Memoir Writing Class

There's a 2 week class that I have signed up for and need to raise funds  so that I can attend. It's part of the 18 month plan to go from writing longhand and sometimes sharing to FULL PUBLICATION in 2020.

https://www2.calstate.edu/SummerArts/Courses/Pages/memoir-writing.aspx

A Note about the Artist:

The Artist, the Poet, the Healer...
She holds a space for beauty.
Her heart is sweet
yet
she still feels the pain and suffering of the world.

But in the dark hour of despair,
when it threatens to crush her tender heart,
She knows that the light still exists
In the miracle of another sunrise.

No matter the gloom
no matter the gray
no matter how far lost is the way
She waits for the light,
knows that it will shine again.

That the beauty
the love
the bliss
Is our natural birthright, our Divine Gift.

This grace of healing
will alight within her heart
Healing her heart
bringing back
hope
faith
that her light will shine again.

The healing of one heart
the healing of one's heart
holds the space
for the healing of the next heart.

As the healing hearts unite and grow
they collectively hold the hope
for healing all the hearts
of humanity.

So do not underestimate
the worth,
the word,
the work
of the Artist, the Poet, the Healer
as she holds space
for beauty,
bliss,
and grace.


And if you are blessed to BE
the Artist, the Poet, the Healer,
Cherish your self
your gifts
your loving embrace
Thank you for your brilliance

and your legacy of grace.

************
I know, I'm supposed to keep this short and brief and URGENT! Tell you my life won't  be worthy without going to this memoir class.

Instead, I'm going to share the poem above along with an essay about my writing because WRITING SAVES MY LIFE. 

Why do I write? I write because the words wake me up in the middle of the night, demanding to be freed from the ethers of my unconscious so they may walk across the pages. I write because the words bottleneck within my brain, begging to be decluttered upon the journal, giving them room to breathe.  I write because holding in my words is like holding my bladder, legs crossed doing the pee pee dance.

I write to release the demons, naming and claiming them so I can charm and disarm them, shrinking them from fire breathing dragons into a blue tailed lizard that I can hold in my hand, knowing it is still there but that it will no longer rule me.


Opening my journal to thick thirsty paper gives me a rush and bleeding ink upon the surface is a ritual of talking outloud to myself, having a conversation with the past and present, the wounded child, the re-emerging goddess, the frustrated artist and the healer who knows that doing this work for myself first, creates a space for others to do their work as well. It is how the myriad of voices from the loudest of shouts to the stillest of whispers are all given space to be heard and witnessed.


I write as therapy, first spilling the tumultuous thoughts upon the page, the screeching pain, the weeping loneliness, the beseeching questions that beg for not just answers but deeper knowing, a grokking within my bones for why I have a body here today on this planet. And then when I have poured out my heart, I am able to sit. In stillness, in silence. Breathe in, breathe out, Rinse repeat. And after the silence, I once again pick up the pen and I write as a meditation, the deeper Truth flowing in the form of automatic writing. This is the still small voice. A different handwriting all together, it comes from a place that is beyond my brain. I never recognise these words when reading them, they are not mine but from what I call Spirit, God, Goddess, Creator or the Universe among other names. These are the words of invocation and evocation, calling on The Divine to recognize the Oneness with all.


I write to recognize my heart and my humanity, my hubris and my humility, my hypocrisy and my hopefulness. It becomes a dance with my emotions, everything from punk rock slam dance to a seductive tango to a graceful waltz.

Sometimes, I write as an art form, picking and choosing words to season my sentences as I would season a stew, remembering to honor the flavors of bitter, sour, sweet, salty and savory. I like to explore the mouthfeel of creamy words, morsels that melt on the tongue like a dark chocolate truffle or crunch like a kettle baked potato chip with vinegar bringing in the full pucker at the end. I enjoy inciting icy shivers of 10 foot snowdrifts in Buffalo or the luxurious warmth of a blanket fresh out of the dryer enveloping your shoulders in a hug. I love the poetry of phrases, the journey through thoughts evoking emotions, the rollercoaster ride through the psyche exploring the universe.




And why do I share?

I share because others have deeply touched my heart through their words, transporting me into other realms and letting me know that I’m not alone and giving me tools to reclaim my soul. Or the times that an email arrived when I was exhausted and on the edge and looking for a permanent relief from temporary pain and it was thin rope of hope to clutch and grab onto. And just as they were brave in sharing their voice, so shall I. I invite you to do the same.


I share because I have been silenced time and again, by teachers, oppressors and by the court. I share in defiance of those that said I couldn’t.

Yes, but why do I stand up here, publicly baring all to see? Is this just Vulnerablity Porn, laying out my wounds for the world? I dig deeper into my psyche for answers to understand and validate myself standing on stage, asking for your precious time and attention tonight.

There are many possibilities of my personalities and not just because I have an Aries Rising with 3 houses and a cusp in Leo. And in spite of what my brother has said, my dentist has confirmed that I have neither a big fat mouth nor diarrhea of the vocal chords. And while I don’t mind attention and sometimes even bask in it, laying my tender heart for all to witness feels like I have just handed everyone in this room a loaded weapon that has the possibility for my total destruction. I wonder about the sanity of doing this in a small town. Please respond with kindness.

I speak outloud to break the patterns of silence that kept me stuck in sickness. In saying the forbidden things, I have reclaimed my power from those that endeavored to silence me; and  through giving voice to my shame and fear, it allows your shame and fear to be seen and heard as well. I share to let all the other weirdos, freaks, geeks, Intensives, loud mouth bitches, queer femmes, wounded healers, and survivors of childhood assault to know that they are not alone. I share to reach a hand across the divide that cultures have created to say “me too”, I weep for what our world has become. I share to remind us all that we are all human in our feats and foibles, fears and fantasies, faults and features and that laughter and tears are both a universal language. And in the moments of being witnessed, in all my glorious mess, it keeps me humble and remembering that we are all the whole of our experiences, Wonderfully human, perfect in all our imperfections.

And in this moment of communion, your witnessing these words of wisdom, wit and whimsy let me know that for all my attempts at playing small and becoming invisible have failed and that in this moment, like the Velveteen Rabbit, I am real. Just as I see you, you see me too.


And lest anyone thinks I have left out the obvious, I do share from ego and energy. As the Alessi of Alliteration, I love the sounds of repetition of the s’s in saying Scintillating, Sacred and Salacious, the precision of perfectly placed prepositions, the declarations of delicious, delightful delineations. I read thesauruses in search of sensuous sounds that roll of my tongue and caress your ear into shivers of pleasures that poets produce. I love to paint word pictures that invoke images.