Floorplan
If you believe this moment is a wall, it will be a wall. If you let yourself wonder how it might be a door, you will hear hinges humming, sense the wisping light, find wind churning at the threshold, a warm rush— welcome.
The Prompt
When I find myself resisting what life puts in my path, I often ask myself this question: How might it be true that this is happening for me rather than merely to me? I haven’t yet encountered a challenge that wasn’t also a doorway to growth or learning or some other unexpected gift.
In recent weeks, life has dropped a wall of brain fog in my path. I’m lucky if I can accomplish more than one or two hours of writing or other cognitive work in a day. Some days, no work is possible. But I’ve been through enough rounds of this to know that the wall is also a door, and that what lies on the other side of it wouldn’t be reachable without this particular experience. So I’m trusting that work is still happening under the surface of my conscious mind. Things are still shifting and taking shape inside me, and when mental clarity returns, what happens on the page is likely to surprise and delight me (and hopefully someone else as well).
I return to this question—how is this happening for me—over and over because I feel it making walls into openings. Are there questions or mantras or phrases like this that you return to? Things you ask yourself? Things you remind yourself of? Inner pep talks you deliver on repeat? Or perhaps there’s some bit of wisdom that you offer your kids over and over? Or your employees or students?
If you would like a prompt to play with today, then I invite you to notice one of these questions, phrases, or perspectives that you deliver to yourself or others on repeat. It doesn’t necessarily have to be a positive phrase. We aren’t always kind to ourselves. We aren’t always bastions of warmth and wisdom.
When you land on a question or phrase, take a little walk with it through your memory. How did you come by it, do you suppose? What impact does it have on you? What impact, if any, does it seem to have on others? What do the words feel like in your body? If you’re not sure, take a little scan of your physical sensations, then repeat that phrase over and over for a minute or so, noticing what (if anything) shifts inside you. Do any particular memories surrounding this phrase come to mind for you—moments when it was especially helpful . . . or especially hurtful? If the latter is the case, what do you wish you had said to yourself instead?
In all these thoughts, feelings, sensations, and memories, notice if there is something pulling the most powerfully on your interest and attention. Go there. Lean in. Let it be your ink. See what poem or fragment of language wants to emerge. If you’d like to share what comes, I would love to read it!
And I would love to see you on Saturday, March 15 at 12:00 PDT/3:00 EDT for a poetry open mic, featuring short readings from a collection of Substack poets, as well as an opportunity for you to share a poem of your own. If you would like to attend, please DM me or reply to this email, and I’ll send you the Zoom registration link.
Be well, friends! I’m wishing you a day with just the right number of doors.
Don’t Make it a Story
.
The long hike, the mishap,
the special bird (seen or
heard), the sunset, the swim,
October’s blinding yellow,
January’s hush.
.
There is no audience
hiding in the rocks
or submerged and listening
from teal eye of tarn.
This is your reel alone.
Delete plot points,
mute the
Fuck that window
You claim to always open
After slamming the door
in my face.
Memento mori.