The Hopes and Fears of all the Years

Dearest readers- however few and however far,

This blog has been a wonderful place to vent and muse and develop ideas and tell even silly stories. Each year I commit to writing more and most times I fail. I perfectly realize that without consistent writing, there is not consistent readership and someday when (not if!) I publish my book, I may regret my sporatice nature.

But it was after my last post that I realized how much I need to write and put my words out to the world. The lovely notes and cards and texts after Rain, Rain, Go Away reminded me of the immesurable value of community and sharing.  I was raw and overwhlemed and so many responded with kindness. And those who didn't must have sent my words on because many people read them. And if I was comforted, I trust my words comforted some as well- if nothing else but with the knowledge we are not alone in this life. Our sorrow is the sorrow of being human and the price of Love. But shared sorrow is a gift to the soul.

I'm glad to see 2019 go. It's been a year of great highs and great lows. But it ended on a beautiful high note of shared joy with the marriage of my most beloved sister to a wonderful and kind man. A few of us spent New Year's Eve in front of a roaring fire at my cabin.  My niece and I toasted in the new year with ginger beer in a moment of black skies awash with diamonds. We stood by the porch rail, wrapped in blankets,  with the darkened house behind us. I reminisced about the night her father and I stood in the same spot and gazed at a similar sky.  He had called Janet and I out to see the stars and the wonder in his voice is a sweet memory.  The seasons pass, he rests in eternity and years go by. The stars shoot out their beauty and we are small beneath them.

The next day after they left, I rose and climbed to meet that starlight, hidden by the light of the sun but nevertheless, shining on me.  After our merry band stuffed ourselves on a potluck breakfast, we hiked to the top of the highest peak between the Rockies and the Pyreenes. We tromped in a broken path of snow and over bare rocks, in glorous sunshine to a stiff breeze on the top. I haven't hiked as much as I'd like since my trek to Spain and it felt so good to stretch myself and dig in to accomplish the summit. Single women all, we celebrated our strengths and camaraderie.  We waited for each other and chased a confused dog who bolted back up the trail in search of his mistress. I just met three of the women but as we shared stories and pushed ourselves, we made community.

No camera at the top, but the view, even without know is wonderful. 

 So I sit and muse and try to craft this small story, reminding myself of the joys of new beginnings and new stories to be lived and told. I pray you have a new start toward the light of the stars that always shine down, sending us delight, seen and unseen. 

Above thy deep and dreamless sleep 

The silent stars go by

Yet in thy darkness shineth

The everlasting light

The hopes and fears of all the years

Are met in Thee tonight

 That Light is always shing, deepest sorrows and highest joys. In valleys and on summits, hopes and fears are met with his Light.  Blessings on 2020 as we live in the Light of Love- together. 

Talking to Myself

Proprioception, from Latin proprius, meaning "one's own", "individual," and capio, capere, to take or grasp, is the sense of the relative position of neighbouring parts of the body and strength of effort being employed in movement. You say it- prō prēəˈseptiv

My daughter sprained her foot and ankle at age seven and continued to "turn her ankle" for years. In college she ended up at a orthopedic clinic for yet another injury and they discovered her ankle no longer "talked" to her brain. The connection was lost by stretched ligaments and torn nerve endings. She had physical therapy and eventually, her ankle was once more connected to her brain. Amazing.

Turns out our feelings and emotions can be disconnected from our bodies as well, we bury feelings and refuse to feel that hurt or that betrayal or that rage. Then we too are constantly "turning our ankle". Unexpected anger trips us up, spikes of betrayal without true provocation surprise us and moments of pain overwhelm us. Just a flash, a glimpse and our self-protection jumps in and slams the door to our emotions closed. We are disconnected from our own interior.

In my daughter's sore ankle there are wounded ligaments receptive to physical therapy and healing. In my soul those spikes of emotions and flashes of pain are calls to wholeness and healing for my inner life. I can train my emotions to release, I can exercise with tools that strengthen the pathways between my past experiences, my emotions and my body. For it's my body that reflects all those buried injuries. It was clear Abby's ankle was the injured member; my elusive soul would rather hide behind the walls of self-protection than be exposed- even to myself. But only with risk and vulnerability will there be healing. Otherwise I'm just coping, just getting by, just "Doing fine, thanks."

The newest tool in my soul toolbox is Proprioceptive Writing- I'm linking to a blog site that gives a long and lovely explanation. Why write what someone else has written so well? I will add the pronunciation- prōprēəˈseptiv

-->

http://morenewsfromvg.blogspot.com/2015/04/proprioceptive-writing.html

-->

When I do my Proprioceptive Writing, I find some Baroque music on my computer- usually a slow cello piece, light a candle and set my phone to twenty-five minutes.  As I write, I ask myself- what do I mean by that word?  Now what does THAT mean? and wander off with my thoughts and emotions. It's harder than I imagined. I want to edit, I want to "get to the point" or find a take-away. But this isn't writing for an audience, it's writing for me. It's designed to expose me to my own thoughts and think about why those thoughts come up. I'm reconnecting my ankle to its ligaments, so to speak.

After I write, I answer three questions-
What thoughts did I hear but NOT write about?- that one always throws me.
How do I feel now?- that's helpful, I can assess just what the emotional effect has been. I like that.
What larger story is this Write part of?  Marriage, community, depression, transition.
What ideas do I now have for future Writes? I usually have more ideas I want to explore.

Simple, yet hard. Short but thought provoking. It gets my pen to paper- no computer work here, just my thoughts and my body.

I had a stressful trip out of town and this has really aided my processing of the events and people I visited. I came home emotionally drained and this has recharged my batteries.  I'll write more about a specific topic for the next blog- for now, this is the introduction. As for me and my body, we talking just fine. Thanks!


http://pwriting.org/?page_id=2905  Another web site- the back story of and official website of Proprioceptive Writing. 

-->

Words, words and more words

Wow- what a weekend this has been.

Four years ago I met a woman at a writer's retreat near Tucson. We're in touch off and on and she generously offered me her very cool casita or guest cottage for this week.  God's blessings on you, Pam.

I'm within an easy walk of the University of Tucson and the fourth largest book festival in America was this weekend!  I'm in heaven... http://tucsonfestivalofbooks.org/?sid=23   And I've put the 2017 dates on my calendar.

I was too busy to blog so this is my catch-up retrospective- or the highlights. This would be a long blog if I shared all the amazing chats, books, authors, insights... I may be writing about this for awhile.  And I completely forgot to take even one picture of the tent city and the 100,000 people who shared the event with me. Plenty of pics online for the visually curious.

 I

So....some memorable times.

I wandered into a conversation with Cynthia Bond, author of Ruby, an Oprah Winfrey Book Club selection. I don't watch much tv so I missed all the hype but the book is doing very well. I was just drawn by the title of the event- A Conversation. Seemed liked a good thing for Sunday morning and it was a blessing. Yes, Cynthia screamed when Oprah called her cell. "I don't like your book. I love your book."— who doesn't want to hear that from Oprah? Then Cynthia couldn't tell anyone but her mother for two months.   I love hearing these stories- real people, in this case a single working mom writing for years and years. Just a lovely woman. With a great book.  http://cynthiabond.com/about-the-author/


I stood at a mic in the middle of a packed room and asked one of my favorite authors, William Kent Krueger about the sequel to his wonderful Ordinary Grace. We had met  at the SD book festival and he had said he was finishing it this year. That question turned out not to be my best idea but thankfully he had already broken the news to a previous workshop. He was dissatisfied with the finished project and had shelved the book.  Oops- but he was kind AND candid and it led to an interesting discussion about pulling the plug on a book, a book with a "very nice" advance.  I'll try not to make that faux pas again, felt akin to asking a woman when she's due.  He was so gracious as we walked to his signing and I apologized- such a lovely man. Whew.  I may need to dive into his mystery series.     http://www.williamkentkrueger.com/


I squeezed into every writing craft and publishing workshop possible. Thousands of people showed up and some wanted into my chosen seminar.  I was drinking from the firehose of the writing world and continually rubbing shoulders with fellow word lovers.  Today I'm sorting business cards, checking out websites and making a giant wish list of new books.

And finally, I bought a book of poetry, Washing the Dust from our Hearts, from the Afghan Women's Writing Project.  Facilitators lead online workshops all over Afghan to allow women to express themselves and begin "a quiet revolution powered by the pens..." Inspiring and universal.  http://awwproject.org/discover-awwp/history-mission/

"If I fail to tell my stories of my struggle,

I will lose myself." Hila

Needing to unwind my brain last night, I found a Taize service. Grace St.Paul's Lutheran church is about a mile from my casita and worship was a wonderful way to end a weekend full of words and people and stimulation and more words.

A labyrinth beckons. Another place for seeking deep and learning much, but here, we move into the silence where words are no longer needed.  What an amazing and rich storehouse—the human mind and soul.