I’m hoping, in this new year, to post a bit more frequently here on the blog. It will be a nice push for me to become a bit more regular with my writing, and a push to give myself permission to try out different kinds of writing.

The writing that showed up today was sparked by a class offered by Ronna Detrick called “Inspired By Eve“, in which she guides you through a process of re-imagining the possibilities of Eve’s story, and then using that to re-imagine and retell parts of your own story. In today’s lesson she had us write about desire, and this is what showed up for me.

Desire

Desire is big, bold, and brassy. Desire sashays right up to you at the bar, voluptuous hips swinging, working every inch of her little red dress, and gives you the once-over while asking you for a light. But what she’s really asking is, “Are you ready? Can you step up? Are you willing to take the ride?”

Desire bats her mile-long lashes at you and beckons you with a flirty glance; a dare, and a promise.

Desire flips her silky blond hair over one shoulder, pretending disinterest, but you’re well aware that she’s watching your every move.

You lick your lips. Your body moves closer of its own accord, irresistibly enticed by what Desire seems to promise-no guaranteed outcomes, but a hell of a ride, and the adventure of a lifetime.

Returning her gaze head on, you lift your chin, strike a match, and set the world alight.

 

Invitation

It is not what you first think.
There is no effort of will,
no firm resolve in the face
of this thing called living.
There is only paying attention
to the quiet each morning,
while you hold your cup
in the cool air
& then
that moment
you choose
to spread your
love like a cloth
upon the table &
invite the whole day
in again.
~ Brian Andreas

A traveler am I, and a navigator, and every day I discover a new region within my soul.

-Khalil Gibran

“I’m sick of following my dreams. I’m just going to ask them where they’re going and hook up with them later.”
-M. Hedberg

I found this little passage at the beginning of the latest Sharon McCone mystery by Marcia Muller. I couldn’t find any other information about it, but I wanted to share it here because it so perfectly captures what so many of us live with every day.

“Trying Desperately”

“What do you know about it?”
he sneered. “You’ve never
worked.” He added, “Unless
you’re going to count
those four months you worked
as a telephone solicitor.”
My eyes narrowed. “Three,”
I said. “It was only for
three months.” I added,
“Work is what you do
when everything depends
on what you do.” Calmly,
I listed my qualifications:
“Nine weeks in a coma,
seven months in hospitals,
five operations,
two crushed knees,
brain damage that resulted
in a stroke, seven pelvic
fractures-and I still
carried a baby to term.”
Quietly I added, “I work more
in an hour than you do
in a day. Trying desperately
to stay on my feet. Trying
desperately to not snarl
my words. Trying desperately
to be normal.”

-Kit Knight

They obviously have not read the book, “The Well-Tempered Sentence”, which states on page 1 that,

“The period is used to mark the end of a declarative or imperative sentence.” and gives the following illustrative example:

You don’t have to give me all the gory details about how you got hepatitis.

“It’s not scratching-it’s rubbing, with pressure!”

I read this yesterday on Ronna Detrick’s blog, RENEGADE conversations, and was completely blown away. So she has graciously granted me permission to post this piece here so that you can be blown away too.

********

Over the weekend I had some rare spaces of times to sit in the sun and read. First on my list – trying to make it through a few more pages of my new Sacred Text: Women Who Run with the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes. One chapter in which I soaked: Joyous Body: The  Wild Flesh and these quotes:

To take pleasure in a world filled with many kinds of beauty is a joy in life to which all women are entitled. To support only one kind of beauty is to be somehow unobservant of nature…There cannot be one kind of baby, one kind of man, or one kind of woman. There cannot be one kind of breast, one kind of waist, one kind of skin.

Why have I believed the lies that there is only “one kind” that matters, that’s good enough? Enough!

In essence, the attack on women’s bodies is a far-reaching attack on the ones who have gone before her as well as the ones who will come after her.

I’m not OK with my own longstanding contempt for my body to even remotely impact my daughters. Enough!

Destroying a woman’s instinctive affiliation with her natural body cheats her of confidence. It causes her to perseverate about whether she is a good person or not, and bases her self-worth on how she looks instead of who she is. It pressures her to use up her energy worrying about how much food she consumes or the readings on the scale and tape measure. It keeps her preoccupied, colors everything she does, plans, and anticipates. It is unthinkable in the instinctive world that a woman should live preoccupied by appearance this way.

How is it that I became this preoccupied with my appearance; that I stopped living in the “instinctive world?” Enough!

Suppose…the body is a God in its own right, a teacher, a mentor, a certified guide? Then what? Is it wise to spend a lifetime chastising this teacher who has much to give and teach? Do we wish to spend a lifetime allowing others to detract from our bodies, judge them, find them wanting? Are we strong enough to refute the party line and listen deep, listen true to the body as a powerful and holy being?

Why have I spent a lifetime chastising a body that is “a God in its own right?” Enough!

I am strong enough to listen deep, listen true to my body and a powerful and holy being. I am enough!
copyright 2010 by Ronna Detrick

“Instructions For A Body” by Marty McConnell”