It was actually quite beautiful
around 6:30 in the morning, taking snow-covered trash bins out to the trailer
which overlooks a multitude of evergreens
bathed in the ruby and sapphire light
of early morning,
the sparkling sun just visible
between their snowy bows.
I’m doing this thing where I’m posting my non-poetry that sort of writes itself in a matter of seconds. As I said to my uncle (one of my only readers), I’m learning to be okay with pieces that don’t feel particularly profound, or polished, or dramatic.
My wish for you is an unexpected moment of beauty.
How lucky we are to be literate! Alive on paper! Free to scrawl, scribble, ink, jot, scratch, type! Writing is freedom. Literacy is liberty. To invent, to let the mind wander, to explore the last human freedom. Does your blood flow in ink? Does your heart beat in keystrokes? Does your speech only barely do justice to the sprawling wonderland behind your eyes? Write on, fellow writer. Write on.
Found this short piece among some writing from a couple years ago. I thought it might resonate with other writers. It’s great to be part of an online community of people who understand how lucky we are to be able to write and freely post our thoughts online. Let’s do what we can to promote literacy worldwide, access to knowledge, and freedom on the internet. I recently donated to Wikipedia, though I know there’s more I can do. I need to research what we can do in the face of a no longer neutral internet.
What do you think about literacy, freedom of information, and the freedom to blog? Thoughts on ways to actively support these values?
I am alive
and sometimes, being alive sucks.
Being alive means painful feelings,
unhappy endings, stupid decisions,
and days where you just want to curl up in bed and call it quits.
But who ever said being alive felt good?
You know those times when people say
“I feel so alive?”
That’s the adrenaline talking.
And it’s only pumping in their veins
because they took a risk
and are two steps away from either falling flat on their face
or crowing in triumph.
Sometimes being alive means eating ice cream even though it’s bad for you,
or listening to someone because their story moves you
even though you’re exhausted and would much rather climb into bed.
It means days where you think “I can’t do this,”
but somehow you make it through the day
even though you doubted yourself the whole time.
It’s being with people who may drive you crazy
but who are there for you in a heartbeat.
It’s that moment when your heart is breaking
and it hurts to breathe but somehow
you look at the sun and you are broken but okay
that you know you are in the middle of a really good story.
I wrote this in five minutes while eating a scoop of ice cream that my rational self told me not to eat but my alive self said stop that car right now and get some ice cream and sit down and breathe.
Love is a safe harbor,
a refuge for the grieving,
a shelter for the windworn,
a steadfast tree in a storm.
Too often we think that love should be a whirlwind
of desires long unfulfilled, a reflecting pool
of our deepest, most secret wishes.
Love for me is more a steady beating,
a slow but sure walk home,
a light leading me through fog and dark.
Do not get lost in dreams of not enough.
Listen instead for the familiar greeting
of another weary traveler returning home.
I wrote this poem thinking about the most steadfast loves in my life. None of them resemble the dreams my mind shows me of great drama and romance. The greatest loves in my life are truly “safe harbors.” And for this I am grateful. I now challenge myself to be a safe harbor for my own self, as well! For someone reminded me recently that before we can truly love others, we must love and honor ourselves.
When your bones are heavy
Willing to sink to the earth,
Walk now to a quiet place
With plodding footsteps; go slowly
Into the place where the world will not overcome you.
Sometimes my place is the woods, where
The voices belong to birds
And the trees listen with infinite understanding.
Sometimes my place is a keyboard by the window
And my fingers weave a spiderweb of words.
Sometimes my place is the couch because my heart
Is simply heavy as a stone and refuses to budge.
All of these things will pass.
Your thoughts and feelings—your
Aches and pains, your heartache.
All of it will dissolve someday,
Replaced only by light.
Your decision lies in the dissolving.
Will you hang on bitterly
To the sinking stones, or will you swim—
Even if you must kick and gasp—
To the surface, to the light,
And let that which does not serve you fall?
It is always our choice, yours and mine.
Our power lies always in this choice.
Thank you for reading and peace be with you, 🌟 -Jenna