Community Blog
These posts were all written by someone in a Soul Writing group or workshop in ten minutes or less—really!
Not only that, what you read is virtually unedited from the original, timed writing. Several pieces often have the same title since groups write together on one prompt. Join us anytime to try it out for yourself. For now, happy reading.
This body of mine / Maybe I should have
I have yet to learn to love this body of mine, just as it is. The message from early was that it wasn't even mine.
The way I know to heal
The only way I know to heal is this. To pick up this pen and connect it with this paper…
Don’t be too sure
“How do you spell stubborn?” I asked, wanting to know if there were two Bs or one.
I simply want to
I simply want it all to stop. To know that I am ok, to not even wonder if I am perhaps not ok, to simply fall from moment to moment covered in delightful surprise.
What I know
This steadiness you feel in me is alive, not stagnant or flat as you seem to assume about steadiness.
What I know
I didn't realize, until someone pointed it out to me, that I have a tendency that can seem off-putting at times.
Whose voice is this?
A new acquaintance, possible friend and collaborator. And then the dreaded question, “What church have you joined?”
I just wanted to…
I just wanted to connect, as me, with you, and to open something new for both of us…
Whose voice is this?
Whose voice is this that gently says, it’s OK what is happening in your toes right now?
I know this for sure
My inner critic is aging too. Her voice isn’t as robust as it once was, she coughs a lot, and I can tell she’s tired.
All together now
Togetherness is all too distant these days. We see each other across fences, across streets, across picket lines and other borders. Red. Blue. The blood of war.
If I had forever
“All right” the plumber is saying on his cell phone, talking as he crosses my street. The crows. The car door slamming. The leaves skating across the driveway.
Whose voice is this?
Who speaks through me when I’m showing with my body what their bodies are invited to do too?
If I had forever
What if every day began with the feeling of “forever”? Sinking into the lushness of it. The endless, take-your-time of it.
If I had forever
I can’t change them. I can only change me. And I can’t seem to change me, either. So what else is left?