May 2014
I. The Feeling of Floating:
I've always loved the water. The ease of movement, the grace I've never possessed on land. As if I shed my awkwardness in the embrace of water. Floating at peace, almost weightless, timeless, I can feel a taste of what the monks must feel as they sing their hymns. A oneness with the senses, this knowledge that I am being conveyed by the current, effortlessly, if only I allow it to move me.
II. Describe the Color Red:
Red is the Heart's colour, and the Heart is an ***** of fire. The passion of the day burning away the night, the fears and desperation of the dark. My garden is Red, my sheets are Red, my words written in the blood of wounded hands. Burning, burning all around me, the beat of a different drum. Red is my Heart, and it beats for you.
III. Sunrise on the Atlantic:
Once when I was younger, I caught a glimpse of what a Final Victory might be like. I had stayed up all night, wandering the empty streets and alleys of St. Augustine with two friends whose names are long forgotten. We strayed to the marina after pondering the absurdity of human existence and there, beheld a true Wonder. Just the barest taste of things to come, but an overwhelming awe. This Great Heart made of fire, bursting forth from the dark waters, an ocean of consuming majesty, such as I had never conceived. Can you imagine we, these infintesimal specks of life, being a part of this miracle, this new Day?
I've always loved the water. The ease of movement, the grace I've never possessed on land. As if I shed my awkwardness in the embrace of water. Floating at peace, almost weightless, timeless, I can feel a taste of what the monks must feel as they sing their hymns. A oneness with the senses, this knowledge that I am being conveyed by the current, effortlessly, if only I allow it to move me.
II. Describe the Color Red:
Red is the Heart's colour, and the Heart is an ***** of fire. The passion of the day burning away the night, the fears and desperation of the dark. My garden is Red, my sheets are Red, my words written in the blood of wounded hands. Burning, burning all around me, the beat of a different drum. Red is my Heart, and it beats for you.
III. Sunrise on the Atlantic:
Once when I was younger, I caught a glimpse of what a Final Victory might be like. I had stayed up all night, wandering the empty streets and alleys of St. Augustine with two friends whose names are long forgotten. We strayed to the marina after pondering the absurdity of human existence and there, beheld a true Wonder. Just the barest taste of things to come, but an overwhelming awe. This Great Heart made of fire, bursting forth from the dark waters, an ocean of consuming majesty, such as I had never conceived. Can you imagine we, these infintesimal specks of life, being a part of this miracle, this new Day?
This particular exercise is my favorite. It can be done alone, or pairs(which is preferable to me) or in a group. More than 4 gets kinda redundant though. Basically each person writes a series of single line prompts on subjects/words/scenes/concepts that they would like to write about or read about. Then each entry is torn off and all of them are mixed in a pile or in a hat, after which each participant draws a paper from the pile and writes on that subject. The papers are usually drawn together and the answers (well, responses really) are written in any mode that the writer prefers. We usually try to keep the length to about a paragraph or two, but only because some write faster than others and we try not to let them feel out of league or anything ****** like that. This is a variation of Tristan Tzara's hat, taught to me by one of the most influential people in my life. Every time I do this exercise/game, I send a happy thought her way.
