What is a Writer?

A writer is an observer, making mental notes of their surroundings …. hearing the limp in the old cowboy’s step as he walks down the promenade, while smelling the cotton candy in the dusty dusk of the county fair rodeo.

A writer is a reader, possibly with a well worn dictionary beside them, happy to look up new words, hungry to expand their vocabulary. Words are like precious metals, ready to be manipulated, either by pounding into submissiveness or gently stroked into an expressive work of art.

A writer is like a terrier puppy, digging up facts, nosing our way through the musty attic of thoughts and feelings and faded memories; pulling out items of interest, shredding the myths, not realizing they have value until we pour them out of us and catch them on paper.

A good writer is a better listener. Learning to be still.

Ahhh, stillness … versus … non-stillness. I often find myself pontificating out loud as I wade through ideas. This often has a less than pleasant outcome and as we all know, the spoken word is a hard item to reclaim. If I work it out on paper, I have a chance of calming the random outbursts and presenting myself more diplomatically.

For me, being a writer is this insatiable urge to put down on paper, my thoughts, theories, and remembrances. I have misplaced so many details of this life; I don’t want to forget it all.

* annette

We Are The Cloth of Love

Before her fingers stiffened too much with age, Grandma Johnson cross stitched the gingham cloth of her aprons and table cloths. She also made rugs from rags, tied together into long strands of recycled cloth and twisted into spiral ovals to protect our feet from cold linoleum. And to breathe more beauty into life.

I still touch that cloth that she decorated, pushing needle and thread through it with her flesh and bone hands. Even imagining that cloth fills me with the spirit of her love—her love of life, her love of beauty, and her love of us.

In this way, Grandma embroidered my life, breathing more beauty into me. May my words embroider you too with love. May my words, even though they, like the cloth, will eventually decay and be forgotten, pass on the love so that you too will manifest love through your own arts and crafts and daily acts, passing on love from hand to hand and heart to heart.

-Terra Rafael

What is a Writer?

A writer is a magician that can make us forget our real life dramas to enter into another world of her describing.

A writer is a midwife who encourages you to give birth to your greater self by sharing a myriad of stories, similar or different, from your very own.

A writer is a witch that stirs the cauldron of our unconscious with the spoon of images to summon forth a new recipe for our minds.

A writer is a yogi who holds a pose of words that allows us to feel the energy of life coursing through the channels of our consciousness.

A writer is an herbalist, knowing which words to pick at the proper time, drying them to make them potent, and then mixing them together in the right proportion to cure what ails your soul.

--by Terra Rafael

Poem - These Days

I've seen the ravages of age
weaken bodies and scatter minds
So Now
Time Is Precious
Time Is Precious
And I have to laugh at the ticking sound
Barefeet Dancing my own rhythm in the grass.
These days I write as though
it were my last act of love
scribbled
in the rapture of release.
--Terra Rafael

An Experiment in Writing

We were short three women at our writer's group this past week. It was the second day of summer; I suppose it was to be expected. A beautiful day outside, so many different personalities, so many things to do. We quickly caught up on the events of the last seven days and moved smoothly into our now familiar writing routine. Mary read a piece out of Natalie Goldberg's book, Writing Down the Bones. In it she described a writing experiment to help our conscious brain let go, get out of the way, and allow a new perspective to emerge.

We decided to try it. Quite frankly I had reservations about the whole thing which, thank God, I did not express out loud. It sounded kind of dumb to me, but that was the whole point wasn't it? To step outside that part of the brain which makes a living categorizing everything according to is "right-ness" or "wrong-ness". A numbing, limited definition I might add. As I have come to trust our always-present-but-never-met-before-muse, Natalie, I followed the directions.

It was a riot. We belly laughed out loud at ourselves. I participated one hundred percent, as did every one in the room. We read our non-sense verbiage with honest emotion; each reader had their own pure delivery. I read the first sentence of my randomly punctuated word puzzle with great confidence. The second collection of words ended in a question mark? I tried to be true to my hypothetical punctuation and read the piece rocking back and forth from false bravado to deepening confusion. My friend read with a quiet, insistent voice, as if she really needed us to believe the nonsense that she had constructed with random words. It was beautiful, it was real, it was hysterical. Our reading led into a brilliant discussion of how this experiment can guide us in our everyday life. It showed us the importance of looking at one reality; then "flipping the switch" to see another way of being. We traded stories on methods that have worked for us in the past; meditation, deep breathing, and ways to ground our scattered energy.

In thinking of the experiment these last few days, I see how I get snookered into a dull way of being. It is easier. But what the heck, is that all I want out of this time on earth? My voice in the experiment mirrors my life. How many times do move I forward with all the confidence I can muster, only to hear my monkey brain question my own reasoning and end up second guessing myself ad-nausem? Enough!

It is vitally important to remember that I have CHOICE. No matter what I heard as a child growing up, no matter what I hear now on TV, no matter how desperately my frightened inner being tries to convince me that the middle path is right because it is well known and safe. "Just look at all the other people who are already on it", she insists. Be still. FLIP THE FRICKING SWITCH. I am going to write these words on a piece of paper in large colorful letters and tape it above my computer and on the front of the refrigerator. Already this week I have had to remind myself to flip the switch; shed new light on a stale perspective. My old eyes are tired; I desire new vision. If truth be told, and it must be, the old ways are not working. It is a new day. Thank you once again, to our fearless leader, Jyoti, for this writing process which has opened me .....

* annette

Poem - Bravely Write

Bravely allow the pen to trace you onto the page,
distilling that sacred existence you now populate.
Bare your breast to the world with story
Until your heart beats
-black & white
-black & white
-black & white
through eyes & ears, into the hearts of others.
This will prove to you, once & for all,
that the life sustaining pen is mightier than the sword.

--by Terra Rafael