Many Small Arrivals

Full Moon of November: Narrative Prompt

These moon posts will be short and punchy. I’m still and forever exploring movement versus sitting. In the future, most of my writing to you will originate from my walking legs. Here’s my installment from this morning as I play with multiple truths. The glitchy and scrambled feeling of my out-loud words being transcribed is fascinating to me. I expect the wind to take them instead. Remaining curious. Noticing. Sensing an older way (older than me, ancestral) meeting a new way (orating into a phone) and the rub of that transition. I spoke this poem into my phone, brought it here and then added and moved around some words on the actual page, while sitting and squatting and stretching.

I am the woman who notices that her left hip has become stronger.

I am the woman who despairs that her left hip is weak.

I am the woman who sits down at 8:15 every fall/winter morning to eat the breakfast of bison tacos that makes her feel invincible.

I am the woman who says Fuck it to her blood sugar and her history and all the voices and forgets to eat or eats only toast all day because who cares anyway.

I am the woman who knows there is only a thin layer, a momentary shimmy from where she is and where she wants to be.

I am the woman who is so tired of trying.

I am the woman who shows up for others, for the cause, for the world with focused fox eyes, her coat buttoned up and a box full of plans.

I am the woman who collapses and can do nothing but watch the spider walk along the crease where the wall meets the ceiling.

I am the woman who believes in the power of present tense.

I am the woman who says burn it all down, every single tool and practice and way and intention.

Which woman is leading all the women inside me today?

Maybe they can hold hands and be the glorious both/and together.

Maybe they can also remember that there is no arrival.

There is NEVER any arrival.

There are only many many many small arrivals.

These accumulate.

Then one day she wakes up to find herself walking in a surprising new terrain.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

The many small arrivals are dutiful.

They continue, no matter what, to flap their broad brown wings.

Narrative Prompt

Go walking and talking with yourself.

Start with “I am the person who… “

See what shows up today.

Go well into your weeks,