Our (optional, as always) prompt for the day is taken from one of the prompts that Kwoya Fagin Maples suggests in here interview: a poem that addresses the future, answering the questions “What does y(our) future provide? What is your future state of mind? If you are a citizen of the “union” that is your body, what is your future “state of the union” address?”

“Everything means something” she said, pen pausing long enough for her to speak. She looked at me over a pair of reading glasses and a legal pad. The light from the tiffany desk lamp to her left, gleamed yellow across her lap, illuminating the legal pad and her nails as she wrote. She’d offered to review my dreams with me and was writing the details down as I spoke

I’d paused, and hesitated over a detail, deciding out loud whether or not I should include it in the retelling of this dream

I’d been coming weekly for a couple of months

And the more I spoke, the more I realized that I understood quite a lot and quite a little of myself

Without aggrandizing my own state of mind too much, I’ll tell you that delving into your own mind is like a competent sailor plunging into the depths of his beloved sea

On the surface he understands the waves and the wind and the nautical relation from one shore to the next. He can reasonably predict the response of his ship in the presence of any given weather scenario, the strength of his sails, the direction of his vessel and himself according to the map of stars that unfold when night descends

But outside of the bones of his ship, outside  the boughs and the sails, no sextant, no compass, alone in the cold sea water, pale body floating and bobbing at the surface, miles and miles of deep blue below him, he is alone, and entirely new way to navigate will be imagined

His body and mind, the only tools

So I described the tiny detail in the dream that I’d almost skipped over, and she nodded as she wrote, the tip of the cap of her pen bending in air, dipping and tipping, giving ink-shape to the details of my dreams

And as I heard myself speaking, heard my voice giving sound to the details of my dreams, I saw a white and iridescent little fish with the scrunched up face of monster, swim by

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2017, action healing, awakening, Being a nurse, Being a poet, Fear, Growth, NaPoWriMo, NaPoWriMo2018, Personal Experiences, seeking, signs, summer, the color of moments, vignettes

NaPoWriMo Day Eleven: The State Of The Union Of Body And Mind

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2017, action healing, Atonement, awakening, creative non-fiction, discernment, Growth, Healing, Humanity, jesus, Personal Experiences, Soul, the color of moments, Winter, Year's End

“To Water, To Let Rain”

Oh lord

Release me from the bedraggled monotony of my ingrattitude

Haggard and dry, brittle and unyielding

Despair makes a mummy out of me

Withered patchwork of gray

Worn and frayed

I see through a veil of unease

How sweet the way the sun breaks through

How tender the rain on my bones

How spongy the fog makes the moss

Oh Hope, Oh lord

Release me from my bedraggled monotony

Send hope

Send rain upon this day

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2017, Boyhood, Comfort, Evening, Grace, jesus, love, Personal Experiences, the color of moments, Year's End

Boxing Day

The world tilts toward evening

Snow is washed pink with falling dusk

Day’s light softens

into a colored light dance of dark and frozen twinkle

We are changed into night

Christmas paper torn

Bows tossed away

Tape unstuck

Gifts tucked into new homes

Dreams pregnant with glisten-christmastime cheer

have given birth

And the waiting has ended

A frozen world tilts toward evening

And from out of a warm and steamy bathroom, a boys shower music meters on

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