From Out the Cave

When you have been
at war with yourself
for so many years that
you have forgotten why,
when you have been driving
for hours and only
gradually begin to realize
that you have lost the way,
when you have cut
hastily into the fabric,
when you have signed
papers in distraction,
when it has been centuries
since you watched the sun set
or the rain fall, and the clouds,
drifting overhead, pass as flat
as anything on a postcard;
when, in the midst of these
everyday nightmares, you
understand that you could
wake up,
you could turn
and go back
to the last thing you
remember doing
with your whole heart:
that passionate kiss,
the brilliant drop of love
rolling along the tongue of a green leaf,
then you wake,
you stumble from your cave,
blinking in the sun,
naming every shadow
as it slips.

“From Out the Cave” by Joyce Sutphen, from Straight Out of View

With thanks to Robin Scanlon from my VerbTribe writing class for reminding me of this poem.

[image from here]

We’ve just hit the halfway point in my first VerbTribe online writing class, and I can safely say it is the most potent writing course I’ve ever taught. And likely the most potent course of all, writing or not. Yes, it is.

What makes it so? Being 100% in. Following my intuition. Challenging and supporting amazing men and women who are sitting down, pen to paper, every single day. Watching a magnificent community form and circle each other, holding each other in some great light, listening. It is like magic.

It is magic.

We humans are capable of so much. And so much more. And yet we stop ourselves from freely giving, freely writing, freely expressing the hurt and joy so full it slays us.

We procrastinate and suddenly the time is gone. This is true of writing, of making art, of living.

I am honored to have opened space for such a process to take root, and take wing.

This is a course not only about writing, as it turns out. It is about who we are–and what we long to say in the world–and who we want to be or become. Here is what a few folks are saying about the process:

You have created a powerful, beautiful package in this VerbTribe experience. Like a well written book that connects parts together throughout the plot, you have chosen prompts and recognitions and seeing more exercises that make this writing experience so full-bodied, so experiential, it’s making it all sink in in a staining sort of way.  -KT Patrick Bothwell

In our culture, we’re so attached to “©” and control of what is created. What I love about this class is how we play together. We’re herd animals and need to interact, collaborate; to be moved and changed; knocked off and swept off our feet by one another. We walk the inner path alone, but we cheat ourselves and others if we don’t play together. -Susan Preston

I’d love to have you join me for the next VerbTribe. Based on what I’ve learned in this class, the number of seats available will be greatly reduced (only 24 seats). I love an intimate learning space and feel I can dig in deeper if the spaces are limited for the next VerbTribes. The early-bird registration fee (a $100 discount) is available through February 29th only. (Please note: As VerbTribe sells out, do put your name on the waiting list. If there is enough interest, I will open a second class of VerbTribe).

You can get all the details here.

Life is short. Write accordingly.

And I write about Johnny Unitas a lot.

And Johnny Appleseed. And Johnny Cash.

But the fact is that there is only one Johnny. My Johnny, Mr Brilliant, the father of our two amazing girls.

And today is his birthday. (And Emma’s half-birthday!)

Have I mentioned how lucky I am to be growing old with this man?

I’ve written about him on 37days a few times:

happy birthday, johnny (2011)

happy birthday, johnny (2010)

mr brilliant is, above all, mr daddy

Those are just a few of the stories about him.

In 2010, I posted 54 reasons I love him. I’ve added two more.

1. He catches me when I’m falling.

2. He makes me laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh some more.

3. He makes good babies.

4. He is the best daddy in the universe.

5. He cooks.

6. He is curious. Insatiably so.

7. He isn’t content to ask Chef Google for a gingerbread house recipe. No, he calls the White House Chef and actually gets him on the phone.

8. He warms up the car when it’s cold.

9. He is the smartest person I know. Brilliant, even.

10. He runs after the ice cream truck for Tess.

11. He smells fantastic, a magical combination of Fahrenheit and old books.

12. He makes fun of himself.

13. He tapes lit candles to his forehead to make the kids laugh.

14. He goes out in snowstorms to help people who get stuck or who need help shoveling.

15. He runs toward people who need help when other people run away.

16. He thinks I’m beautiful.

17. He sends me flowers wherever I travel.

18. He is okay with the whole Johnny Depp tiny wee obsession.

19. He would be able to keep us alive on a deserted island.

20. He reads the sports pages and physics texts.

21. He takes me to the airport at 5am without complaining.

22. He can’t watch TV shows in which kids get hurt.

23. He holds down the fort.

24. He dresses up like a pirate and leads kids on treasure hunts during birthday parties.

25. He knows.

26. And he loves me anyway.

27. He is slightly crazy. In the best ways possible.

28. He’s cute. And the man sent me leaves to London.

29. He remembers everything he ever reads and can’t remember to pick up cat food at the store. I find this very endearing most of the time.

30. He is loyal to those he loves.

31. He endures my last-minute packing.

32. He writes a blog that makes my head explode.

33. He would do anything for me, Emma, and Tess. And does.

34. He vacuums.

35. He doesn’t suffer fools.

36. He makes lemonade stands and bookshelves for the kids.

37. He is my protector.

38. He bought me the 1930s wedding ring I wanted from Old Man Silverman. Even before he asked me to marry him.

39. He makes me really laugh with his imitations of Ted Knight as Ted Baxter and Bill Clinton as Bill Clinton.

40. He loves Jimmy Rockford and Spongebob.

41. He does science experiments with Emma and Tess and hardly ever causes explosions.

42. He cries when he laughs hard.

43. He and Emma memorized the “Who’s on First” routine when she was little.

44. He wears black jeans, white crisp shirts, and black cowboy boots.

45. He loves kid art.

46. He calls Billy Collins and William Gass and asks if they’ll talk to me.

47. He knows how electricity works.

48. He would give you the shirt off his back if you needed it.

49. He takes Tess to Daisy Scouts and to the Li-bary.

50. He sings the kids to sleep.

51. He reads five books at a time.

52. He won’t sell his red books.

53. He puts candles in everything.

54. He is my best friend.

55. He endures my endless parade of rescue pets.

56. He has the biggest heart I’ve ever seen.

Happy birthday, my Johnny. I can’t imagine life without you.

Linear like. One page, the next.

Now I don’t read just one book at a time, no. I think it is these 20 years of living with Mr Brilliant that has finally done it. Even his daughters inherited his wild gene, dashing into and through several books at a time, a book in every room open to some page, waiting. Waiting for him (or them) to wander back in and pick it up. In his case, remembering every single thing he reads. In my case, not so much.

We are a family of readers. That much is true.

These are the books I’m reading now (and in three cases re-reading).

Dipping into short stories, affirmation of quietness, the fear that comes with art-making. Watching noticeably different reactions to each, and in some cases reading them now with a writer’s eye to see the structure beneath. Marking up the pages with quiet but deep abandon. It is pure deliciousness.

What are you reading? What can you recommend I add to my book stack in the kitchen, the bedroom, the family room, on the porch?

The Edges of Time

It is at the edges

that time thins.

Time which had been

dense and viscous

as amber suspending

intentions like bees

unseizes them. A

humming begins,

apparently coming

from stacks of

put-off things or

just in back. A

racket of claims now,

as time flattens. A

glittering fan of things

competing to happen,

brilliant and urgent

as fish when seas

retreat.

-Kay Ryan

[image from here]

And yet, I’ve long wanted to experience the letting go that comes with trapeze, particularly after reading Sam Keen’s writing on trapeze.

And so, at 5pm on February 29th (Leap Day), I’ll climb up high and let go.

I hope if you’re in the San Diego area, you might come with me.

I’ll be working in San Diego for the Boy Scouts of America the day before, and spending the morning of Leap Day doing a community service project with the Boy Scouts at a center for youth with developmental disabilities.

And then I will fly, my little cape with tiny red pom-poms soaring behind me.

Fly with me. Leap.

What will your leap on Leap Day look like?

Love Poem With Toast

-Miller Williams

Some of what we do, we do
to make things happen,
the alarm to wake us up, the coffee to perc,
the car to start.

The rest of what we do, we do
trying to keep something from doing something,
the skin from aging, the hoe from rusting,
the truth from getting out.

With yes and no like the poles of a battery
powering our passage through the days,
we move, as we call it, forward,
wanting to be wanted,
wanting not to lose the rain forest,
wanting the water to boil,
wanting not to have cancer,
wanting to be home by dark,
wanting not to run out of gas,

as each of us wants the other
watching at the end,
as both want not to leave the other alone,
as wanting to love beyond this meat and bone,
we gaze across breakfast and pretend.

[image from here]

I can’t remember being so honored by an invitation as this one: to give the commencement address to the graduating class at my undergraduate Alma mater, Guilford College, on the 30th anniversary of my having graduated from there.

What a glorious opportunity to say things the students will likely not hear nor remember, but I will. And maybe their parents will. I’ve decided to wear the t-shirt from our 1982 Serendipity Weekend at Guilford (a nonstop weekend of partying that has since been tamed a tad?) under my clothing or robe or whatever one wears to graduations. I just found it in the attic.

Of course to wear it, I will have to lose approximately half my body weight. But given that I’ll run (by “run,” I mean “walk”) a half-marathon the day after this graduation ceremony, I should be able to lose at least some portion of that in training between now and then.

That’s all deflection from the real message: I’m honored beyond words. Guilford College was an extraordinary gift in my life and now–30 years later–I can see the depth and breadth of that gift so clearly.

Burning the Old Year