In that space of knowing Something needs to be done But not knowing What it is What to do Where to go How to say it What to feel I lace my sneakers And press the soles into soil softened By an overnight rainstorm In that space of knowing I should be writing But not …
Fighting against perfection is an impossible battle. Impossible to play by the rules, impossible to win. Most of the time, we know better. But dammit if something doesn't spark a return to that negative place when we least expect it.📚Last weekend I found myself triggered during the exploration of wheel pose in yoga teacher training …
Dear Reader, Thank you for stopping by this week! It's an absolute shock to realize we have entered November, the gateway to all things festive and holiday, when it seems that we just joined spring and the longer, sunnier days. It seems COVID has a way of either compressing life to make the passage of …
Funny thing about writing--once you shift from seeing your days as minutes and hours to moments and emotions, you get no say in who, what, where, when, and why story fragments show up.📚Trying to stop the words until you’re ready, with paper, pencil, peace, and a perfectly poured cup of coffee only makes them tumble …
Dear Reader, Thanks for stopping by the blog, or clicking through. If you've noticed I haven't posted since late July, it's not from a lack of want. I am actually having the opposite creative issue: I am writing too long and too deeply to post. I started this blog when I was bitten with the …
Incredibly grateful to be featured on the Brevity blog today–let me know what you think!
By Beth Morrow
I made a new acquaintance recently who, in his days before three kids, a job in administration, and a divorce, had been an active and productive writer. He lauded me each evening for having sat down during this pandemic to flesh out the essays in my head with a Bic pen in my spiral notebook.
I couldn’t understand why he, as a person who’d felt the pull and power of writing himself, wasn’t doing the same. I thought that’s what writing was for: to internalize and digest the suppositional inanities of the external world into concrete and rational observations. To use our words to transmute the unease and anger and hatred and uncertainty into a story with tangible relevance. Writing has been the only way I have been able to convert the painful and potentially destructive events of my life into a series of stepping stones since…
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Do not be the concrete pier anchored firmly in the mud Do not be the path ahead that falters in the flood (read more)
Watch this! Spirit commanded with a shout as sentient beings lumbered out of their hibernations where their skins had become pale and fair
Sometimes we need to take one step back from the chaos in the world (read more)
Our last class discussion was devoted to calming the fears of eleven year olds
The children you want to send to my classroom
in the fall
the same children who left my classroom
in the winter.
Yesterday I mentioned that we're slowly (or quickly, depending on perspective) closing in on the 6 month anniversary of when I lost my hubby to prostate cancer.
The number one, unquestionable lesson I've learned is...
On the 15th of October, around 10:25 a.m., I'll be observing an anniversary of sorts that only a select group of people can fully comprehend and connect with. And one that only I internalize.
is non-billable therapy for
Thanks for being you. I know you don't know I've been writing about P's death, because I've only told J.