We will play games. We will write into games and goals and playtime. We will allow ourselves to be blissfully silly. Oh, wow. I have written 20 words! Hold the presses, man the forts! It is May 28 and I am still rising to the challenge. 4 more days. I can do this, I can do this, I can do this, I can do this.
Yes, it is possible, especially possible.
We will play the witness game.
We will play “put it on audio”
We will play “write the senses” game
We will play, over the weekend, in the craft shack.
Write write write write write write write write.
Use the container as a writing sanctuary. Sanctuary. Writing sanctuary. Stained glass windows. Trees, rising. Up, up, up. This feels grounding. This feels… marvelous. This feels exactly right – good, holy, precious. Connected. Love! LOVE!
People need excuses to travel. Where could we go? Three Rivers. Group rates. Rental cars, shuttles into the interior. Write. Write. Write. “There are fences around the sequoias”. Camp. Camp fires. Experience it. Fully. Love. Love. Love. Love.
This is what I love.
Most everything I have done is because people say, “I want this!” so I create it.
How long would it take to create that? When does that road usually close?
Trail of 100 Giants.
I remember….
witness and object + I remember game…
Poignancy, ignition – ready, aim FIRE! Ta-DA!
Major Ta-DA!
Feel it, feel it, feel it!
Sequoia sanctuary. Would you come?
Write. Love. Write. Love. Write. Love. Write Love. Let me go back to Psalms. Almost getting there. Not even more than 1/3 I feel lame. Not undistractable, doesn’t feel undistractable. Ok. next. Let me look.
Oh, it was in notebook, notepad. Don’t want to forget. Want to remember.
Julie, my love, YOU are a bridge!
Cadafy said, Those voices are the sweeter which have fallen
forever silent, mournfully
resounding only in the heart that sorrows.
Sweeter are the absent.
Sweeter are the missing.
More poignant are the lambs that stray, that never seem to find their way. Don’t leave, lambs. Don’t leave. Stay. Please stay. Don’t go away. I write. I write. I write. Voices forever silent, the ones recorded, the ones I reach out to hold. The ones I slightly remember right on the edge of my memory. Can I hear Granny still?
I listen. I can. I hear phrases like “The hurrier I go the behinder I get” I remember the day I ran away, seeing her at a counter at Bullock’s, hiding in mazes of people, walking all over Pasadena. “Where did you go?” My fear sent me away. My fear made me leave. I couldn’t bear to stay. I took off and scared everyone. My aunt Betsy stayed that night. I remember talking to her and feeling cool, which is odd. She may have been using something that night. I can remember her voice, Granny’s, and she forgave me. Eventually they pulled me around, but that night it was too much. I couldn’t do it that night. I had lost too much. I had been stripped and made bare. I couldn’t stand anything more, I couldn’t hold anything else in my hands or across my shoulders.
I wait. I write. I remember. I tell. I witness. I hold. I let go. I surrender. I stand. I venture out into the wildnerness of my spirit. I swashbuckle. I weave words. I relish this moment and the next and the next and this. especially this. THIS!
I ruffle my hair. I try to stop counting and just let stuff flow. I capture. I witness. I wonder. I move. I pray. I love. I wonder where Cameron is and what he is doing. I think over my busy night ahead. I think sleep would be good but know 5 hour energy is in my future, not sleeping (unfortunately.)
I between 6:30 and 7:30 we will go and walk the dogs before my show. Before Junkbox and then my show. Work it. Work it. Work it Work it. Work it. Is he nuts? No, he is him. Work it, work it, work it. Jeff said I was a pro and I believe him.
Sleep would be SUCH a good thing!
5 hour energy it will be. God knows I need it. Iam almost done with my 750 words.
Here we go.
Love. Writing. Sanctuary. I didn’t finish studying the Psalm.
God is all strength for his people,
ample refuge for his chosen leader;
Save your people
and bless your heritage.
Care for them;
carry them like a good shepherd.
Where does David get off telling God what to do? Eh? Care for them? Carry them like a good shepherd? David, you are lucky God even lets you write words down. Don’t butter him up with stuff like God is strength for all his people. Care for them, God. Even those who don’t recognize it?
Oh brother.
ok. Back to writing sanctuary. I am moving. YAY!
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