words written on a window . susan wooldridge workshop . fall 2010 be present retreat
(steal a few and write your own poem. dare you.)
A year ago, I was in the midst of the Fall Be Present Retreat while being days away from Ellie Jane's open-heart surgery. A year ago, I sat in a room in Frog Creek Lodge surrounded by so many souls living with their hearts wide open, souls who would teach me so much, souls who would become friends. A year ago, a dear friend came along on the retreat to support me and take care of Ellie Jane. A year ago, I had no idea what the first few weeks in October might bring. A year ago, I wrote these words during Susan Wooldridge's poetry workshop.
outside, i am a tree's sturdy blueprint
inside, i am a swollen canyon of january choices
outside, i am a balanced seasaw of chocolate happiness
inside, i am shattering, shifting parched bones
outside, i am a mute, screeching fire
inside, i am sunlight's twirling laughter
inside, i am breath
i am space
i am light
I am over here getting ready for Create Magic, the last Be Present Retreat this year. As I was bustling about a few minutes ago looking for safety pins in the random places they might be hanging out in this messy wondrous house of ours, I came across this poem written on the back of a page from a draft of one of Susan's writing projects. It was tucked in a drawer that was also housing receipts from 2009 and 2010 (don't tell the new accountant), adorably small pink tags I used for price tags when doing craft shows a few years back, polka dotted ribbon, a scale for mail, random bits of tissue paper, about $10 in change, safety pins, and a few other "why do I still have this?" little things.
And before I head off to bed, I just really need to tell someone this: I love poetry. Big.