Even the Moon is Asleep

The last day of July.

Two-thirds of the summer has passed. Two-thirds of this writing project. It's hard to wrap my head around it. 

I was talking with a friend today and we decided that we both need to get very clear around vision. And not simply as something that takes up a page in a journal, but something that fills every waking moment. Every thought. Every image-bearing part of our minds.

You have to be able to see where you are going.

  

The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice created to harness three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it. Most of them usually are.

But I Want One For Myself

It came across my news feed today.

A lovely picture of an herb garden in a stone spiral. I'd seen pictures of these before and instructions on how to make them, but it had been awhile. And this was particularly lovely.  I paused and asked the poster if if was hers. If she'd made it.

"Not mine but I want one for myself," was her reply.

Not mine, but I want one for myself.

How many times have I said something like that?  And usually it's accompanied by something else that is unspoken.

"...but..."

And there's usually some lame reason why it can't be mine or why I can't do it. And, as I write this, I realize that "lame" is a perfect word to describe such inner reactions to seeing something we want and coming up with reasons we think we cannot have it. 

I looked it up and love these definitions. "Unable to walk normally because of an injury or illness affecting the leg or foot," and "(of an explanation or excuse) unconvincingly feeble."

The second definition took me by surprise and made me laugh out loud because of its truth. But I suppose the word has been used often enough for this that what once had been metaphor has now become part of the common usage.

 It was the metaphor, though, that pulled me this time.

Regardless of how common they've become, there is nothing normal about limiting beliefs and about operating out of them. We are built to see possibility, to imagine possibility, and to go toward possibility. All of the best that we are and that we have grows out of that. 

So there really is a disability in how we relate to ourselves and to the world around us when we operate from limiting beliefs rather than out of the belief that we can manifest possibility.

I don't want to ponder overlong the injuries and illnesses that have led to whatever limiting beliefs I hold. I simply acknowledge that they are there and want to be healed.

Perhaps a good practice to take up is simply to complete the sentence differently.

But I want one for myself, so I will do this and this and this to make it happen.

Or - it would be great to have that but there are other things I'd rather have right now like this and this and this, and this is what I'm going to do to I make it happen.

I think about this with my current living situation. Six years ago I moved out of my house during a divorce so that I could create a healthier living situation. I moved to a place that was about half the size. It was lovely, right on the river. And expensive. Three years ago I decided to move to an even smaller place. About half the size smaller again. I can the see river from a distance when there are no leaves on the trees. It is moderately priced and I made this choice because I wanted to free more resources for travel, which I have. I travel to amazing places a few times a year. I've actually been astonished at what I've been able to do with my resources.  

There also are times I look around and wonder what I was thinking to move into such a small place. There are so many limits renting and renting something so small. But there are also so many possibilities when you free your resources to invest in something other than housing and related expenses. Still, so often a woman's self-identity, sense of value and self-worth is tied up in her home. There's a deep identification and relationship between a woman's home and her understanding of her achievement. I think it's in our bones and in a level of awareness that is sometimes hard to make conscious.

And I have to be honest and say that it's been hard to make a nice home just for myself. It was easy to do when I had a husband and children and shared my life with others. I loved being a homemaker for a family, even as a woman who also worked outside the home. And now, between not being sure of what to do with the artifacts of that life and feeling that I don't know how to be in a life just with myself, I still haven't figured out what home means for me now.

I am tempted to move through this quickly and to tie it all up in a neat package. I certainly know the right thing to say about this kind of thing, but that does not feel authentic. 

So it's time to pause and to be with this. And to see where that journey takes me.

    

The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice created to harness three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.

And Sights Become Mysteriously Distorted

Time flows in strange ways on Sundays.

Haruki Murakami

I came across this quote today and wondered about the man to whom it is attributed. He's a Japanese writer of books and stories. His titles include, A Wild Sheep Chase, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World, Kafka on the Shore, and Hear the Wind Sing. From what I can tell by reading short summaries of these works on the Publishers Weekly website, it looks as if he writes magical realism. One of the descriptions begins with, "If Gabriel Garcia-Marquez and H.G. Wells had gotten together to write a novel, it might have looked like this."

I love magical realism. I write magical realism. I didn't know that I did that until a writing teacher referred to that genre five years ago when describing my writing. I'd never heard of it before even though my undergrad degree was heavy in literature. I'm not sure they were teaching about that in the late 70s and early 80s. If they were, they didn't teach it to me.

It's interesting how we can do a thing without knowing we are doing it. It's interesting that we can be part of something without realizing it. It's interesting how the creative muse gives us what we need to be where we need to be. 

His heroes routinely journey into a metaphysical realm -- the unconscious, the dreamscape, the land of the dead -- to examine directly their memories of people and objects they have lost.

From the same Publishers Weekly piece, this description of his literary explorations sounds familiar. In my story The Journeys of Rainbow Snake, characters move in and out of myth, dream, and memory to explore the ending of a marriage and the place of women in relationships through time. The main characters include a woman in real time and women who move through the labyrinth of time, dream, myth, and memory, and who are strangely connected in a single moment and in a decision being made by the woman in real time. 

Curiosity is a wonderful facility of our imaginations and creativity.

Long after I post this writing I will be exploring articles about Murakami's work and very likely making an unexpected trip to the used bookstore in Doylestown to see if I can find some of his books. It's probably the only used bookstore in the area that might have one of his works. I was just there the other day and picked up a fascinating title by Salman Rushdie -- Haroun and the Sea of Stories. The title pulled at me. 

The description -- In his most humorous novel, Salman Rushdie gives us an imaginative work of extraordinary intensity and power that is, at its heart, an illumination of the necessity of storytelling in our lives.

Works for me. That's pretty much the core of the work that I do.

But it's going to have to wait. While I read several books at once, I read only one fiction work at a time. I picked up Mary Shelley's Frankenstein on the same trip to the bookstore. I've been wanting to read it for awhile and it's one of those books you take your time with. 

I'm learning to read fiction again. After my marriage ended, I lost my capacity to focus while reading fiction. Most of my time has been spent writing and reading non-fiction and poetry. It's strange, because I once devoured novels, literary fiction, and short stories. I could move through a Donna Leon story in a day. I read several books a month. Now my library is filled with things like archaeology (always an interest of mine), physics (another favorite), and mythology (definitely a beloved genre), as well as others. But of fiction, I can boast only of stacks of books I've picked up over the last six years to tempt myself. Sometimes I begin one of those books, but rarely do I finish it. 

I'm hoping the drought around this is coming to an end. Reading is a peculiar treat and giving time to it is one of the ways I am loving toward myself.

In the meantime, I want to find the book that unlocks the secrets of the quote above. The mystery deepens as I discover that it is part of an even more interesting sentence. 

Time flows in strange ways on Sundays, and sights become mysteriously distorted.

                                                                                                                        IQ84

I had to stop writing a moment to look up some of his quotes on Goodreads.

Wow. Just wow.

The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice created to harness three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an unusual Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.

The Stubborn Skin

Yesterday's writing seeded some powerful self-reflection that feels raw today.

I'm still captured by the image of the snake shedding her skin and the irritation that compels her to begin to rub up against rocks to loosen the skin and pull herself out of it. 

A poem in my collection called The Stubborn Skin comes to mind. I wrote it in July about six years ago while going through divorce, shortly after I moved out of the house I shared with my family. There's nothing like being alone for the first time in your life at age 50 to set the stage for plumbing the depths of your existence.

I'm still plumbing. It can be a slow process. Or maybe it's a process that comes back around like points on a spiral. You go wider or deeper with it. 

Yes, that's it. I got curious about how often a snake sheds its skin and looked it up. If the snake is growing rapidly, she may shed her skin every two weeks. If she's an older snake, she might shed her skin only twice a year. Snakes are fierce. And such wonderful teachers. When we're in a cycle of rapid transformation the need for shedding is frequent, but nevertheless, it is a regular process. 


I think that feels comforting to me.

There can be a lot of interesting self-talk when one is shedding what no longer serves and I find that it's a good idea to ignore most of it. This evening I had to get out of the house and go for a ride and look at the river. I needed something that felt nourishing. The river is high right now because we've had so much rain. Another big one and she will be overflowing her banks. 

Another teacher. Another mirror.

The beautiful thing about overflowing her banks is the land around the river is watered and the growth becomes lush. Normally this time of year we are in drought, so there is something wonderful about being outside these days and in so much that is green and growing. 

The final teacher from nature that comes to mind today is the cycles of light and dark. Sunset today was at 8:17 pm, about twenty-five minutes earlier than it was at the Solstice. The daylight is diminishing and darkness is beginning to fall again. It happens very quickly. There's something about this that affects me deeply. I much prefer the rising light. A month ago when I wrote at this time, I watched the slowly diminishing light and the play of light and shadow with the clouds and the tops of the trees I can see from my kitchen window. Now, it's full dark.

That does not feel comforting to me. It unsettles me.

My mother and I were talking today about aging and what it is like for a woman alone who has raised a family, how difficult it is to fund the energy to do for oneself. How much more natural it feels to do for others. How she must learn to love herself and to give herself what she once gave to others. And with as much lavish attention, grace, and generosity.   

I'm going to need to work hard over the next month to begin to do this. But I am heartened that it took only two months for me to actually name it.   






The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice created to harness three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.


   

Learning to Let the Shadow Go

It was like watching a snake shed her skin.

Shining brightly in the night sky over two thirds of the Earth, the moon moved in and out of eclipse today. 

We were fortunate to be able to watch live stream with views from observatories of five international partners - Australia, Israel, UAE, Greece, and South Africa. The views were stunning. I picked up the broadcast when the eclipse was near maximum and the deep blood red-orange color of the moon was striking so close up. I've seen lunar eclipses in the sky before, but watching this had its own unique perspective and pleasure.

But I think the best part for me today has been watching the eclipse shadow move off across the moon and reveal the moon's shining surface. It's doing that right now, and I was so startled by the image that I had to start writing while I was feeling inspired.

The stream is highlighting the UAE view from Abu Dhabi and from the top left view of the lunar surface, the shadow is peeling away toward the right in a downward, diagonal motion. There are dust clouds or winds or some kind of movement as the shadow moves off and it appears to the naked eye, mine, that the shadow is dissolving and disseminating into the skies. And as it does, more and more of the moon's shining surface is revealed once again.  

Israel is showing a black and white image, highlighting light and shadow and, from that perspective, it appears that we are seeing an entire month of lunar movement in a few minutes. As if we're watching all of the lunar cycle as a single, unfolding moment.

The view from Australia showed the red-orange hue give way to shining golden light moving across the lunar surface.

Santorini gave us a view from the ground, with Mars shining nearby. Mars is very close to earth these days in his orbit and, astrologically, he's exactly conjunct the Moon, which is why we see them so close together in the night sky. Mars is the orange point of light that shines in the eastern sky these days, well, nights. The point of light is still. Only stars twinkle. Planets do not. 

Johannesburg, South Africa's view seems to be a topsy turvy version of the UAE view. The shadow is moving off from the bottom left toward the top right. 

But it's that UAE view that captures me so much. Like a snake shedding her skin and leaving behind what no longer fits or serves. When the old skin begins to irritate, the eyes of the snake become clouded and she begins to rub away that old skin. She is vulnerable because she cannot see and because her attention is fixed on this transformation. She is powerful because she is willing to do the hard work of letting it go and remaking herself. 

There is so much we can learn by reflecting on both the process of the snake's shedding her skin and the peeling away, so to speak, of the lunar shadow as the eclipse moves off. 

If the moon could speak to me, she would say - 

          There is no shadow. There is only what you see and what you give power to.

          The shadow that obscures me from your eyes is simply a perspective. I remain,

          shining brightly in the heavens. 

          Everything is perspective. Everything is perception. Connect with what lies 

          behind all perspective and perception. That is what is real.

If she could speak to me.

The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice created to harness three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it. Most of them usually are.



The photo was taken by a friend, Dean Adams, in real time during the eclipse in Dubai.

Sometimes it's like Walking a Tightrope

Today Wild Thing has an army behind her.

But it looks more like a marching band.

I'd wanted to draw her like an ancient Celtic warrior but somehow she ended up wearing something that looks like a tux and has a mace in her hand instead of a spear. 

It was a rough morning, but somehow I managed to keep my sense of humor. I look at my Attendance Card and chuckle a bit because Wild Thing looks fierce, as she usually does, but she could also be in Cabaret. Her army could just as easily be her chorus line. 

I'm working around boundaries these days. 

I have a colleague who says she pays attention to what I do with boundaries and that I'm a role model for her with that. That I'm good at boundaries. I find it amazing that others see me that way because that is one area I feel definitely needs improvement. I'm better than I once was, but I feel like I have a long way to go before I am comfortable with how I set and hold a boundary. 

Take work, for example. I'm working with a congregation part-time. At their request. They want to dedicate limited resources for their transition work and reserve resources for later. This is not unusual, but there's only so much pastoring that can be part-time. It's like being a part-time elected official or a part-time doctor. You're always on call and there is a lot of work to do. 

Still, part-time work in a congregation can happen. It requires agreement around how everything is going to get done and more engagement from the laity. There are things I don't attend to and limited times I am at the church. The church has adjusted its output over some years and we're not increasing the volume of what they're doing. The interesting thing is there are still things that need to be attended to and I find that people try to cram a lot into the times I am there and to use things like email to stretch my time and attention. 

So often, the day after I am "at work" feels more like a recovery day than it does a day that I can dedicate to my own endeavors. It begins with waking up with a headache and with feeling un-rested. I have a slow start to my day. Sometimes I don't get to what I'd hoped to accomplish. And because it's for me and for my own benefit, and not for the benefit of others, it sometimes suffers. 

There is a definite need for attention to boundaries here. 

Awareness is a good first step. 

This morning in my morning pages I noted that it feels like there are two of me. It was a deeply physical awareness. I'd been noticing how my body felt. My left side was swollen and in pain. My arm seemed like it was hanging limp. The body never lies. There's a lot of good information there if we're willing to pay attention. I noted that havoc on Wednesday flows into the rest of the week. And I reminded myself of the mantra of transitional ministry. One I created for myself. 

I master myself and my reactions; I surrender to what I cannot control and remain unattached to outcome.

This works for most other life situations as well. 

There's a tiny note, "I need an army of Wild Things." I was completely serious when I wrote it and it is interesting to me. Do I need more of me to fulfill my obligations? To do my work well? Do I feel isolated and in need of support?

Or do I need that army to marshal me for battle? To bring all my inner resources to the task of setting workable boundaries and not making myself responsible for other people's choices?

That's probably the one. 

\

The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice created to harness three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.

  

The Universe Calls My Name

Lynda Barry would be proud of me.

I continue to draw comics. I've drawn one every day since I've been home. Today, Wild Thing is playing hopscotch. Yesterday she took her cup of tea and a book to sit under the apple tree. The day before, she jumped into a puddle in a rain shower. The day before that, she jumped off a cliff. And the day before that, my first day home from the workshop, she was walking down a path and blowing the seeds off a dandelion. And jumping for joy.

She really is my secret self.

And these days, I'm living vicariously through her.

At the workshop, we drew a comic every morning on a 4x6 index card. Lynda calls it our attendance card. And, while I haven't kept up all the writing practices or figured out a way to continue them daily yet, I have continued to draw my attendance card comic. It's another way I'm showing up for myself. 

In the morning, following my morning pages, I pull a card, draw a frame, and begin to draw her in a new adventure. And as I do it, I set the intention to show up for my life that day. The Universe calls my name and I respond, "Present."

There is some kind of powerful creative alchemy going on here.

For now, I'm happy for it to remain a mystery.

I may have written before that I work twice as hard the weeks before and after I take time off of work, whether it's for vacation, continuing ed, or some other kind of work I'm doing. Today was my first day back in the office after being away for a week of continuing education. I welcomed and started training a new office administrator, received (with regret) the resignation of our most excellent organist, worked on a transition plan for that situation, had two planning meetings and a staff meeting, taught a class, had lunch with the community senior program participants, fielded multiple phone calls and emails, straightened out several crooked situations, handled a few pastoral care situations, and attended to all the usual things. It was a long day. 

Wild Thing sat on my kitchen table all day and then welcomed me home. She was still playing hopscotch and the sun was still high in the sky in her world. Made me smile. It still makes me smile as I sit here typing and see her determinedly casting the stone toward the hopscotch grid. I wonder what she'll get up to tomorrow.

The gift in drawing comics is inviting more lightness of being into my life. 

Who knew that something like that could be so transformational. 

I remember when Lynda first introduced it, and I think I may have rolled my eyes. I certainly did not think it would be perhaps the most important part of the week for me. And I certainly did not think I would continue drawing comics when I came home. I absolutely did not think I would grow to love it. 

But I did. 

We, truly, can surprise ourselves.   

The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice created to harness three weeks for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.


Art and photo: (c) 2018 Katherine Cartwright

The Wisdom in the Dandelion We Hold in Our Hand

The energies are rising toward mid-day.

I have just finished meditating. It's been a busy and topsy-turvy morning. My mastermind circle met via Zoom meeting on an unexpected day because of a change in the facilitator's schedule. I went to prepare some materials for a meeting later today and the site I use to prepare a form I need for this is doing server maintenance and the site is unavailable. I woke early today and had tea and wrote my morning pages. They wrote slowly and I felt pressure to tie things up before I was ready in order to be on time for my 8 am meeting. I have another meeting at 1 pm, and it is likely that I will be unprepared if the website I need for the form does not move into a space of availability.

The energy of the day feels dissolving and disseminating, like the seeds of a dandelion blowing away on the wind.

As I reflect on this surprising image, I feel the energy of choice emerging.

The first image I get is of a child, holding an empty stem in her hand, the joy of the experience dissipates as she notices that all that is left of it is an empty stem. Her perspective is close and focused on what she is holding, rather than on what she has unleashed. 

What might happen if she were to look beyond the empty thing she holds in her hand to what is being carried away because of the simple act of her breath having released it?

How we see things. 

What we choose to focus on. 

How we interpret our experience.

All of this shapes every moment.

In the midst of a harried morning, I pause for a time of stillness and my perspective changes. 

So what does the child do once the moment with the dandelion ends? When the seeds have flown and she can no longer see them riding the winds? When they have passed out of sight and all that is left of the experience, truly, is the empty stem in her hand?

For there is a time when that is the truth of the experience.

Does she hold on to the empty stem? For a time? Forever? 

Does she let it go, cast it away to become compost that will nurture ground for dandelions? And in doing so, does she look around and notice what next captures her attention?

Yes.    

The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice created to harness three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.

Honoring Conflicting Needs

I withdrew my energy today for a day. 

It feels strange to be writing now. It feels a bit like a paradox. The need to withdraw and the need to keep my daily commitment to show up for my writing and to ship it.

And, perhaps, that is all that needs to be said.

 

The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice created to harness three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.

Painter's Tape and Prosciutto

There were two items on my shopping list today.

And I think it may be the strangest shopping list I've ever written. Stranger still, was my need to actually go out to the store for these two items. But I had a need for both. The painter's tape, to hang some comics on the wall and create a gallery to inspire me to continue the writing practices I learned at the workshop last week, and the prosciutto because I bought beautiful peaches at the farm market yesterday and arugula at the grocery store. It suddenly occurred to me this morning that I had two of three ingredients for my favorite summer dish, grilled peaches wrapped in prosciutto and served over arugula, drizzled with a balsamic vinaigrette.

Truth be told, it's a four-ingredient dish. There are also chopped pistachios on the dish. I don't think I have any in my pantry. And it doesn't really matter because when I was at the store, I picked up some Thai chicken burgers and noodles to make a pad thai. That's what I had for dinner. The peaches will be on the menu tomorrow.

That's a bit how my choosing has been going lately. Like the path of a fly in summer. Here, there, all around everywhere, and nowhere expected. Even today's writing is not what I'd expected to write about, which was around choice. I may make my way there, eventually, but this feels more like it's about the truly strange shopping trip I took today and food. 

I almost made it out of the store with only the two items on my list. 

But there were two problems. The first was the fabulous selection of prosciutto at the store. I picked up what I bought for the grilled peach dish, but then my eye caught a more expensive and beautiful Prosciutto di Parma. I could not resist. And I walked back to the produce section and got a cantaloupe. 

Once I got the melon, it was off to pick out a nice parmigiano-reggiano because, of course, that will be nice with the prosciutto and melon. And then the tiny jar of fig jam caught my eye and somehow made its way into my little cart. And then I figured that as long as I was getting a few things, I might as well get a few things more. I had a taste for Thai food and picked up the chicken and noodles. I had the other ingredients at home.

Except for the scallions, so it was back to the produce section.

Yes, just like the path of a fly on a summer day. 

The other challenge to my original list is the hardware section of this grocery store did not have painter's tape. So, I popped into the Rite Aid next door and it was sold out. 

I picked up something I'd not seen before, Scotch (brand) Wall-Safe Tape with Post-It Technology. Seriously. It actually says all that. It was a little pricey, but less expensive than driving over to Lowe's or Home Depot, so there it is. 

All of that took my mind off the unexpected beauty of the day. 

My iPhone weather app predicted thunderstorms and rain all day, so I decided to sleep in and take a rest and restoration day instead of doing something fun and adventurous. I'd planned some rest and integration days for my re-entry after my workshop. First, because it was an intense and rigorous week that included travel, and second, because it's so easy to lose life-changing experiences if you jump back into work too quickly. 

The kind of work I do is not easy to take time away from. I work twice as hard the week before I go and the week after I return. Sometimes it's so intense that I lose all that I'd gained by being away. So I've learned to carefully plan time away so that I can nurture my gains rather than allowing them to be sucked away by the vacuum of return.

By the time I got up today and did my morning pages and everything else related to getting moving for the day, it was almost noon and instead of sleeping while it rained, I slept through a great morning. My morning journal today is filled with all kinds of self-disparagement for choosing poorly. And also with self-scolding for all the self-judgment and self-criticism.

All that got me thinking about how important it is that we own our choices, regardless of the choices we make. 

There are factors that we simply cannot anticipate or control, and so kicking ourselves because we sleep through a great morning rather than having spent time planning something for what just as easily could have been disappointing because of weather that did not align and missing a great opportunity to sleep in accompanied by luscious gentle rainfall, is pointless. I remind myself that my choice this weekend was to rest, restore, and integrate after the exertions and intensity of the previous week. That rest, restoration, and integration, as well as the exertion and intensity, were all choices. Great choices. 

I feel like I've got a mouth full of something that can't be completely masticated. It may be that the topic of choice will come up again. It may be the new weekly theme. This writing seems to call up themes that emerge and want to be opened up and looked at again and again. 

For now, I'm hearing the eleven o'clock news from the TV in the other room. They've found an alligator in a creek behind someone's house. That's quite a find in Philadelphia.  

I'm choosing to sign off and go hear what that's all about.  

Homecoming

I feel as if I lived a week in a single day. 

It began in New York and ended back home. The last half day of the writing workshop came and went. We wrote another book. I suspect that Lynda wanted us to know that what we'd done the day before was not an aberration. 

Saw an old friend. Spent time at two farm markets and a grocery store. Came home to a dark house. Ate Chinese food at my kitchen table, with only the light of darkening skies after sunset. Wrote my blog with one-finger-typing on an iPhone and held my breath as it finally posted. Fell asleep to the sound of a dog that barked for hours.

The electricity was restored sometime overnight.

I thought about checking into a B & B before I left New York and spending an extra day. Yesterday was beautiful and it would have been nice to have enjoyed a glass of wine on the patio of a nice eatery somewhere. But there's something about the momentum of coming home that drives me forward once I'm on my way.

The momentum ended at my front door. 

It wasn't until I was sitting at my kitchen table this morning reflecting on the last week that I felt the intensity of the work I'd just completed. Twenty-five rigorous hours of fierce writing over five days. We wrote in 2 1/2-3 hour segments, and each of those was divided into four-eight minute bursts of timed writing. I also wrote and posted to the blog every day and wrote in my morning pages journal all but one day I was away.  

A true immersion.




Beyond these reflections I have no thoughts, and I've given myself a few days to integrate this experience quietly at home, and to decide the practices I will choose to maintain. 







The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice created to harness three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.

 

Coming Home to a Dark House

Came home from the writing workshop to a dark house.

The word is a transformer is blown. It's been about four hours, and no news. It's so strange to see the neighborhood completely dark.

No point in trying to stay awake. Time for bed. This one-fingered typing on my iPhone is for the birds.

A beautiful breeze blows through the open windows.

Praise be, for small mercies that bring great comfort.

And sometimes you just have to go with what is.

The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice created to harness three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journry, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.

Postcards from the Unthinkable, Vol. 5

I wrote a book this afternoon.

Eight chapters and illustrations. It's been read by several people already. Of course, I have not yet read it myself. Rules of the class. It's been a surrealistic week. 

I haven't measured the volume of my writing. Or gotten its measure. I don't know if any of it is any good. Haven't read any of that work either. 

We've written several stories every day. There must be an anthology in my notebook, which is nearly full with story notes, stories, cartoons, and comics. It looks a little like a Linda Barry book, a wacky collection of writing, notes, cartoons and comics, questions, answers, and assorted miscellany.

After class today there was a bonus session on expository writing. Imagine for a moment, a cartoonist teaches how to approach academic and expository writing. I have the beginnings of a new project completed. It's a project that's had more false starts than I care to count. Apparently, I've been thinking too much. 

How did I accomplish this great feat, you might ask? With a word, a question, and a photograph. Someone completely unrelated to my project provided the question. A person I've never met provided the photo. The word is mine.


Remind me someday to tell you how it all came together.

There's another morning of class before this extraordinary workshop concludes. As I sit here thinking about life after Linda, I honestly can't imagine it. It's been absolutely life changing. I can understand why people come back year after year. I can understand why the workshop sells out before the catalog is mailed in the spring. I'm pretty sure it sells out within 72 hours of being posted and open for registration. It may sell out even faster than that.

On a completely unrelated topic, my daughter turned 30 today.

I'm still taking it in.

It's the first of her birthdays that I haven't actually spoken with her. The cell coverage here is spotty, and when I can get service there's only one bar. I've been in class and she's been at work. I hope to be able to speak with her before the clock strikes midnight, but I'm not holding my breath. 

I sent her a card and wrote her some long text messages with some beautiful memories I have of her birth and of birthdays over the years. That's the good thing about having a mom who writes. She writes. And litters your way with artifacts you can pick up. They begin to tell a story, and you discover you are holding a moment in your hand.

One you can hold forever.






The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice created to harness three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.

Postcards from the Unthinkable, Vol. 4

Getting a bit of a late start this evening.

A glorious day dawned after the storms. The air is crisp and cool. The sky is crystalline blue. The lake is so clear it looks like a mirror. The flowers are standing tall again and their colors seem more vivid.

It's easier to breathe. The air is not so heavy

As I reflect on the day, and on the week so far, I find it harder and harder to say exactly what I'm learning. The strands are coming together and their edges are blurring. They bleed into one another and become a single organism rather than distinct strands. Even being clear around what I'm trying to say feels confusing.

It's a good place to be.

Everything is synthesizing and becoming a part of me instead of something apart from me.

It reminds me of a time when I was about to go on stage as part of a dramatic production. As we stood there, poised to go on, I had a moment of panic. I thought to myself, "What was I thinking signing on to do this?" It was just a moment. In the next, I realized that what I was about to do was in my body, part of the fabric of me, and that there was nothing to be nervous about.

I had a moment this morning when I wondered if I'd still be able to draw cartoons when I get home. Turns out l like doing it. Turns out, also, that we can reconnect with those things we did as children and gave up as adults when we started doing adult things. That we can reconnect with gifts we forgot we had or with things we love and thought we'd outgrown.

Earlier today, I pulled out an index card to write down an idea for a chapter in a book I'm working on and an image to go with the chapter. At the bottom of the card I drew a frame and added a comic with my character bringing the image to life.

It's becoming as natural as breathing.

The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice created to harness three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an unusual Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.

Postcards from the Unthinkable, Vol. 3

Wild Thing, I think I love you.

On my mind right now is this cartoon that seems to be developing. I like her, and I think she's coming to life. It feels like a story that wants to be written. A poet goes to a writing workshop and creates a character who comes to life. A cartoon character.

Unthinkable.

And someone must have done it already.

My character reminds me a little of the Maurice Sendak characters. I always wondered why he had only boy characters and no girl characters. They had such great adventures. I wanted to have adventures like that. Maybe I'll give myself some.

I want to draw her on safari. And in the desert.

Why didn't I give her a tiara?

Instead, I gave her a crown, scepter, and orb. And ermine. I gave her ermine. But she looks angry. An angry queen - it's too domesticated for her.

She'd rather be on an adventure.

The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice created to harness three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.



Cartoon: (c)2018 Katherine Cartwright

Postcards from the Unthinkable, Vol. 2

It's been a long day.

The sun is near setting and I am back in the cafe, inside this time, with my handy tiny keyboard and iPhone as mini computer and screen. This is turning out to be one of the best gifts my son has given me. I brought my laptop, but it's a lot to lug up and down the hills here in the steamy and sticky weather.

The air is so heavy with moisture it's hard to breathe.

With my tiny keyboard, I can write in the cafe and edit and post when I get back to my room. Things are kicking in the cafe and it's fun to be where the action is. Tonight people are playing games and chatting over ice cream cones. 

The ice cream here is famous. Locally made and wonderful, with flavors like coconut almond joy, my personal favorite, and chocolate cherry chunk. The chocolate looks good too, rich and dark and creamy. Someone at a nearby table is having grapefruit sorbet.

I can think about ice cream for days.

But we're here to explore the UNthinkable. 

It was the title of the workshop that captured me. Who wouldn't want to spend a week writing the unthinkable? Such a title sets my imagination into overdrive. It turns out that writing the unthinkable has more to do with freeing the mind to write than with anything else. In just two hours this morning we wrote three stories and drew four cartoons. 

Yes. That is what I said. I actually drew cartoons. 

And they're pretty good. 

If you told me last night that I would be drawing cartoons today, I'd have told you you're nuts. But I did, and I spent the afternoon learning how to draw comic strips. Mind you, we had no idea that's what we were doing. It's all part of the teacher's genius. What started with a paper folding exercise and a squiggle became a four panel comic strip. I drew four of them.

We might be in a magical realm where the impossible happens.

As we moved around the room, looking at the strips produced by the class, I marveled. I still can't believe what we did today, except that the evidence is right before my eyes.

What's fascinating about the writing is I had no idea I could do such deep work without thinking. If I had thought about writing those stories ahead of time, I might have been too intimidated around how to voice them to have attempted it. 

And this is just the first day.

During the week, we'll write in the morning and draw in the afternoon. There's a required nap time from 2-3 p.m. and we all look like a bunch of kindergartners lying on the floor on our mats. We can't re-read any of our work until the workshop is over on Friday afternoon. The stories have to cure. We'll go home with a new writing journal and having learned the skills to sustain it.

I don't know, but I think I've got a new fire around writing. 

Wait. No thinking allowed.

The Summer of Self Love is a daily writing practice created to hardness three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.