a good friend.

I was very troubled. I was confused. I had no idea about boundaries of any kind and found my worth only in physical relationships for most of my teens. 

I knew even then that my behavior was not right, I just had no idea why I behaved as I did, or how to change it. I can remember telling Nando about the rape that happened when I was fourteen, as if it was nothing. Closely following that, I confided sleeping with other men, practical strangers, always much older than I.

But the kicker was when I slept with a guy she liked. 

Not only did I sleep with him, but then I told her about it.
In detail.

I know. I'm not proud of it. It was a rough time for me and I'm afraid that spilled out on everyone around me. 

So, yesterday, after I caught my breath, I texted a friend of mine who knows about my love of Shamanism:

A good friend who I've not seen in over thirty years is a practicing Shaman!
Her response:
You have to get in touch with her!

I told her:

We had a stormy past... a guy came between us. It was ugly.
She wrote:
Two Shaman and their stormy past involving a guy? That's a book I want to read! Write it! Now! And you know - she's a SHAMAN. How bad could it be?
Me: Do you think I should email her?

Her: There's some reason you found her, now.

So I composed the following email and then closed my eyes and hit send:

My breath literally caught in my throat when I came across your name. So many memories... wonderful, painful, and some full of shame… It would be such an honor to reconnect with you.

How ironic to find you in this practice... I have friends who call me "the Shaman." but I’m only beginning to learn this Spiritual path.

Perhaps, even after all this time, there are things you haven't forgiven, Holding those distant resentments blocks the energy we seek... this much I do know. If you feel as if you can, contact me. There is a place in my heart that will always be for you.  

I hope this finds you well,  ~Shen

This morning I was excited to see her name in my inbox. I clicked to open it, and this is what I found:

Hello Shen,

Well, it was certainly interesting to find this email. I haven't really thought of you in decades. I hope you are doing well in your journey through life and continue to learn and grow.

As for myself, my life is pretty full. Perhaps it is because I have a vocation that fascinates people, but I am constantly being asked to be friends with people. However, I barely have time for the small, close-knit and very special circle of friends in my life...and I'm a very private person. So I really don't have the time, energy or desire to pursue other friendships.

I wish you the best of luck!

May joy and peace fill your life!
I mean - excuse my language, but the words 'what the fuck' come to mind. Her "vocation" is "fascinating" and she is "constantly" being asked to "be friends"? I had thought of several possible scenarios, but being treated like a groupie or a member of the Paparazzi never crossed my mind. 

And this is how she is after twenty-some years of intense spiritual practice? 

It really hurt me deeply that she would so calmly tell me that she had no time for me and her claim that she had such a close knit group of friends that she didn't need anyone else felt absurd. My stomach cramped up and I saw red for a while, but gradually I calmed down. 

Email to Nando (this morning):
Well, what a surprising response.

I'm glad your life is full, as is mine. The growth and seeking I've been doing for the last few years has brought me many close relationships, so, I don’t find myself in great need of more friends. On the other hand, I’m not in the habit of turning them away when they present themselves.

After seeing your name, I remembered so many things from the past that I haven't thought of in years. I wonder how your mother is. I always thought she was a special person and was so jealous of your relationship with her. I needed someone like that in my life, when I was young. I was so hopelessly unguided.

Of course, I'm hurt by your dismissive response, but I know there must be a reason I came across your name. I will leave you to your busy, private world and wish you the best. I am going on a private retreat next week, and in that solitude, I will let this go. Hanging on to hurt doesn't serve me... that's one thing I've learned well.

Good luck on your journey and should it bring us together in the future, I hope we can co-exist peacefully. If we never meet again, enjoy the ride and I'll see you on the other side.

So, that's my latest emotional crises. A very small part of me looks at her words and the threat of ancient worthlessness pushes towards the surface. However, I'm so much stronger than I used to be. I don't feel bad through-and-through or hopeless as I likely would have even a year ago. That's growth.

In one week, I'm returning to the wonderful quiet of the retreat center I've been to, twice before. For two days I will be completely alone, cut off from all outer contact including phone, internet, tv, radio, or actual human contact. I'm hoping to find that elusive stillness that I only seem to be able to get to through isolation and contemplation. While there, I have a list of things I want to release. Now I have one more thing to add to that list.

We all make mistakes and some of them follow us throughout our lives. At least at this time in my life, I'm able to look at her words and realize that the walls she holds up to protect herself keep out as much love and connection as they do pain. It never occurred to her that I might have something of value to offer her. Instead, she saw my reaching out as a burden. It's sad to think how much she will miss out because of her closed attitude.

And... it's joyful to know that I'm no longer inside those walls.

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Eight Word Poetry

This week's writing exercise was to write eight word poems. inspired by three images. I thought this was really a fun one, and the entries were all great to read. Some were more like poignant captions, others were poetic snippets.
Here are the results: 

Mama's here
My son.
Always near
Sleepy one.

Sad baby.
 Needs love.
Looks sick.

It's just not fair,
 I'm still so small!

Where are you
I need you.

I really don't like waiting for my food.

Sometimes life is expressed in tears.
I'm alive.

Emotions weathered.
I don't belong.
Trapped and tethered.

 Reindeer by water.
Where did you come from?  

No one told me about beaches back home!
Run you are in danger.

How the heck did I end up here?

What's this? 
This snow is hot!

Spirits soar,
Carefree fun,
Simple times
Being young.

 Jump into the desert.
Don't fall off.

See me jump.
This is so much fun!

Which one of you 'innocents' is the prisoner?

I hope I don't bounce off this trampolene.

Joining in
Jumping high

Sunday, May 1, 2011

Eight Word Poem

This week's writing prompt: Look at the images below (one at a time) and grab the first thing that comes to mind when you see them. Write your thoughts and feelings for each of the three images, using only eight words for each one.




I'll post my reactions and yours, on Tuesday

Co Creation

Co Creation
We create the life we live

Love your inner child...

...for she holds the key...

...to your personal power.
A lesson is woven into each day.
Together they make up the tapestries of our lives.