Richard Blanco Visits Brainerd, MN

Quote of the Day:  Of course, it is always good advice to write every day. But, it's not always possible to sit down at the same time every day and write a certain amount. What is important is to pay attention to the world, to life, every day. Paraphrase from Richard Blanco's presentation at Central Lakes College in Brainerd, MN, Sept. 13, 2013. What a thrill to meet the poet who was chosen to write a poem and recite it at President's Barack Obama's Inauguration on January 21, 2013. I shook hands with a man who has shaken hands with the President of the United States of America!

He said, "More than that. I hugged the president." 

Wow!

We had a Meet & Greet Brunch before the presentation.

Richard Blanco and Krista Rolfzen Soukup

(left) Larry Lundblad, president of CLC, Richard Blanco and me

Richard Blanco sharing his writing style, his inspiration, and his beautiful poems.

I sat enthralled as Richard Blanco talked about his writing journey, which is also his life journey, and the one that led him to stand on the podium on January 21, 2013, and recite a poem that he'd written for President Barack Obama's Inauguration. He was discovered by someone connected to the president. "Your work was brought to my attention," he said. Something in Richard Blanco's story and his poetry resonated with President Obama, and the rest is history.

Richard has an expressive and captivating style. As he reads his words, I see the images. I hear the sounds,  and I can almost smell the pork roast and the spices from Cuban American kitchens in Southern Florida. The audience hushed at the emotion of it all, and laughed at the humor which is challenge to get into poetry, "but, I like that challenge," he said. He says that there is an emotional center of a poem, that moment when you open up to the poem as a human being. You "give in" to the poem. I think he was talking about it as a writer. I felt it as a listener. It's the point in the reading where I feel that emotional response. Sometimes it's laughter or an intake of breath. Sometimes, it's the moment when the tears come and start to roll down my face, like the line in his inaugural poem, One Today, "the empty desks of 20 children marked absent today, and forever." It represents our collective grief, what brings us together, and it doesn't matter in what kind of church they held those funerals. We all felt that emptiness.

Richard Blanco says that he is constantly asking, and trying to answer, the questions: Who am I? Where did I come from? And, Where do I belong? 

The book signing.

I'm still so happy to meet him, and star struck.

Dear Mr. Blanco,

Thanks for your inspiration!

Go. Create. Inspire!

Visit Richard Blanco's website where you can hear him reading his inaugural poem, One Today.

Journaling Prompt:  Have you ever met a famous person? Where do you have a sense of belonging?

Millie and Willie have Fun on Friday

Quote of the Month: Open the window in the center of your chest and let the spirits fly in and out. Rumi
(My theme for this year's A to Z Challenge is Open.)

Millie and Willie, a sock puppet creation, are here to tell you their story during the April A to Z Blogging Challenge.

Naomi Shihab Nye meets Willie and Millie at a poetry event at the

Cetral Lakes College in Brainerd, MN

 

Millie:  What a thrill to meet the famous poet, Naomi Shihab Nye.

 

Willie:  That was the most fun I've ever had at a poetry reading.

 

Millie:  It was her voice. As soon as she started reading, I relaxed like I was in a rocking chair with our new puppy Tillie curled up on my lap.

 

Willie:  She had funny poems, too.

 

Millie:  She even complimented us on our laughter. I think she really likes Minnesotans.

 

Willie:  Some poems have a thoughtful message, too.

 

Millie:  I knew it was safe to meet her when she talked about being inspired by kids and how they use language. I feel that way, too.

 

It was so nice of her to sign her poetry book for us.

 

After meeting Naomi, Willie read Millie some of her poems, and they took a nap.

 

 

Then, they got ready for a very special event.

 

Millie and Willie attend the Her Voice celebration with writer, Mary Aalgaard

 

Millie:  First of all, I can't believe that Her Voice is already celebrating it's 10 year anniversary. Wasn't it just last year that they had the party for the five year celebration?

 

Willie:  Time flies, Millie. I like reading Her Voice, too, you know. It's not just for women. It's a community magazine.

 

Millie:  Real men read Her Voice, Willie. All the writers are great, and the photos are splendid.

 

Willie:  You know, you could send in one of your stories on training dogs, being a dog whisperer.

 

Millie:  I'm thinking about it.

 

Willie:  (smiles and whistles I've been working on the railroad)

 

Meg Douglas (editor), Mary Aalgaard, and Joey Halvorson (photographer)

 

Thanks, Meg, for starting Her Voice ten years ago. Thank you, Brainerd Dispatch, for supporting this fine magazine. Thank you to Joey and the other photographers, writers, subjects, advertisers, and support staff. Meg quoted me today at the party, "I found my voice through Her Voice!" I hope that many other women will find such a great place to tell their stories.

 

Go. Create. Inspire!

 

Journaling Prompt:  Where have you found your voice, been able to express yourself, and build your confidence?

 

 

 

 

 

Farm Girls

Quote of the Day: A poem from the book Farm Girls by sisters Candace Simar and Angela Foster

In the Middle of the Night

Hunkered at the kitchen table
plaid bathrobe and red slippers
thick glasses resting on his nose
smoke curls from dangling Camel
he sucks deep

Engrossed in turning pages
he doesn't turn his head, doesn't know I'm there
doesn't notice a mouse scurry under the refrigerator

What are you reading, Daddy?

He looks then, turns the book upside down on the table
black letters bold on the book's spine
Of Mice and Men

by Candace Simar

Candace Simar at the book signing and poetry event for Farm Girls

 

Krista, from Blue Cottage Agency, and the Crossing Arts Alliance in Brainerd put out an All Call to local poets for a Poetry on the Wall experience. Here's a mug shot of what the walls look like and the people who made it happen.

 

Chiranjeet, Krista, Richard, Millie, and Zishan.

Thanks for all the work you put into this event!

 

Photo by Richard Andrew

 

On Saturday, January 26, 2013, I walked into the packed room of the Q Gallery in the Franklin Arts Center, standing room only, and listened as these brave poets got up and read their work. Some of them said that they'd never read their poems in public before. I'd read a few of the poems as I walked around the room the other day, but hearing them read out loud gave them life. I was so proud of my fellow artists.

 

In addition to the poetry readings, Candace Simar and her sister Angela Foster shared from their recently published collection of poems and essays in their book Farm Girls.  Angela's poem, Secret, received a few chuckles, which starts out, I love Eminem, the bad-boy rap singer. A middle-aged farm woman from small town Minnesota is not supposed to enjoy rap music. But I do.

You'll have to buy the book to read the rest. It's great! You can find a link to it at the authors' websites or Blue Cottage Agency.

 

Candace, Angela, and Mary

 

 

Also, what grabbed my attention from the writing of these sisters is their dreaming of one day sitting on Oprah's couch, reliving the antics of growing up on a farm in Minnesota, becoming writers, and sharing their poems and stories with the world.

 

Dare to dream, folks. Dare to put the words on paper, or create your images. You never know who might end up on Oprah's couch!

 

Go. Create. Inspire!

 

Journaling Prompt:  Where did you grow up? Recreate it on paper or in your art.

 

MN Poet Laureate Joyce Sutphen Visits Brainerd lakes area

Quote of the Day:  Ideas for poems come from unexpected places. MN Poet Laureate Joyce Sutphen. She said that one surprising place where she found inspiration was the subject line of an email.

Event organizer Krista Rolfzen Soukup and MN Poet Laureate Joyce Sutphen

 

A string trio of local high school students set the mood for the event with their lovely music.

 

Laura Hansen from Bookin' It Bookstore in Little Falls provided book sales.

 

 

 

Poet Laureate Joyce Sutphen read to us from her collection of poetry and shared where she got her inspiration. Many poems are about people and places in her life, including many farm poems, a subject that I can relate to as a farm girl myself.  I connected to one of the last poems she read, Things You Didn't Put On Your Resume'. Garrison Keillor featured and read this poem on the Writer's Almanac, December 5, 2006. The poet gave me permission to print it here.

Things You Didn't Put On Your Resumé
How often you got up in the middle of the night
when one of your children had a bad dream,

and sometimes you woke because you thought
you heard a cry but they were all sleeping,

so you stood in the moonlight just listening
to their breathing, and you didn't mention

that you were an expert at putting toothpaste
on tiny toothbrushes and bending down to wiggle

the toothbrush ten times on each tooth while
you sang the words to songs from Annie, and

who would suspect that you know the fingerings
to the songs in the first four books of the Suzuki

Violin Method and that you can do the voices
of Pooh and Piglet especially well, though

your absolute favorite thing to read out loud is
Bedtime for Frances and that you picked

up your way of reading it from Glynnis Johns,
and it is, now that you think of it, rather impressive

that you read all of Narnia and all of the Ring Trilogy
(and others too many to mention here) to them

before they went to bed and on way out to
Yellowstone, which is another thing you don't put

on the resumé: how you took them to the ocean
and the mountains and brought them safely home.

That poem speaks to my mothering heart. These are the kinds of things that I do, that I have done, that I'll continue to do. I felt inspired to write my own list of things that wouldn't go on a resume'.

Thank you, Ms. Joyce Sutphen for visiting the Brainerd lakes area and sharing your beautiful words and your kind and gentle spirit.

Go. Create. Inspire!

Journaling Prompt:  Where do you get your inspiration? Did you ever find inspiration in a surprising place?

Poetry Reading by Li-Young Lee

Quote of the Day:  Art is the yoga for a deeper understanding of intuition. Li-Young Lee, words of wisdom shared during his poetry reading at Central Lakes College in Brainerd, MN, Sept. 24, 2012.

Li-Young Lee at Central Lakes College

 

Here's a little background on the poet:

Li-Young Lee (李立揚, pinyin: Lǐ Lìyáng) (born August 19, 1957) is an American poet. He was born in Jakarta, Indonesia, to Chinese parents.^[1] His maternal grandfather was Yuan Shikai, China's first Republican President,^[2] who attempted to make himself emperor. Lee's father, who was a personal physician to Mao Zedong while in China, relocated his family to Indonesia, where he helped found Gamaliel University. His father was exiled and spent 19 months in an Indonesian prison camp in Macau. In 1959 the Lee family fled the country to escape anti-Chinese sentiment and after a five-year trek through Hong Kong and Japan, they settled in the United States in 1964. Li-Young Lee attended the University of Pittsburgh and the University of Arizona, and the State University of New York at Brockport.

He told us that when he was in Indonesia, he looked like the enemy because he is Chinese. Then, when he moved to the U.S. in the early 60's, a country that was at war with another Asian country, he looked like the enemy. So, he grew up with that feeling, which seeped into his psyche and his writing.  He told us about the four selves: We have our public self, the one we show to anyone, even strangers. We have our private self, who we are with friends and family, where we feel a little safer. We have our inner self, the one we know and keep only to ourselves. Then, we have the hidden self, the part of us that is unknown even to ourselves. There are parts of us that we haven't discovered yet. They might not be revealed to us for a long time. We might find ourselves surprised to discover something. And, I believe, someone on the outside might be that person who sheds light on that hidden self.

Mr. Lee says that the best art, particularly poetry, has elements of all four selves. That's when it is the truest, when it connects, when it becomes "the yoga that deepens our understanding of our true self, our intuition." He spoke for just an hour and read two poems, Undressing, and Virtues of the Boring Husband, and I felt like I learned so much and was inspired. Both poems are very personal, have to do with his relationship with his wife, their intimacy and responses to each other. His poetry is sensual and meaningful, filled with vivid images and mind wanderings. Here's a sample, used by permission from the poet.

To Hold

So we're dust. In the meantime, my wife and I
make the bed. Holding opposite edges of the sheet,
we raise it, billowing, then pull it tight,
measuring by eye as it falls into alignment
between us. We tug, fold, tuck. And if I'm lucky,
she'll remember a recent dream and tell me.

One day we'll lie down and not get up.
One day, all we guard will be surrendered.

Until then, we'll go on learning to recognize
what we love, and what it takes
to tend what isn't for our having.
So often, fear has led me
to abandon what I know I must relinquish
in time. But for the moment,
I'll listen to her dream,
and she to mine, our mutual hearing calling
more and more detail into the light
of a joint and fragile keeping.

from Li-Young Lee's book of poetry, Behind My Eyes

Li-Young Lee signing his book for me.

 

Thank you, Mr. Lee, for coming to the Brainerd area to share your poetry and words of wisdom.

 

Go. Create. Inspire!

 

Journaling Prompt:  Write about your four selves. Have you ever been surprised to discover something about yourself, or to have someone point it out to you?

K is for Know

The Quote of the Day that inspired my A to Z Challenge theme -
A Word for the Day that takes on many meanings.

Quote of the Day: A writer lives in awe of words for they can be cruel or kind, and they can change their meanings right in front of you. They pick up flavors and odors like butter in a refrigerator. John Steinbeck

Word of the Day: Know, Knowing, to Know
This post is more on the different forms of the word, and a guest post by my sister Nancy. She wrote about her name for last year's challenge that was very funny. She's not, yet, blogging. Maybe next year.

In my family, we had a great role model for what it means to seek knowledge. Our
grandfather, Arthur Siberg was the kind of man who was always learning, and every
bit of new knowledge would be a remarkable thing that he needed to share with… well,
pretty much everyone he would meet.

The one thing I remember the most about my grandfather is how he was always reading.
But it wasn’t the quiet sort of reading I do. No, when he would read, it was a very active
and engaging process that he undertook. I have a vivid memory of him pacing back
and forth in his stocking feet, reading a book with a black cover. Years later, I came to
find out that what he was reading was a book by the great Danish philosopher, Søren
Kierkegaard. All alone, this knowledge wouldn’t be jaw-dropping, but my grandfather
was a Swedish immigrant to America, and he only had a sixth-grade education. My
uncle told me Kirkegaard was so difficult for Grandpa to read in English, that he tracked
down a copy in the original Danish, (because that language was closer to Swedish), and
then would work his way, line-by-line, translating the Danish into Swedish and then into
English so he could share his newfound knowledge with other people.

When he was young, my grandfather’s father died, so Grandpa had to go into the forests
and work as a lumberjack to earn a living for himself and his mother. In his memoirs,
he said this about the experience: “Being alone in the big forest, far from any person,
is an experience by itself. It is so quiet and so dark in the deep woods. It would be no
place for someone who is scared in the dark.” For him, discovering knowledge…really
knowing something, was like coming out of the cold, dark woods and stepping into the
light. He was a remarkable man; I wish I could have known him now, when I’m finally
wise enough to truly appreciate him.

Mary and Grandpa Siberg

(I'm either eating or blowing kisses.)

I Didn't Know
     --For Arthur Sexton Siberg

                Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.
                - Søren Kierkegaard

I didn't know why you read
Søren Kierkegaard in your stocking feet,
pacing back and forth across the living room floor,
Fear and Trembling in one hand, the other directing
the symphony of line and syntax that only you could hear.

I didn't know why you would pause in the doorway,
peering over your glasses at the words on the page,
one foot crossed over the other as if you were
in your blue Lazy-boy recliner that always
sat empty when you were reading the heavy books.

I wasn't sure why you would ask my grandmother

to define word after confusing foreign word,
or why you would read a book that was so hard to understand.

I didn't know what it really meant to have

a sixth-grade education or why you said you cried
when your friends went off to seventh-grade
without you.  I couldn't really know the kind of poverty
that could force a mother to send a child off to work
in the forests of Sweden when he was only twelve. 

When I was twelve, I couldn't imagine why the trees
could still haunt you, how the forest could have
been that cold, how being away from your mother
would have felt.  I couldn’t imagine you, my little
Grandpa, at thirteen, and fourteen, and fifteen,
dancing with death on the pine logs as they
floated down the Dalälven.

I like to remember you in your stocking feet,

blocking the doorway to the kitchen, working your
way, line by line, through a theology that was years
beyond you.  I like to remember the way you would
get it, really get it, pushing up your glasses,
grabbing my grandma, and spinning across the floor.

                -Nancy Aalgaard Hanson          

Thanks, Nancy, you offer more insight into our Grandpa Siberg. I've had the thought that if I could go back in time, I'd like to meet my parents and grandparents as kids and young adults.

Journaling Prompt:  Do you know any stories about your grandparents, or parents? Does it help explain how they, or you, respond to the world?     

Go. Create. Inspire!                     

Your One Wild and Precious Life

Quote of the Day: 
The Summer Day (aka The Grasshopper)

by Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

"The Summer Day" by Mary Oliver, from The Truro Bear and Other Adventures: Poems and Essays.
Click over here to hear Mary Oliver read this poem to you.  Close your eyes and let the words fill your imagination.

I woke to a cold and dreary morning.  The wind was blowing, the sky was grey, but the rain hadn't started, so I got up and dressed in case my walking partner was up for a walk.  I opened the door and saw the first raindrops, closed it again and made coffee.  As I was reading blogs and facebook posts, I found this link, posted by my talented photographer friend Joey.  She does most of the photos for the magazine that I write for.  We have become a great creative team.

Since I was in the quiet kitchen, just me and the cat, and the hum of the refrigerator, and the scent of coffee, I could truly listen to Mary Oliver read her poem, let the words soak in, shut my eyes to  see the imagery. 

My comment to Joey:  I could write a whole blogpost on my response to hearing Mary Oliver read this poem. Doesn't it make you want to grab your blankie and pillow and curl up in her voice, her words, and the images they create?

Her response to me, my gift of the morning:  Yes.....just like the images you just created, Mary.

So, I did, I wrote up a blogpost to share with you a truly lovely way to start a dreary day.  I'm inspired to do more than simply clean my kitchen today (and a bathroom or two). I feel motivated to make something good happen.  Maybe schedule a production of Coffee Shop Confessions (with or without music, that's been my hold-up).  It's time to share it with the world.

Joey at the Table Reading of Coffee Shop Confessions. She had tea, just like Lolly, the character she brought to life.

Journaling Prompt:  Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

Happy Mom's Day

Quote of the Day:  You never really get to know someone unless you sit down together at the table and share a meal. - from my mom, Jane Siberg Aalgaard.  Inspiring words for me as I begin work on my next play, Kitchen Table Confessions.

I think my mom has a similar pose with each of her six children.  This is the picture in the front of my baby book.  I'm number 4 in the family.  The caption under the photo reads:  Momie is clowning to get me to wake up and smile!  And, I've been smiling ever since.  I'm known for my smile.  It's big and ready to greet you.

I've noticed that people are posting photos of their moms on facebook and writing up blog posts about Mother's Day this week.  I'll gladly jump on that bandwagon.  One Mother's Day, a few years back, I think my twins were infants, we were at my oldest brother Nathan's house to celebrate the day.  Mom was talking about a friend, or someone, who had been honored by her kids.  She said, "It made me wonder how you'll remember me."  Nathan said, "You are a healer of body and spirit."  I thought that was so beautiful.  I wonder if either of them remember that. 

Mom went to school to be a nurse.  She talks about her nursing school days often, and with affection.  At the time, the nursing students lived together, worked together, studied together, walked the snowy trek to classes together.  She said they became very close.  It was a chance for her to experience sisterhood.  When one of them got engaged, they'd throw the bride-to-be in the bathtub.

Mom was the nurse living in our little farming community of Good Hope.  She was called with nursing questions, I know.  She was called upon to be there for neighbors, I'm sure.  She's a good listener and cares about the people in her community and knows how to connect.

Mom loves her gardens and her Bible studies and good music.  She's the one who encouraged me with piano.  When I was a speech coach, one of my students recited the poem Thanking My Mother For Piano Lessons by Diane Wikoski.  I don't know if I ever thanked Mom officially, but I'll do it now.  Thank you, Mom, for piano lessons and encouragment, love and affirmations!  Have a Happy Mother's Day, planting flowers and watching them bloom.  I've often said that I am a unique flower in the weed patch of life.

I wonder what my sons will remember about me.

Journaling Prompt:  Write about your mom. What did she encourage in you?  Do you know her story, where she grew up, what she wanted to be?

Letting Joy In

Quote of the Day:  a poem

Muse

by Linda Pastan

No angel speaks to me.

And though the wind

plucks the dry leaves

as if they were so many notes

of music, I can hear no words.

Still, I listen.  I search

the feathery shapes of clouds

hoping to find the curve of a wing.

And sometimes, when the static

of the world clears just for a moment

A small voice comes through,

chastening.  Music

is its own language, it says.

Along the indifferent corridors

of space, angels could be hiding.

Joy comes to me in the form of children and music.

In planting and watching things grow, the trees, the boys, relationships.

Joy happens when you let your silly out and your playfulness in.

Joy comes from trying a recipe just because it's in your math homework.

Did you know that inspiration is contagious?  I've been inspired by the students and people that I've let into my life.  From your comments here, and in person, I've learned that from my inspiration, you felt more empowered to become your authentic selves. 

One night, I woke myself up as my hand rose above my covers, playing air piano.  I smiled to myself.  I heard the music that I've let into my house.  I remembered the laughter.  Laughed out loud, to myself, my happy dream, and went back to sleep.

Go. Create. Inspire! And, dream happy dreams filled with inspiration.

Journaling Prompt:  Write about a dream, a night dream or a day dream, that made you smile or laugh.

Artichoke

Quote of the Day:  Without art i choke. - Georgia Greeley

I'd like to introduce you to my friend, Georgia.  She is an artist, writer, and teacher.  We met through the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI) when a few people in my area were interested in forming a writer's group.  Georgia lives in St. Paul, MN, but has a cabin on the Crow Wing River (try saying that out loud, it's a tongue twister!), so she joined our small group.  We started meeting in the tiny town of Motley, and so named ourselves The Motley Crew.

Georgia was at the Book Arts Festival in Hackensack (isn't that a great name for a small, rural town that holds book festivals?) this weekend.  She makes her own books, knows book binding and how to make paper.  She is multi-talented, often pairing words with her poetry, or images that match other's poetry.  Her artwork is soothing, yet captivating.  When I was going through my major life change, divorce and moving, she gave me one of her paintings, an illustration of this poem.

Cane Holding up the World

I see the spider for what it is

Calligrapher of the invisible

Dropping from raspberry cane

To nowhere

Climbing back

To write for the night,

"You can make something from nothing."

Plump weaver

Catching the scent of the raspberry

The waa of the catbird

Her rich web

Brushing my mind

by Nancy Walden

Georgia's illustration has thin canes of dark, forest green, intersecting and connected by the spider and her web - the something created from nothing but imagination and sheer desire.

Georgia is the one who said to me, "Continue to do that which makes you whole." 

If you'd like to know more about Georgia, click on her website, Artichoke Press.  Georgia created her own Walden experience by spending the month of August in her little cabin by the river, writing, relaxing, and creating.

Go, Create, Inspire!

Journaling Prompt:   Describe a gift that healed you or inspired you and the person who gave it to you.

Journaling Mentor

Quote of the Day:  My journaling mentor, Katrine Trobisch Stewart, wrote the following inscriptions to me:

For Mary, It is delightful to get to know your authentic God-given voice.  In His love, Katrine (Words inside her book A Book of Life - Spiritual Journaling in the Twenty-First Century)

For Mary, May you continue to find joy in the most unexpected places of your journey. Lovingly, Katrine (Words she inscribed in her mother's book, Hidden Strength by Ingrid Trobisch, which she gifted to me at Mount Carmel this summer)

I first met Katrine the summer of 2004 at Mount Carmel where she was the morning speaker and afternoon journaling guide.

 I have been writing in journals since I was very young, so I was excited to learn from Katrine about deeper and more meaningful ways to write in a journal.  In a group setting, we talked about journals, how to use them more deeply to understand ourselves and our relationships, and to share them with others.  I learned so much from her that week and wanted to create that group experience with other people.

Slowly, I've stretched myself out into the world and encouraged others to write in journals.  I've led a few journaling sessions during retreats.  I learned how to make journals and teach others how to make them to encourage their creativity.

This past weekend, I presented to a group of women at a local church on keeping a prayer journal.  I told them that I think of a prayer journal like writing letters to God. 

Dear God, I write, Thank you for my many gifts and talents and for the courage to share them with others.  Let me be your ink and your song as I lead others.

I shared a few examples like that one with the women, focusing on cares, concerns, and celebrations. 

I read them some poetry:

As Imperceptibly as Grief by Emily Dickenson

Susanna by Anne Porter

Music by Anne Porter

Here's a great line from Susanna:

There's not a single inch

Of our whole body

That the Lord does not love

Then, I played and sang a couple songs for the women and gave them some time to listen, think, write, and just be.

Thank you, Katrine, for being at Mount Carmel that year, and again this year, and for taking the time to mentor me in the art of journaling and leading others on the journaling journey.

Journaling Prompt:  Write about a mentor in your life, or about your experiences journaling.

Journey vs. Arrival

Quote of the Day:

You Are There

by

Erica Jong

You are there.

You have always been

there.

Even when you thought

you were climbing

you had already arrived.

Even when you were breathing hard,

you were at rest.

Even then it was clear

you were there.

Not in our nature

to know what

is journey and what

arrival.

Even if we knew

we would not admit.

Even if we lived

we would think

we were just

germinating.

To live is to be

uncertain.

Certainty comes

at the end.

I discovered this poem on The Writer's Almanac last week.  I recommend a daily dose of Garrison Keillor reading poems, telling us about events in history that happen on this day, and highlighting birthdays of famous authors and artists.

To hear Ms. Jong read some of her poetry out loud, and watch a great book trailer, click on her name, above.  I like what she says about the internet giving poetry a new voice.

I think of poetry as the highest art form of writing.  I have written a few poems, but don't consider it my strength.  I do love reading poems.  My favorite book is The Music Lover's Poetry Anthology.  I call it my comfort book. I read nearly every night before going to sleep, and some nights I have only enough eyeball strength for a poem.

What I like about You Are There is the message that we are exactly where we are supposed to be.  It's all part of the journey. 

Haven't you arrived once you've written a sentence that turned into a paragraph that turned into a story that you shared with even one person?

Haven't you arrived when you've learned to play or sing a new song, and then shared it?

Haven't you arrived when the green sprouts of your garden pop their heads above the soil, which you might enjoy as flowers or food to share with someone?

Haven't you arrived when you hang your artwork in a local coffee shop where people are drawn in, fingers outstretched, gently touching, having a tactile conversation with your work?

My artist friend JeMA and I were having dinner at the restaurant where her art is hanging.  I noticed people were looking at it and moving closer.  I told JeMA to watch.  The woman was touching the texture of her art.

Here's JeMA in front of her seaside pictures that hang in my favorite writing spot, the Coco Moon coffee shop.

Looks to me like she has arrived, AND is on the journey.  It is so much fun to sit there, writing, and watch people move in closer to the painting, to examine it, and feel it.

Journaling Prompt:  Describe where you are on your journey.  How have you arrived?

And now for a little 20th century classic American poetry . . . because poetry and baked goods just go so well together . . .

The House Was Quiet and the World Was Calm


The house was quiet and the world was calm.
The reader became the book; and summer night

Was like the conscious being of the book.
The house was quiet and the world was calm.

The words were spoken as if there was no book,
Except that the reader leaned above the page,

Wanted to lean, wanted much most to be
The scholar to whom his book is true, to whom

The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
The house was quiet because it had to be.

The quiet was part of the meaning, part of the mind:
The access of perfection to the page.

And the world was calm. The truth in a calm world,
In which there is no other meaning, itself

Is calm, itself is summer and night, itself
Is the reader leaning late and reading there.


--Wallace Stevens, 1945



**Stevens was an insurance executive by day, and a brilliantly original American poet by night. So you see, anything is possible. Even creating enduring poetry in the midst of what appears to be a garden variety, middle-aged guy's daily existence.