Tag Archives: prose

My Writing Practice

29 Thursday Apr 2021

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This is one of my 15 minute writing practices. Pen never leaving the page, and no editing allowed.

There are no sides to take. There is only us. Each of us. The together of us. The ocean of us. How you can’t sort an individual cup of water from the substance that covers most of the globe. The salt in the water. The whales in the water. The seals, sea lions, manta rays, dolphins. The barnacles on the seashells. The coral reefs. The blue fish, yellow fish, oysters, crabs. The sand dollars. The starfish. All of us. The climate is changing, and together, we can stop using so many plastics: water bottles, shampoo containers, straws, cups, and bags. We can drive less and live in smaller spaces. We can buy fewer new things. We can upcycle, recycle, reuse. We can make the best things second-hand things. We can buy things that last not a few years but one hundred years. Bookcases, desks, beds. There are no sides to take. There is only we. Divided not by skin color or religion or lines drawn on maps. One. All aboard the same train. We are all going in the same direction. I love the saying we are each walking each other home. Each of us holding the hand of the other, therefore ourselves. Gently saying out loud, “It will all be okay.” We will all be okay. We can do this together for each other for ourselves. I have heard that the trees have their own language. They sort of sing as they bend toward the sun. We are like trees, only we live shorter lives, so we aren’t as wise. We haven’t seen as much, and maybe we don’t hear each voice calling out to us to join the parade. To join the circle. To come together and resist the urge to tug at what won’t break. We are all of each other. The same substance, soil, blood, bones, cartridge, and tendon. We are weak and strong. We are brave and fearful. We are at one pole or the other, but we belong like an instrument. One string high-pitched another low. Let’s sing. Let’s dance. Let’s carry each other on our backs or shoulders. Let’s do all the things for one another. Doing them for ourselves.

The Miracle of a Day

25 Sunday Oct 2020

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All-day, it continues. Little blessings like a cool breeze coming through the open window. The light as it shines and brightens the whole room. I enjoy the fresh banana and nonfat yogurt with a cup of tea. The guided journals are encouraging gratitude, gratitude, gratitude. I receive a kiss from my husband, a soft word, some days a love note placed in the red mailbox we bought in the dollar section at Target.

All-day, it continues. A phone call to my parents still alive and doing well even with chronic conditions like Parkinson’s and leukemia. A snack of hummus and pita bread or Ritz crackers out of the box.

All-day, it continues an e-mail from a student saying, “Thank you.” A paycheck from a class I taught arrives in the mail. A text from one of my brothers or a friend. Plans to share a brunch date over Zoom to celebrate a friend’s birthday.

All-day, it continues. The smell of a tree with white flowers blooming just outside my window. A swarm of bees pollinating the plants. A dog barking as its owner plays fetch with it on the grass patch across the street.

All-day, it continues. My favorite pair of sweatpants and a worn-out t-shirt with soft cotton plush socks. A poem that I think is profound or beautiful or both. A photograph on Instagram of trees turning orange, red, yellow. The air pollution calculator is on green indicating the quality is good today.

All-day, it continues. Something sweet like oatmeal and chocolate chip cookies or a piece of dark chocolate with mint. My husband’s and my guilty pleasure of Red Vines while watching our favorite comedy series.

All-day, it continues. These little blessings. One pound less on the scale, making my BMI in the normal category. The sight of my toenails painted pink. My husband puts my hair up in rag curls. I finish a workout on the stationary bike. I stretch my body for thirty minutes easing some of the aches and pains.

All-day, it continues. I smell bread baking or the scent of a vanilla candle. I feel fabrics so soft on my skin or the touch of my husband. I see the bay out of the dining room window. I hear music from Pandora or YouTube. I taste fresh food like watermelon, apples, or beets.

All-day, it continues these little blessings that spring up everywhere along with each breath making me want to reach up and grab ahold of the sky.

Looking Past the Cracks

25 Friday Sep 2020

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Like everything else, I have a crack in me. I think Leonard Cohen said that the cracks let the light in. I don’t know if anything about schizophrenia is light or a silver lining. I doubt it. I doubt the hallucinations, delusions, anxiety, lack of motivation, voices, psychosis in general, can be seen as positive. I would challenge the person who tried to make light of these things, but that isn’t to say that the crack in me can’t be handled with creativity, with uniqueness, with a type of resilience that makes me, not the crack, shine. Schizophrenia will never be the light, but the things I have faced, the difficulties, the obstacles, can make light of me. I am light. I shine.

Like everything else, I have a crack in me, and although my crack isn’t something I would want for others, I am stronger because of it. I am kinder because of it. I see the suffering of others and don’t turn away. I can meet suffering head-on. I can sit with those who suffer and give them space, hold their hand. I’m no savior. I can’t save anyone. The self must do all the saving. The desire to pass through, to heal, to move on.

Like everything else, I have a crack in me, but I am not the crack. I contain the crack, but it isn’t the sum or total of me. I am compassionate. I am creative. I am spiritual. There is a world inside that contains the crack but isn’t defined or made by it.

Like everything else, I have a crack in me, but I can still sing my favorite song. I can still hold hands with my husband as we walk down the street. I can always write poetry and prose. I can call a friend. I can play a video game and get excited about being one point or fifteen points ahead. I can try harder when I am behind.

Like everything else, there is a crack in me, and it’s not that it is small or insignificant. It’s not that it is hidden or that people can’t see it. It’s not that I don’t need to manage or take care of it. All of those things need to be, but it is that it is a crack, only a crack, not a break, not a missing piece, not a lost part, not smashed or completely broken, ruined of flawed.

Like everything else, there is a crack in me, but there is so much more to this container than the piece that the light can get through. I am an adventurer, a traveler, a human being complete, and full.

Like everything else, I have a crack, but it isn’t the most interesting thing about me at all. Not even close. A crack is a crack, and we all have some. Mine is just this way, and yours is another. Let’s not spend too much time there.  

Shutting Down the Screen

02 Wednesday Nov 2016

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Sitting in Starbucks, I look out the window at all the people walking down the street. Going where? Places. Faces. Moving. The world is traveling faster than I am. Millions of songs I have never heard. Hundreds of millions of books I have never read. So many countries and cities I have never seen. I can’t keep up. Social media travels so quickly. Food I have never eaten pictured on my newsfeed, along with what is considered “in” regarding popular culture. Trends. Fashion. Politically correct language and scenarios. I am going to slow down, step back and synthesize all that I have learned about people, places, art, changes in our language, our speech, our culture. I can’t incorporate all the information as quickly as it passes by me. I have enough new information to chew on for many years. Enough to help me grow, develop, change. But without a break from the lightning fast speed of all that information I can’t use what I’ve learned. Ideas need to germinate like seeds. I need water and the sun and space and time to breathe. I’ll miss the updates, but I am certain my roots will grow deeper, and my branches will become heavy with fruit from stepping away from the screens and learning to live life without the constant ding of a notification.