Writing Prompt
As a list maker, this writing prompt is one I absolutely love. It's incredibly simple and, at first, (for me) incredibly challenging. And it's this: to simply ask for what it is you want, without the preamble of an explanation. I do this each morning before I start my other writing for the day. Just allow the first things that enter the mind and/or heart to be written down--without judgment or worry, without grasping or clinging. What is it that you most want today? For yourself, for others, for the world, etc. You may not even know--I mean really know what you want--until you begin to write. Be prepared for a wide-range of small internal shifts to happen over the course of doing this writing...each day, each week, each month...you will get closer to knowing the truth of your real desires. You'll see. Oh, and when your intention is pure, you will get what you've asked for, though it may not be in exact package as you requested. Often times, what you want will come in the form of something even better, so be open to this. (It's important to ask for what it is you want and not what you don't want.) Here's my list from yesterday: I want C. to feel love--his own, mine, his father's--through out his day in first-grade, through math centers and snack recess, through art and P.E. and Science...I want him to be kind to himself, to know his own kind heart. I want a new refrigerator. I want a quiet place to sit and meditate and forget about time. I want to pet the cat. I want to listen to T., really listen, and not over-talk him. I want George Bush to have another conversion, to Buddhism this time; I want him to make a public statement of apology, to really mean it, and then I want D.C. to do the same, before they both set out on a five-year pilgrimage to look into the eyes and listen to the sorrow of each person who lost someone they love in Iraq. I want to make lasagna for dinner and invite the neighbors. I want to know my own heart from the inside out. I want to move into a back bend from a standing position. I want to take the short-cut past the goats and to sit on the bench on the top of the hill and look out at all the yellow flowers. I want whirled peas to be served to a peaceful world. I want Awake With the Moon to find the right publisher. I want to appreciate my perfect life with all its imperfections. I want to laugh again like I used to with my cousin, Dawnie, when we didn't even know why we were laughing but still couldn't stop. That silent laughter that hurt our stomachs and made our eyes water. I want to let go of the past and live this day as if it were my last.
Practicing gratitude can be a powerful act. How often do we consciously take the time to give praise for (or to) that which we love? The poet, Pablo Neruda, wrote an entire book of odes to common things: a chair, a cluster of violets, a pair of socks, a spoon... So what about picking an everyday object that you probably have never talked to directly, and simply praise it. At first, you might feel kind of silly. But with time, it gets easier. And before you know it, this softening toward everything (and I mean everything) even the smallest, most insignificant things, begins to happen. Your life grows more abundant, too. Just by changing the way you look at things and taking the time to record your whisperings.
Example:
Tea Cup. Oh, little white cup on my table, you who accompany me upstairs and
back down several times a day. You who rest and keep warm the palms of my hands.
You who never seem to mind that I leave you for days on the dresser, outside
on the back step, next to my bed at night, where I've never once turned to wish
you a good night. And yet, and yet...you remain. Right here by my side, fragile
yet strong. You quench my thirst and save me from hunger--lemon tea, carrot
soup, a tablespoon of chocolate or honey. You even held pencil shavings recently
when I was too lazy to get up and cross the room. Thank you for never once judging
me. Instead you stay close and remain a quiet friend, amidst life's inevitable
storm and family chaos. I reach out to grasp your delicate handle, extended
at the ready...oh, may you know how much you've taught me....
The poet Rebecca Wee once said to a class I was in, “Learn to notice what you notice.” Later, in another class, Billy Collins asked us to be “curious about our own day-dreaming--where our mind is right now, where it just was…”
Consider the above, and then write 20-30 observations in a simple declarative way. Write your words down as they come into your head. Don’t over-think. Remember, there’s often a kind of energy that is smarter than the editing self. See if you can capture those everyday moments/observations/reflections alongside the electric moments. (Have fun.)
Example: March 14, 2007
I said goodbye to the dog from the top of the stairs. Collin cried, “Not
tomorrow, Mommy. To-now!” The mosquito on the other side of my office
window looks yellow and lonely. The painters arrived, moved the furniture, and
left—later we’ll sleep on the futon with C. and laugh. It’s
still winter, yet the cherry plums are in bloom; my husband’s wearing shorts,
whistling happy. White paint chips cover the deck, the lawn; the broom hides
in the closet...