Being Consumed
Fajr Prayer, meditation, and sun salutation.
I slept in a summer city and woke up in a winter city. It is snowing in New Orleans; the last time it snowed was sixteen years ago. The city and her people needed this newness—this blanket of breath.
Zoe has a small writing journal next to mine. Hers is a plush box with a smiling rainbow and thin-felt French fries sticking out of the top. Her pen is always her bookmark—her place to pick up whatever colorful story she writes.
I pray we are more mindful that being consumed by our trauma, triggers, and fears leaves no space to consider that others may be fighting through their own. Trauma may not be our fault, but our responsibility is to manage how we engage with them and the world.
In a passing wind of depression, I force myself to write a paragraph and then dare myself to write a page. Continue this bullying until I get a crappy draft.
Celebrating elders on their birthday is the best.
I have two broken bones in my wrist and a fractured bone in my forearm from riding a motorcycle. Miles offered me a new Lego arm, and Zoe made me healing sandwiches with pretzel eyes and drew two kittens on my cast.
Writing/typing is slower, but so is life.
I am exactly who I wanted to be when I grew up. I get to stretch my heart to write stories that matter to me and support the voices of youth who are just as quirky and wonderful as I was when I was their age. Life is extremely beautiful and extremely challenging, and there are a whole lotta' annoyances and smiles in the middle. Yeah, the world looks like it's on fire, and there was snow in places that traditionally belonged to the sun, and there are forces on both sides of the coin manipulating mass fear, but...I don't wanna’ take for granted that I am/we are in this ever-expanding position to live, write, and inspire a better story than the ones written yesterday.
Everyone is problematic to a cause.
Everyone is a hero to a cause.
Elderberry syrup & ginger tea for what the soft cold may have left.
With all my heart…Té
