I’m beginning a week of silence. After May’s quiet-bathing, I thought I’d be at ease for this, but trepidation has kicked in again. At the same time, there are zero consequences (assignments, responsibilities, whathaveyou), so actual risk is minuscule. This process will be, um, interesting.
As I work (work?!) to clear my head of scraps, I’m remembering our opening assignment for my poetry & preaching workshop at Glen. The whole process was intriguing, including how we shared our results with each other as if they were a poem to critique: read once, twice, maybe thrice, and fall mute.
(Observation from class: We underestimate everyone else’s meaning-making. This is unwise.)
Anyway! All along I’ve intended to share my various stabs at the question, but evidently my brain is ‘way more <something> than I’ve realized. Here, then, is the assignment as Pádraig Ó Tuama sent it to us, along with all my attempts. (I was only permitted to voice one.)
Also, I wonder if you could do a simple writing exercise. Could you respond to the question of:
If, right now, you were to tell the story of your life, what would the first sentence be?
It now occurs to me that a discontinuous childhood may have taught me to find the shared thread in disparate things.
I moved all around the eastern US until I came to rest in Austin.
She was a year old before her mother realized she’d not heard Kimbol laugh out loud.