Going Big with Grace and Vision

I write primarily to honor life and to share the grace and the vision. This is what I wrote in response to Jennifer Lauck’s question: Why do you write?

Just back from Portland, sitting in my favorite Indian restaurant. The sitar screams and wails to the tabla’s infiltrating thud. Right through my chest. Straight to the heart.

I cannot avoid what I love and this has made for an interesting journey. The fall-on-your-knees-too-many-times kind of journey. That kind of love is searing – I hate and long for it simultaneously. Walking down the street in India I swing from the rafters of angst and exuberance. Ten years later in my mind, the same.

I ate at this restaurant when I was pregnant, dreaming into the life of my baby, same table, same music. The woman who always works here, long beautiful braid, nods to me every time I come. She peeks out from the kitchen now and calls over, “How’s your baby?” I smile and wave, “She’s almost two!”

Coming from the great circle of women writers, this was the only place I could think to go. Cardamom, ginger, garlic. And chai. One by one, the grandmother, father, and sisters emerge from the kitchen, and stopping halfway across the room, they recognize me and smile. This strange kinship restores whatever alienated feeling I carried through the airport.

Reading my writing this weekend was a big step. It’s not about the writing. It’s about being seen and hiding nothing. Jennifer wonders if she is becoming a wrathful teacher, which reminds me of Rumi’s poem about the knife that is so sharp it cuts things together instead of apart. She has the audacity and compassion required to speak truly. And funny to boot. What a blessing.

One message I walked away with is to write more about the grit. If I were doing that today I would write about the ballistic fit River threw this morning. We went from warm good morning hugs to full-throttle screams as I strong-armed her into a bath. Or how I fought with my husband the moments before and after entering and emerging from the amazing workshop. If I really wanted to dwell, I could write about the foul smell saturating the house from the rat living behind the stove. “Go big with that!” Jennifer would urge. “How is that in your body? We want to know.”

Lovin the objects. Going for the demons!

But truly, thank god for a circle of women. Knowing that ultimately we are alone, we are not meant to do this work alone.

Time to pick up my girl, but I sit for another moment. Eyes closed. The flutes are winding - perfect slithering snakes of sound.