Last Christmas

The godmother of spilling

Tonight I had the good fortune of gathering with some amazing women at an amazing house to spill -- or write what was on our minds and hearts as prompted by our fearless leader (pictured at left in her evergreen boa).

The first time I joined the group was two months ago, and I was struck by how much more freedom and poetry they all had in their writing. I took a month off, and when I returned, I was determined to find a little more freedom myself.

In some ways I managed -- I didn't use my computer this time, I used good old fashioned pen and paper -- but I was pretty bummed when the lovely writing prompts (from the poetry of Nayyirah Waheed) led me to the well-worn topic of my heartbreak at the departure of the New Englander.

This is what I wrote:

"it isn't so much that i look for you,
but that i find you.
i find you in the expected places --
the trails we rode together, the parks where we camped, the bed where we slept...
and i'm ok with that
i'm prepared for those memories
i've practiced those tears
i know where they'll fall

it's when i find you where we haven't been
where we didn't get to go

that's when the idea of a second heart
a heart that doesn't have to forget you
a heart that's never met you
starts to seem like
my only path to freedom."

I cried while I was writing it, I cried while I was reading it. I thought by now I'd be past this point, but it seems, I'm not. So I'm just going to try to be gentle with myself.

And while I work on that, I'm gonna listen to Wham:

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart
But the very next day, you gave it away
This year, to save me from tears
I'll give it to someone special

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart
But the very next day, you gave it away
This year, to save me from tears
I'll give it to someone special (special)

Once bitten and twice shy
I keep my distance but you still catch my eye
Tell me baby do you recognize me?
Well it's been a year, it doesn't surprise me

I wrapped it up and sent it
With a note saying "I Love You" I meant it
Now I know what a fool I've been
But if you kissed me now I know you'd fool me again

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart
But the very next day, you gave it away
This year, to save me from tears
I'll give it to someone special (special)

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart
But the very next day, you gave it away
This year, to save me from tears
I'll give it to someone special (special)

A face on a lover with a fire in his heart
A man undercover but you tore him apart
Maybe next year,
I'll give it to someone, I'll give it to someone special
Special, someone, someone
I'll give it to someone, I'll give it to someone special

Who'll give me something in return
I'll give it to someone, hold my heart and watch it burn

I'll give it to someone, I'll give it to someone special
I thought you were here to stay
How can love be for a day?
I thought you were someone special, gave you my heart

I'll give it to someone, I'll give it to someone
Last Christmas I gave you my heart
You gave it away
I'll give it to someone, I'll give it to someone

...special.

Yes.

I.

Will.

Below the Feet

Tonight I joined a group of women for a writing group. Many of them have been getting together for 10 years once a month to write and share together. I love the concept, and really appreciated their willingness to welcome me into the group.

I told the group leader that I'm working on a memoir, and the prompts she created for the evening were meant to provoke writing about our past, present or future.

It was super interesting to me how much more poetic most of the women were than I am. It didn't even occur to me to write a poem, or write something free form. I think in general free form is hard for me -- this is one of the reasons why practicing Ashtanga works so well for me -- it's always the same container. I change how I show up for it -- mentally, physically -- but I always know what comes next.

One of the women mentioned this song in her writing:

You were cold as the blood through your bones
And the light which led us from our chosen homes
Well I was lost

And now I sleep
Sleep the hours and that I can't weep
When all I knew was steeped in blackened holes
I was lost

Keep the earth below my feet
For all my sweat, my blood runs weak
Let me learn from where I have been
Keep my eyes to serve, my hands to learn
Keep my eyes to serve, my hands to learn

And I was still
I was under your spell
When I was told by Jesus all was well
So all must be well

Just give me time
You know your desires and mine
So wrap my flesh in ivy and in twine
For I must be well

Keep the earth below my feet
For all my sweat, my blood runs weak
Let me learn from where I have been
Oh keep my eyes to serve, my hands to learn
Oh keep my eyes to serve, my hands to learn

And it felt fitting, especially the line about learning from where I  have been. My whole desire to write a memoir is based on me learning from where I've been, and sharing those lessons with others....