Poetry fun

Once every few weeks I play a poetry game with my creative writing class. I have a bin of words taken from various poetry books, random words that I like; dust, bamboo, spotless, sherbet...we each choose a word out of the box and use that word in a line of poetry. After the line is written we pass the word to the person next to us. My the time we have chosen four or five stanzas worth of words we have poems, using the same words. The poems are all completely different and fun to read out loud. Here is one of the first I wrote with my class.

Branches canopied over the deep forest floor -
a tent breaking the horizon into shards
of glass. The roots, selfless in
their hold, spring into amber twilight.

Imperfect buds wrap tightly,
ready to open purposefully when
clumsy Spring makes her appearance -
daffodils mirrored in muddy waters
while bullfrog bellies bloat.

Centuries of mating songs echoing
in dark damp earth. Nothing
prepares you for the closeted song -
females - choosy in their search for love
find solace in raspberry bushes
and the canopy of vines.

Can you figure out which words I was forced to use?

Writing Hiatus

It has been a busy year. I finally landed the perfect job, and spent the last 9 months learning the ropes, preparing curriculum and teaching high school students some of my favorite books, The Canterbury Tales, Othello, The Hound of the Baskervilles, in addition to some modern short stories and poetry. So I haven't been writing.

Summer is winding down, and I am now preparing for a new school year. I have been itching to write, have been jotting down ideas and thinking through posts, but for some reason I have not taken the time to sit down at the computer, login and write. Writing brings me pleasure. Writing helps me to sort out any issues that arise, it helps me to put life into perspective, to make sense of the world and my reactions to the world. But, I have not taken the time to sit down and write. Why? Writing is something that helps me to make sense of a chaotic world and I choose to put it off. I will do it another day. Maybe chaos is just too comfortable. Maybe I don't want to see my part in a Facebook argument, or really look at how I could use a little dose of humility. Maybe I don't want to confront my negative mind.

So this post is my statement to the world (or the couple of people who will read this). I need to write. I do not necessarily need to write the next great American novel. I just need to write this post, insert a picture of the porcupine munching raspberries in my backyard, and hit publish. I need to start, after a long time of putting it off. Hiatus Over.

Spiritual Adventuring

I cannot remember where I heard the term, "spiritual adventuring," but it struck me, enough to stop what I was doing and write it down. This blog post has been sitting here, blank, for at least a month, with only the title. As I write these words, I do not even know what the end result will be, but that is ok. By the time I hit the "publish" button, there will hopefully be a fully formed idea. For me, that is part of the fun of writing. I begin and see where it leads. To me, my spiritual life is similar to my spiritual life. I begin with a thought and see where it leads me. Over the years I have tread innumerable paths: from the religion of my upbringing (Christianity), to a place within the Unitarian Universalist community as a young adult, to experimentation in New Age concepts (yes I took a Tarot Reading course and explored Shamanism). I have participated in a past life regression, (don't even ask) and studied meditation and yoga. I have become a Reiki practitioner and have worked through twelve step programs. And I am still exploring.

Lately, there have been controversies surrounding the practice of other religions within a so-called

"Christian" nation. I have read the comments of outrage, how dare we accept people of other faiths, people who do not recognize the "one true God." This outrage lately seems to be pointed at Muslims. For the past 2000 years Christians themselves have been persecuted in this way. At first I was angered, why can't we all just get along, why can't Christians accept others of different religions? But then the anger faded. I sit here as a person who has led a spiritually adventurous life, and you know what? It is pretty cool. I try out different practices, I pray in a myriad of ways, I take what I can use and leave the rest. I chant "Om" after yoga, I meditate, I give and receive Reiki treatments and I partake in sessions with a spiritual counselor. Today the image of my Higher Power is that of a Great Blue Heron and an ancient oak tree. I find peace next to a stream and I talk with my ancestors as I watch the water rushing by. Sometimes I call God a She, and am amused when people get all flustered and self- righteous (yes, that is not so spiritual of me but kind of fun). Tomorrow, my spiritual practice may change, and I may discover a way up the mountain of which I was previously unaware. I look forward to it, a new spiritual adventure. Can I get an "Om?"

Skinny?

I was called skinny the other day. As someone who has always struggled with weight I wasn't sure whether to be happy or frustrated by a so-called compliment. I finally settled on frustrated. I have lost 20 pounds, but have worked my butt off by running and weight lifting. I have gained muscle mass. I would have rather been called fit, or strong. Weight has always been an issue for me, and I have been sensitive about my lack of, or abundance, for as long as I can remember.

When I was younger I participated in a gymnastics program. I worked on cartwheels, rolls, back bends and front walkovers. I wasn't built like a gymnast, but I had fun. Today in yoga class I remembered how flexible I was and how things have changed. Why did I ever stop, I muse. I know the reason, and today it seems pathetic, but it wasn't to my twelve-year-old self. Someone wondered how I could do gymnastics with my larger thighs. That was all it

took, I quit the next season and I spent the next years battling with body image, overeating and lack of exercise. Today I am 41; I run at least 5 miles a day, and with the recent addition of yoga, have begun to get my former flexibility back. It was just a few words, how could they be so powerful?

Words hurt and affect us in unimaginative ways. But in order for the words to hurt, we must allow them to. And if I am upset or elated by another's comment about my weight, it means that I am allowing another's opinion to become part of me; I become fat or skinny or scrawny or buxom. These are merely labels. When did our culture become so obsessed with the way a body appears? And why is it ok to comment about someone's body? When did the body become a commodity for consumption, the property of the public? Young women are forced to cover up in school, because it "distracts" the boys; mothers who breastfeed in public are shunned or shamed; advertisements with scantily clad women are plastered on park benches. We act as if, as a culture, we have a right to judge the bodies of others, whether the supermodel or the pregnant woman in the check out lane.

Did that person have a right to tell my 6th grade self that her thighs were too large to participate in gymnastics? Is it ok for people to comment on the weight I have lost or gained (I have had it both ways.) After all, both extremes take a lot of hard work. I don't know the answer, just for today I choose to wake up early and run, not because it will make me "skinny," but because I feel alive when I run, I am closer to God, and yes, it affords me the right to eat extra popcorn.