brain compost

A few truths about caring:
Caring hurts.
Caring is inconvenient.
Caring is–most times–thankless.
Caring changes things for the good.
Caring matters.
Caring is muy importante!

I went to the woods and a wise Leaf Owl stared penetratingly at my core and hooted, “Please care!”

So I was inconvenienced and sad while I picked up a giant stash of uncaring.
(Carrybag brought to me by the river and “WalMart. And thanks human!

Walking home I felt less sad.
Hmmm. Thinking about my woods and her creatures no longer attempting to eat or compost the naughty carelessmess.
I was also carrying this little poem-ishy thing:
Brain compost!

Thank you woods.
Thank you Leaf Owl.
Thank you trash.
Thank you humans visiting the woods.

Thank YOU for reading….but most of all, thank you for caring.

Take sweet care!
all my ❤
bjs

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tokens: a wordplay between writer and her words

Dear Beautiful Humans,

This week I received another rejection letter from a revered and highly read publication, affirming again myself a rejected writer. Uh-hem, I must add rejected but NOT  DEJECTED. 🙂

I submitted a few writings this year that I’ve yet to share with you. Publications that accept unsolicited submissions typically won’t publish a piece that has appeared previously including blogs, unless of course you are … well, “published”.

Upon contemplation of my reasoning it seems this delayed sharing may be a waste of time. I mean … afterall YOU ARE THE REASON I write in the bloomin’ first place! I am not writing for acceptance, accolades, awards or approval: I write because I love people, namely YOU–dear souls who read my blog! Thank you for reading what I offer here. You are my reason. As I shared with my dear Elder, beloved friend and creative makerheart, Kate Stockman, I don’t necessarily write to be seen, but for the possibility that others may see themselves in my writing.

Tonight I offer a piece I submitted last winter. For this submission I wrote a third-person bio for myself as a “writer” which I find rather amusing to re-read. The essay or wordplay offers a glimpse of a battle in my mind about the intentional act of writing and using words to connect with people.

I hope you enJOY. I’d love to know what you think or feel.

Tokens
(WordPlay between Writer and her Words)

WRITER: Words. Words. Words. How when I cherish, collect, cultivate and revise thee, do you fail me?

How is it that when my heart floods with love for humanity and we begin our collaborative dance… Words, I choose you with intention—on my guard, on my honor—and yet you Words, hurt people!

WORDS: Oh you, you of too many of me. You little torch carrier. You aspirational human lighthouse. You do not understand me: You do not understand my spectrum of meanings.

You with your dictionary, your thesaurus, and your great Google Oracle! You think you have command of me, but you forget and neglect my potency when received by hearts not your own.

You believe your own limited interpretation and experience of me allows you to manipulate and fool your readers into becoming one with you, through me!

You cannot depend on me alone. I offer only pointers to your being of this world. I do not offer our readers the actual experience. Words are tokens.

Try as you may to edit, massage, rework, manipulate me, you can never truly bring someone completely into you. It is the problem—your human dilemma—this separateness of body, mind, spirit reality.

You are stuck.

Try as you may, sometimes you might get close to such connection—yet still you are not they, she or he. You are only thee—just a writer—separate and less than equal to those who read us.

WRITER: Have you quite finished? Have run out of yourself to say?

I heard you. I hear you. I hate you! And yet still, I fight for every single one of you. You, Words that fly through my being, through my heart, my hands and now through my fingertips.

With you I fight the separation. I fight to denounce human disconnection!

You are—my dear Words—paradoxically friend and foe; miraculously my greatest tool, my art supplies, my word paints, my linguistic box of matchsticks.

You + Me = Fire.

Together we can build fire to draw similar hearts closer to us, bridging the spacial divide.

We can write forth blazing, burning wordfires to replace chills in human bones with meaning and majesty.

Together we thwart these splinters of separation with a… an… uh…  INSERT WORD of hope.

 

Becky J. Suzik creates, mothers, and chases serial commas in Raleigh, North Carolina and online at beckyjaine.com. With hat-tips to an illness, she was awarded a complete career change in 2007 from marketing to creativity activism. She loves writing everything and aspires to one day write a profile that includes awards and books published –mentionables of her own.

 

❤ bjs

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blowin’ smoke

dear ones,

There is so much more to my shadow than I can ever write about. Looking at my shadow–things hidden and things I choose to carry–I feel overwhelmed and grateful.

The truth of it is I you.

I how very much I need you and feel connected to you in lights and shadows and baggage. I love–and simultaneously feel really frustrated–by how consumed I am by multiple-muse-generated ideas about how we might could play and imagine and co-create and dance and write, sing, make and live our new story together. And yet all I can do is what is possible each 24 hours, every lunar cycle.

If time is my friend, why do I DAILY feel like I have so much more in me I was supposed to give?!

Pace myself, darling. Be kind to myself, dear love.

This month I received many gifts and lessons: endings and beginnings. I was reminded of the tremendous power one decision makes to our personal direction and narrative.

My heart remains flooded with ideas from the Appalachian State Expressive Arts Intensive that so many of you made possible for me … so many gifts (seeds) because of you. (I wish there were two of me so I could find time this summer to activate some ideas carving me out.)

But for now, my amazing children are out of school for our 5-week summer. I belong to them more than they EVER will belong to me. (Oh beloved Kahlil, your words become me.)

I send this flutter of words out like a me-shaped smoke signal, intending a giant virtual hug, to cheer YOU on in everything and in every way you are climbing up steep hills, and for every precious choice YOU make. We are connected. ♥

 my heart
bjs

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