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Whooeee, I thought—I’m amazing! Now for the next blockbuster.
I wondered, how can I write more inspiring words that could make a difference for people.
Who’s going to inspire me?
I consulted with Natalie Goldberg in Writing Down the Bones: “Don’t tell your autobiography with facts…Tell me who you really are. I am the frost on the window, the cry of a young wolf, the thin blade of grass.”
I meditated for a bit, sat on the front porch, and watched the deer, crows, and wrens. I listened, smelled, and tasted the day.
Then I wrote:
I am delicious music.
I am the queen of the woods,
Mother of deer,
Does, fawns, young bucks.
Listen as the violin sings every afternoon,
And sometimes the flute. No piccolo.
I am the keeper of the corn,
Coming out to share.
Wait just a little longer.
Close the door. Hear it?
(Mine. Not for anyone else. Babies, out of my way!)
I am the doe,
Scarred and ribby,
Belly distended with next fawn to slip
Gently to the ground, to
Nurse, nap in the sun.
I am the fawn,
Breathing, staggering to find myself,
Not pleased to be separated from
The warm and wet, breathing,
Heart beating source of my life.
Now I am the violin,
With his hands holding me gently,
Fingering my neck,
Bow on my strings
Making delicious music.
Ah, and there it was—my inspiration.
My husband and I make delicious music. We make a difference.
I think it’s a bit narcissistic for me to hold onto my bliss, keep it hidden and safe inside the walls of our home. There are people on the edge of despair, grasping for one ray of hope, one reason to keep breathing.
There’s that book, that Facebook post, that TV show, that family at the dinner table—can they provide what’s needed to inspire hope?
Yes, and so can I.
I suspect many of us can.
Let’s get busy and reach out. Perhaps we are the ones to build the bridges, tear down the walls, and heal our families, our communities, and our country.
And the whole world? Well, why not.