This morning I missed seeing the beautiful distraction that you are, that you have always been.
You grinning at the hummingbird in the window. You stomping down the stairs to begin the day rushing in to kiss me on the cheek. You humming while sweeping through the doorway
I missed the generosity of you and now it is Thursday already.
When did I fall so heavily asleep to have lost my noticing?
Join us over at dVerse Poets' Pub for Open Link Night. Link one poem of your choice and have fun reading the poetry of others in this welcoming community. - HERE.
Photo taken in Lisbon, Portugal. I fell in love with the murals there.
Join us over at dVerse Poets' Pub for Open Link Night. Link one poem of your choice and have fun reading the poetry of others in this welcoming community. - HERE.
and they signed up to become listeners for the collective pledging their ears to receive the full telling of each without rejection of a single tale or truth
a willingness to learn this craft of the heart essential for survival of the whole
most understood this was more than an occupation it would become their way of being for a lifetime
to cradle the words of each speaker holding tender the unthinkable
“The storm’s ravages had not only opened her eyes, but her heart and mind as well. What mattered was the present moment. The people she was with. She may never be fully free of the past, and the future might bring more struggle. But the here and now wasn’t a place to hide. It was hers to live.”
– from The Medicine Woman of Galveston by Amanda Skenandore
Distant views calmed her mind these cliffs, twisted roads, rugged mountains were relatable.
A smooth life could not create this kind of beauty
and once again nature was teaching her how to navigate sorrows.
What remains an obstacle may depend on the point from which she observed the landscape.
Photo taken at Colorado National Monument 2024.
Today in the U.S. we honor Martin Luther King, Jr., and in his honor, I am reflecting on perseverance.
I started writing circles with the desire to reach just a few, share my flashlight, and listen with compassion. The last four years have brought your voices on the breeze, across seas stanzas sailed, flew and walked themselves beyond boundaries. I have heard your hearts. Throughout my facilitating of writing circles I have witnessed authentic sharing and heartfelt listening. I believe the practice of writing and reflecting together is a powerful agent of change. At an event I attended recently Mark Nepo said, “Global humanity’s health depends on healthy souls keeping the literacy of the heart alive.” This resonated with me. Let’s come together and do this in the writing circle.
Are you curious about exploring possibilities through poems? Are you seeking a sisterhood to write and reflect? Are you wanting a loving space to purposefully pause?
Listening for Possibility – Writing Circle Series With Ali
Three Saturdays: January 25, February 8, February 22, 2025 9:30 – 11:00 am PDT on Zoom
During each session we will listen to poems and each other, listen inward for the needs of the heart and explore the doors we want to open next.
This group will be held to six participants to allow deep listening and sharing.
“When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the universe.” – John Muir
As I dug deeply down to tuck you in safely, one by one, in softness, grounded for growth with care and wishes for your survival. (Awareness of my lack of qualifications and experience crowded into the activity like a boisterous neighbor who wasn’t invited. “This won’t work. You don’t know what you’re doing.”)
As I put my shovel away, I am thinking about internal resistance. My resistance to planting, to bothering with placing all of you in the earth. My head saying, “You’re doing it wrong. You will be disappointed.” My heart replying, “Let’s try. I need to wonder.”
Now I am pondering, curious actually, what would it be like to live without a belief in planting. Realizing I already know. I have been there and don’t want to go back.
I am seeding a future I cannot see. I am planting hope in the dark cold of winter. This includes garlic cloves and my belief in loving action to grow the next. Stepping into the unknowable with a curious heart that knows it doesn’t always work out and planting it anyway.
Later that day I found three more cloves in my pocket. Three that escaped planting day. Their potential is not lost. I will find time to tuck them to bed too.
flashlight batteries - Ali Grimshaw 