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This is where I've been in between my clinical work with clients ~

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that’s what Natalie Goldberg, my favorite of all time writer gurus says, just write.  Just do it, man.  or in my case, woman.  Put pen to paper.  Finger tips to keyboard.  Pencil to cardboard.  Fingers to the air.  Just do it.  Right now.  Right here.  No excuses.  No stopping.  No monkey mind.   That’s what Goldberg calls that part of our brain that distracts us and pulls us right and left up and down and then all zig zaggy.  When all the time, our original intention was to sit down and write out a page or two or ten or the poem of our life.

This Saturday evening, I am attending a Literary Salon.  Sounds fancy, huh?  At least it does to me.  I joined a local writer’s group earlier this year, it could have been last year, it was in the dark months of winter that much I remember.  I am not much of a joiner in the way of joining groups.  I used to be.  A joiner of political groups.  I railed against all sorts of human injustices and fought hard for human and individual rights for a long long time.  And then I grew weary.

Back to my current subject of the fancy sounding upcoming Literary Salon.  I am excited.  Nervous.  But more excited.  The event is being held at someone’s home whom I have never met.  And here’s the really cool and brave part, I volunteered to read some of my writing.   The organizers were looking for 10 volunteers to read 5 minutes of their work.  Since most of my essays are more than two pages long, I quickly decided to read a few selections from my body of erotica poetry.  That is, until I spoke with the main organizer who informed me that there will be children present.  Good to know.  So onto Plan B.  or Actually C.

I have chosen four other poems to read and have been practicing the timing of the reading and introduction to the pieces to fit within the five minute allotment.  Five minutes goes by really fast!

This will be good for me.  Meeting other writers.  Being inspired by their work in progress.  Sharing a part of myself that has been dormant for far too long.

So I have returned to my roots and busted out my beloved guru’s books, Writing Down the Bones and Wild Mind.  They have inspired me for many years and continue to remind me of my first love ~ words, writing and the telling of stories.  Utter bliss.  Just write.  So right.

already here.  the day that was yesterday that was meant to be the other day so that I could write a post on my blog today two days ago.  but it, the day, or more aptly put, the days already have passed.  so quickly.  they are gone.  history.

And so it is

that I am here in this moment writing that I am still here in the blogosphere.  That my blog is always in my heart and never far from my conscious thoughts.  Even when those thoughts and ideas and emotions and happenings and daily minutia and big deals and little ordeals don’t make it onto the screen ~ I am still here.

And so it is

that autumn has returned to the Land of Already Freezing Ground North Land.  The past few days have gifted us with glorious sun.  Golden sun rays that followed weeks of record rain fall, and record windstorms and flooding.

And so it is

that the sun is loved and beloved and cherished

by me.

Big news ~ that little diddy.

And so it is

that I am pleased to write some words on this first day of October.  to write some words on any day actually.  just glad.

A few weeks ago I wrote about the idea of creating time in a box. My post today includes additional notes I jotted down in my personal journal to help me toward creating my very own time in a box ~

On Joy the Baker’s blog, she posted about her time in a capsule project that she and a friend undertook. They each placed several mementos in a box with attached notes about the item and then wrapped the box and tied it with twine to be opened 7 years in the future. I like this idea. And have been thinking about it for a couple of days.

What is keeping me from creating my time in a box? For it is clear that something is preventing me from doing so. I get excited; feel the excitement viscerally and then… nothing. I put on the brakes. Get stuck. Glued in place. Paralysis sets in.

A very familiar process that has been repeated multiple times in multiple ways throughout my life but with the same result ~ a stymied creative spirit, a damming of creative juices and subsequently a pervasive depressed soul.

So what can I do that can move me toward action, if only a baby step or two?

Time Box Items

1. A lock of my purple hair to remind me that even in my 50’s I still have a sense of stylish fun;

2. A copy of my paystub so I can remember where I was working in 2011;

3. A photograph of my living room or a portion thereof to help me remember where I called home;

4. A photograph of my art supplies on my long birch art table to help me remember that I was an artist even when I was not producing any tangible pieces;

5. My adoptive Mama’s salt shaker, the clear glass one with blue paint circles and metal cap to remind me that this was the year in which I made a major major change in my diet and went super low sodium;

6. A self taken photograph of me so I can see how I have changed in the ensuing 7 years;

7. A photograph of me with my daughter, the grandkiddos, and the rest of my clan to keep safe in a box for 7 years even though I cannot guarantee their safety in the world outside.

So here is proof of artistic life.
One baby step at a time.

deconstructing
backtracking
to

what holds me ~ keeps me ~
here.

identifying
item
by
person

helps
keep the anchor
buried deep.
@junemoon 2011

This weekend I spent some time perusing a number of new-to-me blog sites. Some of my visits were short but sweet while others tarried over and savored. As you may imagine, by the time I closed my laptop I was saturated, stunned and inspired by the folks who are sharing their lives online. Folks similar to you and me simply sharing their likes and dislikes ~ things that make them sing with delight and things that make them roar with indignant rage ~ their life challenges and their life’s rewards ~ their muses and their demons.

Wow.

One of these bloggers wrote a simple paragraph about the three things she would save if she could take only three, from a burning home. What she chose made me ponder and then ask, really? Humans. An interesting bunch we are.

This blogger’s short paragraph got me to asking myself the same question. Hypothetical questions can keep me going for days if not weeks and months and the really juicy what if’s can entertain me for years, on end. In made-up situations we get to leave the burning building with three companinons or items or things or possessions or a combination of the aforementioned but are afforded the luxury of dropping them all on the sidewalk and running back for three more. Hypotheticals are like that. Ever expanding to accommodate anxieties, forgetfulness (oh I forgot my goldfish), and even mere changes of minds. The hypothesizer knows going into or out of the make believe burning home that they and their belongings are not in danger, at least from the pretend fire that is happening only in their heads at that moment.

In real life or a facsimile of one’s real life, who knows what we or in my case, I would snatch up or drag out with the flames licking at my heels.

But a small bit of reality has never done much to slow me down from living my life and entertaining myself so back to the original musing ~ what three things would I rescue from their smoke-filled fate.

Here’s what I’ve come up with, for today at least: 1) any living creature known to me (excluding insects and/or rodents ~ I know ~ I am cold hearted anthropomorphizing woman); 2) my important papers file (this is my hypothetical and if I say I have an important papers file already in existence, then I do, damnit); and, 3) paper money (enough said, I won’t go into detail about amount of said imagined money).

I think my three things prove to me all over again that I am not a romantic at heart. I think I already knew that part but these things require sussing out every now and then. Just to make sure. I am sure, however, that I am a blogger. I am also sure that being a blogger places me in great company with many many other folks who are sharing their lives one interesting post at a time.

Blue sky and sun on grand display. Fully spotlighting the leaves in their brilliant autumn regalia. And here’s me, staying in the moment ~ rejoicing at the beauty that this season hands over free of charge.

No future tripping allowed here today. The soft blanket of white stuff will cover the earth in its own time and place.
Today there is abundance of autumn splendor.

Rejoice!
Don’t mind if I do.

The ritual of creating a home base is what I am right smack dab in the middle of this holiday weekend. Serendipitous it seems that the day the nation is observing is named Labor Day. As luck would have it, my current project is a labor of love.

Part of the dictionary’s definiton of home base talks about a five-sided chunk of material representing safety for the baseball player. Homes represent the center of safety for the occupants ~ a place of their very own wherein they can truly be themselves without fear of reprisal. The latter part of my home definition doesn’t always play out for members of a family as sometimes we experience the most judgment and/or negative feedback for being our authentic selves from our own tribe. That, however, is a thought journey onto itself for another day…

Today it is enough for me to create with love and labor a home base where I can enjoy the feelings of safety and belonging. Once the need for safety is attained this blogger can re-awaken and dance with my inner artist muse.

I am a lucky lucky woman.
I am an artist and a writer.

I have a Home Base ~

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