Fiction Writing Retreat....A Life-Changing Opportunity!

I had the amazing pleasure and privilege of participating in this Fiction Writing Retreat last summer. As I continue to look back, move forward, and work to bear witness to so many life-changing experiences, it behooves me to record my thoughts here.

Today: a picture or two or five - of last summer's journey West.

From roping calves...

to a momma cow's response....

Most of our ensemble in Granite Creek..

Looking through the cattle chute..

Charlie Phyllis

Up-close with my new friend "Spark"

A highlight of the experience: sharing our work around the campfire....

If you have the inkling to do this, GO FOR IT!

Writing the High Country:

A Fiction Workshop Retreat on a Western Cattle Ranch

Have you ever wanted to spend the morning on horseback and the afternoon writing about the quiet pull of a mountain range?

Here's your chance: a week long fiction workshop intensive located on a working cattle ranch near the Snake River in the Idaho Tetons. We will read a selection of classic and contemporary western writing, discussing both the legacies of the mythical "old west" and the realities of the "new west" as they play out in literature. Ranching activities, including a round-up and a branding of the calves, will be interspersed throughout the workshop schedule. We will also attend a mid-week rodeo in Jackson Hole. Each participant will emerge from the week with a piece of short fiction. Readings from Wallace Stegner, William Kittredge, Richard Ford, Cormac McCarthy, Tom McGuane, Barry Lopez, and Annie Proulx, among others.

Testimonials from past participants:

"The intensely physical/sensual experience of riding every day perfectly balanced the intellectual/emotional work we did in workshop."

"I'm truly in awe of this experience... there's been magic, amazing grace, wisdom in all present... this experience was sacred."

The Location: This is the second year this workshop will take place at the Granite Creek Ranch, a working cattle ranch located in the Snake River valley in Ririe, Idaho, halfway between Jackson Hole, WY and Idaho Falls. Yellowstone & Teton National Park are nearby. Accommodations are in rustic cabins. For more info go to: www.granitecreekranch.com.

Dates: June 17th-23rd, 2007. Space is limited to eight participants.

Cost: $1375. (The cost of the workshop includes all meals, lodging, horseback rides, and activities. Participants are responsible for their own transportation to the ranch.)

About the Instructor: Reif Larsen is a writer, filmmaker, and teacher. He has taught writing workshops in Idaho, South Africa, the UK, and New York City. He currently teaches writing at Columbia University.

For more information and an application, please email: ril2104@columbia.edu.

"Is God Real?" Response to the Newsweek Debate over Religion

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/17889147/site/newsweek/page/6/

To the Editorial Staff of Newsweek Online:

I appreciate this article. Thank you for encouraging critical discussion and debate on the topic of God's existence.

That being said, I long for the day when the discourse - in and of itself - is enough (and that is communicated by your writing, editorial staff.) This closing comment saddened me:

"And so four centuries on, a world away from Pascal's France, two men are undertaking his old wager. Who will win? No one can say. At least not yet."

I know our world operates on a win/ lose paradigm. Religion, good religion, is meant to teach us about a more enlightened mindset, that's not considered merely a settling in the "middle ground." Rather, our religion should lead us or teach us about a consciousness that allows for complexity, plurality, mystery to be held. In this space, there is no need for winning or losing.

Theologians like Fr. Richard Rohr, James Allison and Buddhist Nun Pema Chodron speak powerfully about these notions. In the future, I hope your editorial staff considers including some of these other thinkers and writers in this discussion of God and Faith.

Thank you.

Melissa Borgmann

Contemplative Writer, Teacher

St. Paul, MN

Queen Mab Contemplates

http://queenmab31.blogspot.com

"Take the Lead": A Movie Review

Call me a "suckah!" for a flick about urban youth doing some hot arts (or athletic) thing and finding themselves in the lime light, with the sweet old taste of success in their soul as they compete in a new or different setting.

HAY!

That's the skinny on this film I watched on HBO tonight. I know, I know, this movie is a year old, but I'm s-l-o-w, as I am just now seeing it, and recommending it here.

"Take the Lead" is a film set in New York City featuring a ballroom dancing program that ignites the "detention crew" --taking the youth out of their club scene element and comfort zone to perform on a dance floor before a full orchestra and judges.

http://www.taketheleadmovie.com/#

Yeah. It's in the spirit of MTV's "Save the Last Dance"; "Drumline"; this Winter's "Freedom Writers" (about teen writers); and a real recent movie I got free preview tix for: "Pride" (about swimmers.) Oh. Wait. If I'm going to be "Melissa-generation-appropriate" about this, I can't not mention "Dirty Dancing." Yeah. Shoot. This movie has got that feel to it at times. Just not set in the Adirondacks with all white people in the 1950's. In fact, the setting of this movie is the exact opposite, BUT has that element of dance turned on it's ear.

(Watching it, I have to admit, I wondered if my dance teacher friends in Minneapolis had seen it? Ms. Colleen Callahan, Roberta Carvalho-Puzon, April Sellers, or Pamela Plagge?!? Holla if so! North High? Southwest? Ramsey? Sheridan?! Hay!)

Anyway, as I was saying, all these sorts of films tickle my fancy. This movie, featuring one Antonio Banderas, and then a slew of young (adult) performers, has some zinger ideas and lines, too, which make a case for the arts in schools, as well as in our lives. Plus, Banderas as the teacher man makes some sweet analogies to our lives, breaking down some notions that seem so COMPLEX for humans, especially those wanting to be in control all the time. (This is NOT me! I write with a tad of sarcasm.)

Here are some doozies, that I think can appeal to almost anyone, of any age - given the right context:

"To follow takes as much strength as to lead."

I had to write that one down immediately. Then wonder, "What would Sun Tzu have to say about that? Does this come up anywhere in "The Art of War?"

"If she's allowing me to lead, she is trusting me; but more than that, she's trusting herself. "

And then, there's this one, that's speaking to my romantic sucker heart. (So sorry, it's just where I'm at this moment in time):

"You have an opportunity not to dominate her, but take her on a journey."

I can say that I like this movie very much. Why? It took me on a journey: Through my limbs, my brain, my body, and my heart.

Again, I end as I began, admitting I'm a suckah! for this kind of flick.

Peace out!

Melissa B

Queen Mab Contemplates

queenmab31@blogspot.com

A Poem From Earl, Age: 3.

I've gone off the deep end recently, falling in love with this child Earl, son of my friend Becca. He's almost 3. He's the oldest child of a poet/ teacher/editor and social worker/ songwriter/ musician. I see this family at church on Sundays, with LuLu, Earl's baby sister. I have a deep appreciation for how these children make their way at mass, and afterwards, consume St. Philips' homemade donuts with crazy abandon. (Interviewing Earl this past Sunday, for example, he pulled pieces of chocolate covered cake donut from his face, with this remark, "Ohh! A burger!" I laughed so hard. Then, went on to inquire about the following original poem of his. For the record, Earl recalled with absolute precision the title of this poem, including the images of the lip-stick wearing monkeys...

Oh! But I'm ahead of myself. Read on for the email from his mom:
.........................................................................

Hi Melissa:

Earl was bugging me tonight while I was trying to make last minute edits
to my poem for this evening's writing group. Sitting on my lap and listening to me read aloud parts of my poem. I did not get much editing done.

He, on the other hand, told me that he had a poem and he began to recite
this in a Poetry Reading Voice (children are extremely imitative, ahem):


THE TIGERS ARE IN THE JUNGLE AND THE MONKEYS ARE IN THERE PUTTING LIPSTICK ON

The kitties are in the tree
still and quiet.
The fish are sleeping
and the whales are snoring
and the sharks are quiet
and soft in their nest.


Doesn't that just blow your mind? The title came a few minutes later
when I asked him what he wanted to call his poem.

......................................................................

This universe calls to me:
Earl's jungle, rife with lipstick-wearing monkeys.
And his sea where whales snore and sharks live in nests.

God is so alive and well in young boys. In all children.

I love and believe like Earl.
With a fierce imagination that seems to contain truth -- if I simply speak it.

Now: will it manifest?

In Peace, Faith, the questions, and with lots of humor,
Melissa

How do you want to spend your time?

.............................................................................

Loves,

Here's a Naomi Shihab Nye Poem, courtesy of my pal Garrison. (Where would prayer and reflection be without a daily Writer's Almanac?)

She's asking a big old rocket science question that each and every one of us gets to wrestle with on this planet:

How do I want to spend my time?

What's it worth? What are my options? What are my choices? What are the essential outcomes I'd like to see from today, or my week, or this month- or shoot: my entire earthly existence?

I often get caught up on the little moments, like, "What do I want to do this next 5 minutest?"

Thus far today: I've cleaned Sarah, Aaron, Naomi and Elliot's house. Had a couple tacos. Talked to my sister. Now what?

These are not earth shattering decisions, but ones I think all sort of add up and then have the potential to overwhelm us. Or maybe just me.

I love Naomi's attitude though here. As I feel like I've similarly gotten kind of snappy and particular about my time.

"You'd like to take me to a movie? Or out for martinis and sushi?"

"That's quite delightful. But I'm wondering, 'Why?'"

"Happy hour this week?"

"Coffee on Thursday?"

"A walk by the River?"

Here's a really recent one:

"A job teaching Shakespeare to the private school privileged babes? Oh?! And it pays $500 for the day?"

In each case, I am confessing, I've posed this response loudly and clearly to the dear extending the invitation:

"Why?"

It's not out of a sense of anger, disgust, desire to be rude, any moral outrage or need to put a person off because I'm annoyed.

No. For me, it's just literally gotten very very clear what I want at this juncture in my life:

A boy, a baby and a book.

The three b's. (This particular naming just surfaced with my lovely friends Joy and Sharifa Tuesday night.) One month ago, the notion appeared in this kind of language:

"I'm putting all of my creative energy toward cultivating a partnership, working to have a child or two, and writing. Anything else, must take a back seat. The creation and sustaining of an organization devoted to art literacy and leadership? Fabulous. But: Backseat. The mentoring and facilitation of emerging teaching artists and collaborative work with teachers? Backseat. Unless it immediately contributes to one of these possibilities (boy, baby, writing a book) manifesting in a timely manner. It's a no go."

Sure, then there are those practical details showing up in practical questions, like,
"Umm, Meliss, how you going to pay the bills?"

Excellent question!

Answer: "God will show me."

Ack! The thing is: I really believe that. Let me tell you, when this "Three B" discernment first surfaced just a month ago, within 24 hours this job offer walked in the door to start cleaning houses. It pays $20 hour. I get to sort and tidy and scour and create clear and comfortable space for a family. Help them live in a way that makes life a bit easier. And then leave: and write. Or go out on a date.

Today, I actually get to do all three of those things. !*$@*$%#$@&!

And there's honor in that. Beauty, in fact.

I'm rambling. I'm sharing. I'm just doing my thing, revealing my daily thoughts and questions and a few details. Somewhere in all of this, I hope there is something you might find chewy or comedic or even inspiring. Read Ms. Nye's poem below.

She says all this really swell like and succinctly.

Peace, Love,

Happy discerning,

Melissa

Poem: "The Art of Disappearing" by Naomi Shihab Nye from Words Under the Words: Selected Poems. © The Eighth Mountain Press. Reprinted with permission.

The Art of Disappearing

When they say Don't I know you?
say no.

When they invite you to the party
remember what parties are like
before answering.
Someone telling you in a loud voice
they once wrote a poem.
Greasy sausage balls on a paper plate.
Then reply.

If they say We should get together
say why?

It's not that you don't love them anymore.
You're trying to remember something
too important to forget.
Trees. The monastery bell at twilight.
Tell them you have a new project.
It will never be finished.

When someone recognizes you in a grocery store
nod briefly and become a cabbage.
When someone you haven't seen in ten years
appears at the door,
don't start singing him all your new songs.
You will never catch up.

Walk around feeling like a leaf.
Know you could tumble any second.
Then decide what to do with your time.

.....................................................................

NOTE: If you'd rather not receive these emails, let me know. I'll remove you from this list.

Queen Mab Contemplates :

http://queenmab31.blogspot.com/

What do you Want?: A Writing Assignment

Here's a Writing Assignment for everyone:

Respond to the question, "What do you want?"

You get 22 short lines to answer. Include the cost and location of your desire(s).

Consider if there are ridiculous items or facets to your dream; note anything potentially standing in the way of achieving what you want.

Do not let the consideration of these things hinder your writing. Simply bear witness to the fact that they may exist.

(Naming stumbling blocks is powerful.)

You get bonus points if you are able to draw from a famous dead Russian writer's thoughts.

Below, you will find an example of such a response by David Ray.

This is a poem. Yours need not be considered a poem.

Submit these as they are composed. I shall publish those that most entertain me on my blog.

Peace,

Melissa B

Poem: "Costal Farmlet" by David Ray, from Music of Time: Selected and New Poems. © The Backwaters Press. Reprinted with permission.

Costal Farmlet

"A man wants nothing so badly as a gooseberry farm."
—Chekhov

I want a costal farmlet.
I desire it very much.
I saw it advertised
in the classifieds and I presume
that coastal means our land
comes right down
to the sea with the whitecaps
lashing romantically, and farmlet
means we can grow
gnarled trees on our headland
and let sheep roam. It is about cheap
enough for us if we borrow, beg
and steal, pawn a few poems, also write
a harlequin romance or two, and it's
only 9000 miles from the place
we call home. There's not much
of a hitch except the Immigration
would not let us stay in the country
to live in our farmlet. But still,
I want it and think we should go
look at it, right now, this moment,
while tangy sweet gooseberries glow.

Parker Palmer: on Listening to the Soul....

My dear friend Brian Mogren brought my attention to these words today from Writer, Activist, Educator, Parker Palmer. I find them wildly resonant, and a reminder of the call to LISTEN. I've been a fan of Parker Palmer for a few years now, being introduced to his work through my former student, Kristin O'Connell, who was taking a class from him at Carleton. The Divine Julie Landsman has also brought Palmer's work closer to home -- in our monthly conversations on Race, Class, Privilege, and Education.

So many blessings to receive these words, have them arrive through multiple sources. For me, it's simply more evidence to "PAY ATTENTION!"

I hope they resonate for you in some capacity this day.

Before you tell your life what you intend to do with it, listen for what it intends to do with you. True self, when violated, will always resist us, sometimes at great cost, holding our lives in check until we honor its truth.

(Is this perhaps why I've literally gotten ILL in my work? Why my body started reacting violently to certain relationships and circumstances not aligned with my soul's purpose? Hmmm.........)

Vocation does not come from willfulness. It comes from listening. I must listen to my life and try to understand what is truly about--quite apart from what I would like it to be about--or my life will never represent anything real in the world, no matter how earnest my intentions.

How we are to listen to our lives is a question worth exploring. In our culture, we tend to gather information in ways that do not work very well when the source is the human soul. The soul is not responsive to subpoenas or cross-examinations. At best it will stand in the dock only long enough to plead the Fifth Amendment. At worst it will jump bail and never be heard from again. The soul speaks its truth only under quiet, inviting, and trustworthy conditions.

The soul is like a wild animal--tough, resilient, savvy, self-sufficient, and yet exceedingly shy. If we want to see a wild animal, the last thing we should do is to go crashing through the woods, shouting for the creature to come out. But if we are willing to walk quietly into the woods and sit silently for an hour or two at the base of a tree, the creature we are waiting for may well merge, and out of the corner of an eye we will catch a glimpse of the precious wildness we seek.

Peace,

Melissa

http://www.beliefnet.com/story/2/story_286_1.html

Excerpted from "Let Your Life Speak: Listening for the Voice of Vocation" by Parker J. Palmer. Copyright (c) 2000 by Jossey Bass, Inc., Publishers, a company of John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

The Price of Doing this Work: Some Questions on What Transformation of Life, Community Costs...

The following is a Letter to my dear friend Julia Dinsmore:

Writer/ Community activist/ Spokesperson for People in Generational Poverty/ Artist and Angel/ Fundraiser for Spoken Word Poets.

(Under separate title, I also sent a copy of this to Daniel Pierce Bergin, Senior Producer at Twin Cities Public Television; Reporter Chris Williams at the Catholic Spirit; and Tom Borrup, Community and Cultural Development Genius, formerly of Intermedia Arts. )

............................................................................

Hey Love,

Do you know how much I adore and respect your energy?

Truly!

Here are some questions brewing:

Who pays for you to live?

For your rent and your health care?

Your groceries, therapy, down time? (Assuming these are essential for quality of life and continued breathing. ;-))

Your gas and car insurance?

Your phone bill?

Are you on contract as a promoter and community organizer? Where are those deep pockets that are funding the social entrepreneurial initiatives that you are leading?

If you stepped out of this ring, where would it be?

It seems your work here is one of an essential lynch pin, holding all the loose ends together. You are at the center, the source, as I see it. Holding space in the concentric circles of power - radiating from the core of your lived experiences, (navigating poverty and knowing the power of spoken word as transformative arts/ life tool) - To the second ring of negotiating power and creating opportunity for others in your midst, young people especially who are so gifted - to perform, share, inspire; To the outer circle of Policy Makers and those so far removed from the immediate, daily encounter with poverty and art and literacy.

So again, I wrestle seeing what I see, and posing the questions from my own perspective.

What does transformation of a community, a world, no! A LIFE require?

What are the necessary resources , and who is making that public, visible?

Who is supporting YOU as you do all of this work?

Are you on God's payroll? ;-)

....................

You've inquired as to my whereabouts in this realm of fundraising and spoken word:

MELISSA...you sittin this years fundraising out? Let me know!!! Gots ideas!!!

I appreciate wholeheartedly your curiosity, and take this as an appropriate time to make visible - or plainly known - once again why I'm not at the table.

I'm taking care of myself. As I look to all that you are up to, I feel a kind of mirror to my own life and experiences in this work and realm of arts, literacy, education, reform, and leadership.

I know more clearly than ever: that this work cannot come at the price of my own well-being, my own personal life passions and goals: to marry, create a family, and work in that tiny sphere or circle of radical love and transformation. I have had one tiny decade of an opportunity to work and follow my professional callings as public educator and arts literacy leader and reform person. The price has been nothing short of my own personal life and family. I cannot afford that any longer.

There may be speculation about my absence from this work, as that occurs naturally in all circles.

I hope all the dear people that I have been in relationship with over the course of the past two years know that I wish them well, and pray for your success and your ability to sustain yourselves!!!

Perhaps after my own children come along, and I'm in a solid space where my own needs are accounted for -- and I'm able to thrive, then I might find my way back to work alongside you all, and be present in a way that truly I can say is for the absolute greater good. That time, for me, is simply not now.

I make my way, clearly focusing all creative energy toward a life-time committed partnership, (rooted in a common faith, and radical love); making babies that will be well provided for and know God's abundance and grace, and a life as working writer and artist in my own right. I do look forward to the day that I'm able to introduce my husband and children to many of you! And I hope that my writing about this time in my life serves you well, honors your spirit and presence and impact as I've known it.

Again, Peace and blessings to you all!

Love,

Melissa B

http://queenmab31.blogspot.com/

Love is the religion. The universe is the book.

From Coleman Barks in "The Illuminated Rumi."

Henri Nouwen is my guy!

"Sometimes we want to know ourselves as if we were machines that could be taken apart and put back together."

You think?

Man, today, some of my parts, like my BRAIN - consisted of water balloons! Swear to God! Lift my head up, put it in a sling shot, and fire! Kaboom! Water balloon brains smashed everywhere. Those tiny bits of red and blue rubber explosion, next to droplets of water. That's one of the freaking images I had of my parts today. I wanted to explode and examine them, but dang, is that messy, messy, messy!

And so Nouwen shows up in my email inbox (Thank you Henri Nouwen Society for these daily meditations!) and reminds me that I don't have to know it all, or get it all, or even understand it all. "It all" being me and my life and my choices and my circumstances. Nah. I can just sit in silence, and let myself be loved. All of my ballooning and watery parts and what not.

Peace, Love

Melissa

The Ways to Self Knowledge
"Know yourself" is good advice. But to know ourselves doesn't mean to analyse ourselves. Sometimes we want to know ourselves as if we were machines that could be taken apart and put back together at will. At certain critical times in our lives it might be helpful to explore in some detail the events that led us to our crises, but we make a mistake when we think that we can ever completely understand ourselves and explain the full meaning of our lives to others. Solitude, silence, and prayer are often the best ways to self-knowledge. Not because they offer solutions for the complexity of our lives but because they bring us in touch with our sacred center, where God dwells. That sacred center may not be analysed. It is the place of adoration, thanksgiving, and praise.
- Henri Nouwen

Passing through phases - please!!

My friends Colette and Nicole have me all up in this physics and quantum physics world. Oh, yes, how to draw on science as a model and metaphor for the human experience....Love them!

Tonight's assignment: to look up "thermodynamic slopes."

I was scrounging around in Wikipedia looking for definitions of Chaos theory and thermodynamic principles at play, and ended up on this page of simple definitions of "Phases" or "Matter."

Being all sick and such this past couple days, this has me screaming with giggles:

When a system goes from one phase to another, there will generally be a stage where the free energy is non-analytic. This is a phase transition. Due to this non-analyticity, the free energies on either side of the transition are two different functions, so one or more thermodynamic properties will behave very differently after the transition. The property most commonly examined in this context is the heat capacity. During a transition, the heat capacity may become infinite, jump abruptly to a different value, or exhibit a "kink" or discontinuity in its derivative.

Well, doesn't that beautifully explain my fever this past weekend?! It was my heat capacity revving up! I mean, I'm in serious phase transition, right? Passing from one phase of life, career, job, calling to another, and my free energy has been woefully non-analytic (well, at the lowest levels of analysis for this cookie) being sick and exhausted and all....

Now: I am going to be on the lookout for any abrupt jumping and kinkiness.
Yes. That Kink-alert has me quite curious!

Smiles.

Love,

Melissa

The Thing about Being Sick...(and Transitions)

There's no running. There's no running away when you are sick, taken ill and overcome by fever and flu. It's just you in your woeful body, cold, shaking, doing battle with your lungs to breathe clearly and continue in that search for the most perfectly comfortable spot of stillness.

I'm on day four or five with this flu. The second time in a season that I've had this. (Well, technically, it's another strain of the flu virus.) ...It's something to marvel, let me tell you.

This whole business of the BODY SHUTTING DOWN. Like all my parts are in revolt against my head and heart:

No!

We are done!

Stop it!

Quit trying to go anywhere!

Or think anything!

No more creating!

Let us rest!

And so my throat seized up. Got red and raw and scratchy. Voice box quit working late on Friday. The achy all-over skin thing started. Everywhere, to touch me, there was pain.

The muscles in my face hurt, for example. Who pays attention to the muscles in their face? The simple resting of my forehead against my hand was what gave rise to this voice:

Ouchy! Yowza! Tender! Tender head! Be gentle! Massage here!

I know I wrote about fever, as a sound track was constructed inside my skull. I believe those were lucid moments. Yes, sometime on Saturday. I woke around 1pm, (after 18 hours of sleep!) to the shakes and shivers and hacking need for more expectorant/ suppressant.

Which so cracks me up, by the way:

expect/ suppress.

Expect/ Suppress.

Bring forward/ Shut down.

Bring forward/ Shut down.

There's a reason right there a body may revolt! Look at the freaking mixed messages!!!

My sinus passages were what filled up next. FILLED with fluids. Not sure how it all works, but my respiratory system was definitely doing some crazy infection dance. Like David Bowie moved in and was having a party inside my lungs and Queen Latifah was creating her own jam inside my nasal passages. Somewhere, in there, Peggy Lee was singing, too.

Dang!

And I have to marvel, still coming out of this all:

WHAT IS THIS FLU ABOUT?

WHY DO WE CATCH THESE VIRUSES?

What is the universe trying to say? To tell us?

Is this just that not-so-subtle reminder - that we aren't in control? Of ANYTHING?

Or is this an invitation to SLOW DOWN?

A request to take a hiatus from the realm of thought and action and be a child? Be child-like?

Curl up in the fetal position with a blanket.

Be needy? Be a receiver of the universe's graces?

Whether or not the larger Universe has anything to do with this or not: the Universe of my body has been through some things the past 4 days...

And it's simply my job to take these notes.

......................................

I know I'm in a major transition in my life. I've left the realm of classroom teaching as I've known it. And that's no small feat. A long time coming actually. And so, yes, technically, realistically-speaking, there is this pressure to move into the next phase of my life. Knowing what that is and stepping neatly into it.

aha!

And the thing is: I don't believe any body is really standing around expecting me to be all grace and charm and manners as I make my way into this next thing, but I have this sort of expectation of myself. Know what I'm saying?

Which is so funny. Because my body is laughing so hard at me. It's hardly charming to hack up a lung at lunch or while trying to fall asleep at night, oh so sweetly, after evening prayers.

Please!

My friend Coey was asking me the other day if I had been writing about my transition, and I was a bit stumped.

How does one document the everyday?

How do we truly and authentically capture what we are the midst of?

I think that is a burning question coming from my entire life of living and working to pay attention to what feels to be SIGNIFICANT PRESENT MOMENTS. Now. At North High. Growing up in Nebraska. Being on vacation. Traveling with strangers. Taking notes on my family. It's all so large and precious and screaming at me.

And in this case:

it's the sniffles that I'm supposed to write about? The sneezing and coughing and scratching, as a response to CHANGE?

I suppose so. Not sure.

But I continue to try and capture it. Sort it all out.

No solutions. Just in this mix and mess. Knowing for certain that calling forth this next phase is a daily process that requires love, patience, prayer, and lots of tissue and orange-flavored expectorant .

Peace and Love.

Meliss

Crooked Wisdom - A Poem about an Extramarital Affair and the Dentist

Who's been to the dentist recently?

Watch out! Never know what the heck can be going on with those folks and their drills and picks and accompanying hygienists.

No.
Compassion is called for here. In this wickedly funny and sad poem, showcasing Robert Fanning's clever juxtaposition of his experience with his dentist (teeth, gums, drilling, cleaning, x-rayed, exposure, etc.) and what he gleans is the back story of his doctor's life: a marriage gone awry.

According to the essay writing class I'm in presently, I would have to say this poem exemplifies a principle of showing vs. telling.

I'm not sure. But I do appreciate this poet's eye for the many levels of experience.

I wonder if this story is true?
Did Fanning's dentist really lose his wife in an affair?

Was his exam tempered or marred by this knowledge?

Did the poet invent this information, this back story, as a way to explain the seeming cruelty done to his own exposed gums?

Hmmm.....

Poem: "Crooked Wisdom" by Robert Fanning, from The Seed Thieves. © Marick Press. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)

Crooked Wisdom

Having learned last night of his wife's affair,
my dentist holds a giant silver spear
and leans over the canyon of my open jaw.
Diving in again, vulture-sure, he picks

at my gum's weak pink flesh. Between
cliffs, down in the bone and coral landscape
of my teeth, nerve tips burst and bloom
like crimson flowers on a hill. Soon

blood's smeared red signature runs
from a deep root and floods my tongue.
Half-under with gas and lovely numb,
I watch his left eye become a clouded moon,

then one black branch of an eyelash
catch a teardrop's sheer balloon. With quick
shame, like a lion tamer stricken with naked
fear, he leaves the work of the open mouth

and the raw wound to another. He lays
the mirror down beside the spear and exits
the room. Anesthesia doesn't dim his grief
a room away. I hear the hygienist say:

She's leaving you for him. You've seen this
coming for a year ...

A bit later he returns, composed in his white
smock, and clips the X-rays of my teeth
to the board. Then he lifts his pointer
to the slideshow of my bite: backlit, exposed,

the skull's little ornaments hang; bicuspids
and molars glow with hunger and decay. See here —
he points — here's the abscess. Here's the cavity,
and here's that crooked wisdom pushing through.

On Being Feverish

"You give me Fever! .... FEVER!"

That's the Peggy Lee soundtrack playing in my head right now. Only there's no slanky, slinky, smoky smooth voice and body accompanying it. No. Quite the contrary: Melissa all feverish and forlorn, curled up in her comforter, shaking shaking, shaking as she tries to type and entertain herself through this sudden onset of illness.

Where the heck did this fever come from?

Why the sinus headache?

What's up with the red-raw-scratchy throat, and the blasted cough?

Steph, my sister/ mom/doctor diagnosed me yesterday over the phone:

"You have a respiratory infection. It's actually the flu. You'll need a lot of fluids and rest. "

God bless her.

I was coming home from a conference for Gay and Lesbian Catholics and was overwhelmed by emotion from the rousing day's workshops lead by Rock-star Theologian, James Allison. "Overcoming Scandal" and "Imagining the Good" were the two retitled sessions for the day. Former Dominican Priest James Allison had me all weepy and inspired contemplating the human condition encountering first love, shame of identity, and the ensuing hell. His afternoon session centering on Home, Heart, Husband, and Ministry were really what resonated, sending me into fiercely flowing tears.

(Forgive me: this so needs editing!)

You know: James and I both really want the same things!?

While I'm all comfortable in this rainbow crowd of GLBT Catholics, I have to admit the irony of my own heterosexual woes. Being consoled by a Fransiscan brother (minus his frock) over the resonance of these themes was just a tad too much.

Perhaps that is when the cold/ flu really kicked in?

I departed shortly after the second plenary session, tissue in hand, reflecting on my desire to write more about love and shame and living through hell, overcoming scandal and imagining the good...

"Just get home, Mel, and you can write some of this down."

Well, home I got, with my bag of Walgreen goodies; Robitussin, Progresso chicken noodle soup, Emergen-C drink mix. Kleenex.

And now: here I am. Some serious sleep later, almost a bottle of Robitussin down, all shaky and sad still, alone in my bed.

I was supposed to go out last night. It was Sharifa's Birthday. I was meeting up with some lovely crew. And today: It's St. Patrick's Day! My neighbors Melinda and Cort are having a soire, and Harold, the writer/ biker from two doors down just stopped by to see if I was coming...

And here I am: in bed, contemplating James Allison, Love, Peggy Lee's music, and wondering what I can say, "Thank you, God" for. There has to be a thank you, God, right?

Thank you for the GLBT Catholic conference - that it even exists!

Thank you for James Allison's insights on love, shame, hell, and how he responds to the world and life's woes -- as a grown up.

Thank you for this cold and fever, and my own invented Peggy Lee soundtrack.

Thank you for keeping me in on St. Patrick's Day?

Thank you for having Harold the neighbor visit, even coming in to read over some of his recent work?

Thank you for chicken noodles soup.

Thank you for the ability to blog.

Thank you for all the people out there in the world who are also ill, and in need of love, comfort. May they know they are not alone.

.........

More on Allison, maybe, soon. After I recover and am clear-headed.

Kisses,

Melissa

Adding Heat

..................................................................................................................

Loves,

I'm working on an essay. Not exactly sure where it's going. But, I have found some interesting data/ definitions, to back up my experience of the universe today.

I went for a walk. Observed the melting snow. Listened to this water running from the lawns, sidewalks, into open crevices, draining into the spaces below the streets. (What is that space called? What is down there? Sewer? pipes? Where does it all go? Explain!)

I came home craving iced tea. When I went to make a batch, the boiling water I poured over the tea bags in the glass pitcher caused it to bust into about 65 smaller pieces. I cursed and cried. (This was brand new, a Christmas-present-piece-of-ART-PITCHER from my sister.)

Here is me looking up things now that have to do with Heat. ADDING HEAT. (Entropy is a term I'd like to be able to throw around.) I'd like to unpack these definitions and look at implications for other parts of my life.

Here is one for you all:

"Heat" is the motional energy of molecules being transferred: when motional energy is transferred from hotter surroundings to a cooler system, faster moving molecules in the surroundings collide with the walls of the system and some of their energy gets to the molecules of the system and makes them move faster.

And another:

"Motional molecular energy (‘heat energy’) from hotter surroundings, like faster moving molecules in a flame or violently vibrating iron atoms in a hot plate, will melt or boil a substance (the system) at the temperature of its melting or boiling point. The amount of motional energy from the surroundings that is required for melting or boiling is called the phase change energy, specifically the enthalpy of fusion or of vaporization, respectively. This phase change energy breaks bonds between the molecules in the system (not chemical bonds inside the molecules that hold the atoms together) rather than contributing to the motional energy and making the molecules move any faster – so it doesn’t raise the temperature, but instead enables the molecules to break free to move as a liquid or as a vapor.

Yes. I'd like for some aspects of my life to move faster. I like this notion of breaking free, too. Breaking free from my life and service to education reform. And taking time this year to carve space for a personal life. Yeah. I like my number one goal on the planet right now: dating and marriage and babies. Any of you know how to light the fire under my future husband's ass?
I'd appreciate that.

In the meantime, I'm taking my walks. Observing the universe. Breaking things apart. Appreciating my own heat and ability to burn.

Kisses,

Melissa