Weekly Wide-Awake #54

[The Stage is on Fire] is a page-turner in which, much like life, there are no easy answers and yet each step of the journey yields insight and hope. This work of heart must not be missed!

Melanie Faith

Creative Writing Teacher, Essayist & Poet.

Katie Steedly’s first-person piece [The Unspeakable Gift] is a riveting retelling of her participation in a National Institutes of Health study that aided her quest to come to grips with her life of living with a rare genetic disorder. Her writing is superb.

The Society of Professional Journalists

In recognition of receiving the Dateline Award for the Washingtonian Magazine essay, The Unspeakable Gift.

I thank you … It is the authenticity of your “class notes”; and it is the delicacy and skill with which you present the nuances of classroom life and the actuality of your students’ and fellow teachers’ lives.

Maxine Greene

Philosopher and Education Scholar

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Celebrating Life. Noticing Our Hands. Rumi.

Living the Comma #26

A Celebration of Life. Exploring Calling. More Poetry.

Listen, everyone has a chance./ Is it spring, is it morning?/ Are there trees near you,/ and does your own soul need comforting?/ Quick, then – open the door and fly on your heavy feet; the song/ may already be drifting away. — Mary Oliver, “Such Singing In The Wild Branches”

Dear Writer Friends,

Yesterday, I attended the Celebration of Life for Laura Wilund Adams. I interviewed Laura, an accomplished artist and environmentalist, several years ago for a project on which I am working — the story of the B.Mifflin Hood Brick Factory. Laura and her husband, Andrew Feiler, an accomplished artist as well, bought the historically designated brick factory building and transformed the space into an art gallery and home.

I have been fascinated with the space, and its story, ever since we moved across the street into a renovated factory loft. My curiosity lead me to send Laura an email on her website asking for a conversation. She unexpectedly and graciously said, “Yes.” We spoke several times and our conversations were magical. In paying my respects, I was reminded of her effusive energy, artistic excellence, and radiant kindness. Here I was, a stranger, wanting hours of her time, talking about a nascent project, and she said “Yes.” I quickly learned she understood my interest in art and life and justice, and my belief in using our tools and humanity and craft to build a better world. As we sat in her studio — amidst exotic papers and beautiful trappings of art and life. I deeply felt our shared commitments.

One of Laura’s friends read Mary Oliver’s, “Such Singing In The Wild Branches” during the service. This was a reminder. A reminder of the poetry that was Laura’s life. A reminder to fling doors open and greet morning. A reminder to comfort our souls. A reminder to sing our song.

Our Writer’s Group is where we rehearse our song. Where we come together and share our story. Where we invite others to sing with us and become a glorious choir. Where we find our words and heal. When I say it like that — that our Writer’s Group is where we learn and rehearse and sing and heal — it feels harmonious and choral, welcoming and challenging, creative and vital.

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MONDAYS ARE FREE EXERCISES 216—220

Unloading. Trying. Learning. Holding.

EXERCISE 217: TRY THIS!

thank you

With your non-dominant hand write a thank you note to your dominant hand./ Accessibility Note: As always, please feel encouraged to modify this exercise so that it works well with your unique body, needs, and capacity.

Thank you dominant hand. Thank you for strength and direction. Thank you for confidence and clarity. Thank you for holding and letting go. Thank you for every finger, even the ones that don’t quite work right. Thank you for consistency, in heat and cold. Thank you for movement, even before storms. (I remember when my Nana’s fingers would not move before storms.) Thank you for creating and caressing. Thank you for not letting me grab hot things. Thank you for petting cats and guiding soil. Thank you for directing the lens on my camera phone to capture beautiful images and for helping me to fold warm laundry.

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Thank you, Rumi

The Guest House. The Moment. What’s Inside the Ground.

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

From Rumi’s “The Guest House“

I don’t remember the first time I heard it, but I learned a question years ago that frames the idea that being human is a guest house. Let me explain. I was taught to ask, “What can I learn from this?” When we treat each day — all the beauty and the terror and the between — as a lesson to teach, wisdom to share, and prayer to offer. Our house becomes holy. Holy in the way that welcoming is holy. Holy in the way that impermanence is holy. Holy in the way vulnerability is holy Holy in the way that miracles are holy. Holy in the way gratitude is holy.

Things happen when we open our doors. The light comes in and past, present, and future make more sense. Our worst and best meet in the middle and hold each other close. The space between what is and not yet becomes big enough for heartbreak and magic.

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