Seeing you and Jon at BAM last night was the last of ten magical NYC moments. I live in Denver and was totally compelled to get tickets when they first dropped. Called my friend Nina in NYC and that started it. Got breast cancer lumpectomy. All my young doctors know about you. Guaranteed me I’d be there! Actually getting on the plane. Coming to the beautiful spring weekend. Feeling great. Seeing the Frick. Taking an uber over Brooklyn bridge. Today the Met. Back to Denver tomorrow. You inspired me. 83 is great time to be alive and reminding me to live each day as my first. I’m from Mandeville La and seeing you with sweet Jon and the thousands of people your open heart brings in…good reasons to be thankful for being alive. I’ve been journaling, thank Julia Cameron, for decades❤️🩹
Here, on a bookshelf, the little handmade felted pony, handmade by my beloved, and dying, and now dead, partner
Here, on another bookshelf, two black and white raku tea bowls, made by a fine potter from Japan
Here, on another bookshelf, a lovely wooden bowl made by a local friend who exchanged this bowl for one of my clay bowls
Here, on the wall above my desk, a “one time only” reproduction of one of my teleidoscopic photographs, ablaze with light
Here, a music stand, tall and beckoning, holding pages of my short, simple compositions for the Japanese shakuhachi
Here, on my kitchen counter, rolls of white tape, boxes of probiotics, preparation H, antibiotic cream, adhesive strips used to hold together my wounded left middle finger, and all sorts of stuff to help me heal this wound
Here, my hearing aids, recharging, preparing for another day, allowing me to hear bird song and insect choirs
Here, standing in the corner, a sturdy, well-used, black flute case, empty now, reminding me of an amazing musical journey to Palestine a few years ago
Here, a microphone that allows me to zoom live flute music into children’s hospitals around this country, USA
Here, two windows in my small livingroom, where, each morning, I greet the day, coffee in hand, reciting, twice, a favorite poem.
Dear Suleika and Jon, thanks for reminding me of the pleasures available just by observing what is available close at hand.🏮
David, wow - thank you for writing on my prompt! This was intentional and soft and somehow in very few words, I felt invited into your home. The use of “Here” to begin each image pulled me along, as if you were walking me around your home and your life and pointing to the stuff of it. And what a story the stuff of our lives can tell! Thank you for telling yours. It was beautiful.
There are times when the sharing on Isolation Journals seems to deliver a needed gift…..enough that I left my bed at 5:30 am and picked up my journal. Yesterday was a 24 hour whirlwind that I processed using images…22 in 7 pages of writing. Packing up our home of 35 years to move in a month, I am diligently trying to make good decisions about possessions. While fending off grief at moving from the place that has been the ground and anchor for so much in our lives, images and emotions arise constantly. Concurrently, my husband has had sudden and unexpected cardiac issues. A pacemaker followed a call to come immediately to the Emergency Room after his heart monitor was read. Another hospital stay last week for pericarditis. Chest pains returned yesterday morning. A call with the Doctor was reassuring, prescribed lots of rest for him, but did not blur this new source of stress. Writing my yesterday in images was cathartic and revealing. It was so easy to write because it was a true exercise in self care and understanding. This is the message in “The Book of Alchemy”, in the spectacular evening spent with Suleika and Jon Wednesday evening in Philadelphia, and in the Zoom call Monday night with Lizzie and Suleika. Facing fears and meeting them with creativity.
That night I also ran into Lizzie coming into the theater. After some pleasantries and a hug, she handed me a sticker that said “You are Loved”. It has a home in “The Book of Alchemy”.
Oh dear Harriet, you’re carrying a whole world on your shoulders right now. The unspooling of home and unraveling of your beloved’s health? It’s all so in-your-face! I am beyond grateful that my prompt gave your words and images a safe place to flow. Sometimes for me it’s like squeezing blood from a stone and I end up with bottle caps and cloud shapes to finish off the 10 images. Other times, it’s as if I could list images forever and never stop. 22 images in 7 pages sounds perfect for what you’re going through. I hope they age like a fine wine. And wish you well as you keep moving forward. With love. 💖
Dear Harriet, My heart goes out to you. Packing up 35 years of a shared life really is hard. I recall those hard decisions, as the 'treasures' amassed in piles of "keep" or "give" I finally surrendered to mostly "give" . And you know what, unpacking at the new place felt pretty good after that :) Best wishes, Robin
Harriet, oh, the packing up and leaving...and those decisions...and the untold amount of stress you feel with the unexpected cardiac issue was something you experienced along with your husband. The Caretaker is often forgotten. Not on purpose, but it happens. Sending you so much love.
Oh, the visual feast first of Suleika's images and then the invitation to write about ten of my own...this is a great way to start this day. Ten images: 1.My little students and students from two other classes halting their play to gather 'round a large bee. Such a circle of contemplation, reverence for nature, and a master class in education. 2. Our sweet kitty basking in the sun, perched on the window seat, eyes closed in contmeplation and serenity 3. My daughter, hair up in carefree curls with no idea how beautiful she is as she creates something I have never neard of for her Quantum classes 4. A vial of Ocisillocosimum (sp?), it's little, round "pills" reminding me of the candy medicine from a doctor's kit I had when I was four. 5. Coffee, black, dark roast, a ritual of every morning-never disappoints, 6. Mom...her loving face imprinted on my soul and coming to me in a warmth and grace with profound gratitude that I was her middle child. 7. The vast number of seedlings my daughter and I have under grow lights, which seemed to have all had 100% germination! 8. Our home, this 1898 four-square savior, the place where I am becoming myself again in the light through it's sky high ceilings, and equally tall windows on all sides. 9. All the materials I had ready by the door for my Author's Event at my Alma Mater and then having to cancel because I am sick with accompanying fever. 10. My dad's face, in my heart, in one of his tender moments, saying to me, "It's alright. Your book will find its way. Today was not the day. Now, move all that stuff out of the way so no one trips on it!" Thank You Suleika and Ash, for this very healing prompt. Suleika, seeing your book and you (no you, no book) crush it, is just sublime. And that bench!!!! When I lived in Germany, every Saturday, people would put out their "no longer need" items. What a beautiful memory for me. There's nothing like a "found" object.
Oh Mary, thank you for writing on my prompt, dear heart! I could feel myself step into every image with you as if you’d poured me a cup of coffee and invited me to take a seat. Somehow it was the Oscillococcinum, recalling you to six year old Doctor kit tablets that made me want to know more! Because it means you’ve been paying close attention this whole time and you never lost it! You’re gorgeous and detailed words. I tend to agree with your dad on this one. Everything in its time, dearest. 💖
Ash, this means everything to me! Thank you for reading my response and for bringing meaning to my remembrances/images. We shared the coffee through our words, didn't we? Thank you for the opportunity to give words to my images and for your images as well.
I LOVE this idea! I have to say the 10 is feeling kind of big to me… I’m at the other end of the spectrum right now, making watercolor paintings or simple drawings on a 1 inch square every day— capturing a moment of awe, wonder &/or connection.
Yesterday’s square was the view of the stage from my seat at BAM—so thrilled to experience the Alchemy tour.
I was there! Bought merch that was not in my budget! haha but oh the absolute joy…pure joy from that experience will be with me forever and utterly priceless!
I saw the merch on the way out and didn’t stop to wade through the crowd… I will have to look into it! (The scarf — like the book cover — is magnificent!
Saw you and Jon last night at BAM. It was pure spiritual magic to me, precious and rare. It changed me. “Thank you” doesn’t cut it, but it’s what I’ve got. Bless you both.
Some images of the moment: 1. my brother, slightly hunched forward, protectively carrying the teal urn with his husband’s ashes. 2. The white robed clergy swinging the brass container puffing frankincense smoke 2. My niece with green hair throwing up. 3. Gathering wet stones by the river. 4. Teal velvet love seat 5. Burgundy and lilac bow ties 6. Yellow bursts of forsythia. 7. Squeezing a pound of limes for cosmos 8. Barking black and white dogs springing up behind the gate. 9. Siamese cat fur on black pants 10. My brother’s eyes twinkling for the first time in 2 months when he says ‘I knew he was the one the moment I saw him’.
Oh Sheila, there was an entire universe in your collection of images. Somehow I’m sitting on an airplane and welling up with tears over people I will never meet whose names I don’t know. Thank you for sharing such sacred imagery. The stuff this short life is really held in ashes and stones. Thank you for doing my prompt such a massive honor and sharing. 💖 my heart is with you. And your brother.
The prompt:10 images; this past week:speaking to my grandson and son in Seattle on FaceTime,
Going to Lincoln center & participating in a chorus on the song “love got a hold on you”-the joy! My apartment flooding—me in trauma, dancing in my home to Salsa Queen,Celia Cruz, seeing how my friend who came to the chorus with me was in pain & how it disappeared while she was learning her part in the chorus, a beautiful young woman from another culture than myself- I believe Asian, helping me sing with the soprano section and being so kind, a baby ghinko tree in my hood, blossom again with her green leaves which will grow larger and greener during the summer, while waiting for my friend to participate in the chorus with me & realizing I make wonderful experiences for myself & others & it made me feel so much love for myself, crowed cafe at Lincoln center, didn’t like the crowds, went to the rest room, and when I came back crowd was gone—it was heavenly and quiet, a baby orchid in my bedroom blooming over & o et & with the many years I’ve loved & had orchids, this one reblooming like crazy, not remembering what I planted on my balcony but so excited the green leaves are popping & thrilling to see what flowers will emerge, walking a crowded nyc bus and bus driver was mean so I walked thru bus and got off the back realizing there’s always the next bus, the sounds of people’s voices blending together in chorus & it feeling sublime, and it’s really hard work, it’s 7am while writing this, and looking and in my decorative & vibrant bedroom & feeling such joy, sitting on my balcony, & the warmth of the 10am sun warming my body. Here’s to Suleika’s new, wonderful book, which I have & loving the texture of the book cover and the lovely secret under the cover. A big @amen” to our community! Love you all!
Oh Sherri, these words! “seeing how my friend who came to the chorus with me was in pain & how it disappeared while she was learning her part in the chorus” wow. What a potent image. That’s one I hope never leaves you. What a gift to witness the relief and release of a fellow human being. 💖
I would've been late for that bench! I'm journaling with my copy of "The Book of Alchemy" every morning. I watched the Zoom and wished so badly I could have attended a live event! (The Zoom caused me to weep with the feeling of love for Suleika and Elizabeth). Ten things...(from yesterday because today is still the middle of the night). 1. Sitting in a truck on a nondescript corner waiting to meet up with friends and looking for beauty in the gravel parking lot. 2. Finding it in breeze blown prairie grasses. 3. Sitting by a river and watching a flock of birds (swallows?) circling each other and the trees. 4. My paper plate increasingly folding up against itself as the wind picked up. 5. Curiously looking at the ingeniously designed camp chair of a friend (with pull out table for cell phone and drink) 6. Shiny pennies laid out on the picnic table for a mind puzzle to solve. 7. Driving by a natural bench in the landscape and hearing about how it has been turned into a makeshift shooting range. 8. The fire in the fireplace that warmed me after I got home. 9. The low slant of sun across the valley as evening creeped up. 10. The drip of toothpaste in the bathroom sink at day's end.
Linda, it is so fun to read your response to this prompt! When I originally started the practice, I was so drawn to the little, banal details. Somehow years later it’s not the big sweeping images that bring me back to a place, it’s the almost nothings. The stuff I almost missed. So you gabbed me with your paper plate! The way the lip of it folded on itself in the wind! How absolutely normal but somehow I’m sure you’ll come back to that image in ten years and the whole scene will flood back in. 💖
Oooffff my heart is full of the colour, the love, the whirlwind and the glorious reception of the wonder that has been created by souls collaborating and showing love. For one another. For all of us. This is the true business of living! 🌈❤️🎉
I did that prompt last night. I've never been a fan of writing prompts before but I am being open minded and giving it a go. It feels like this might be an exciting 100 days
I knew Ash and her parents in Switzerland while we were all learning French before heading for West Africa as missionaries. I LOVE her idea of 10 things! I'm thrilled to see her honored in your book, Suleika!
As I wake up from oversleeping on a rainy Sunday morning, I see pictures of my boys on my chest of drawers. Also a picture of my late father, holding his grandsons. Then, it’s my cat waiting for me to get up and open the patio door for her and her cry of disappointment when she realizes that it’s raining. On my kitchen table, the tulip petals fallen from the Easter bouquet I bought for myself. Next to it, the chocolate Cadbury Cream Egg that I found yesterday, well after the egg hunt was over! Outside, the garden coming slowly to life, the grass is greener, the allium is sprouting and the maple tree is budding (spring is late, north of the border). I hear the patter of rain on the roof our breakfast nook as I write this post. The Tunisian foutas draped over the bench. Is that 10 items already? I have yet to make my coffee. I will do so quickly as my overgrown boys also sleep in to the sound of rain, while my husband is out for the weekend. Thank you for the lovely prompt. I thought I had nothing to write about.
1. Coffee served in thick white cups, the table too small for all the elbows leaning in, sunlight catching the edges of plates & the slow drift of morning talk.
2. Men with sleeves rolled to the elbow & Sunday hats tugged low against the sun, measuring the bocce court with slow, deliberate squints.
3. Vintage Bentleighs lined up like retired kings, still proud under the wide country sky.
4. My unmade bed in my friend’s country house, linen creased & breathing out the night’s coolness, my faithful stuffed rabbit half-buried in the folds, one ear twisted skyward as if still listening for dreams.
5. A battered trestle table groaning under piles of faded linen & forgotten teacups, a hand-painted sign overhead trembling in the breeze: “Everything Must Go, Even Our Goodbyes.”
6. A plate of scones balanced precariously on a knee, steam lifting from the torn middles, jam bleeding out along the seams.
7. The mob of kangaroos lifting their heads above the gold grass all at once at the sound of my car — still as questions — their gaze wide & curious as I screeched to a halt, lifting my own head above the roof to mirror them.
8. A garden hose left coiled like a sleeping snake in the long grass, forgotten where the paddock & the lawn gave up arguing.
9. A cracked watering can placed carefully on a tree stump, filling slowly with rain, as if someone had left it there to catch pieces of sky.
10. Three battered suitcases stacked beside the garden gate, buckles rusted, handles missing, looking ready to leave long after everyone else already had.
⸻
In your every glance shared, every page turned, every quiet moment behind the curtain — the spirit of your week burned with joyful, radiant energy. Thank you, Suleika to you & EG for the online workshop & for offering not just a glimpse inside, but for giving us a moment to feel the pulse of all the effort, the sweat, & the work it took to bring this journey to life.
I’m a sucker for an unmade bed, so 4 really got me. But every one of these is so vivid I felt like I could step inside each image with you for a minute. Beautiful work! Thanks for writing on my prompt, dear one!
Ash, I love that you felt like you could step inside the images. I wish I could share the picture I snapped of Bunny — face planted into the sheets like he'd had quite the restless night, & then another image of him waiting patiently on the bed once I half-heartedly remade it, ready to be snuggled in again. It’s like he’s holding onto the moment, waiting for me to read to him, if only to enjoy the sweet smell of my blood jam toasted breath. Thank you, for such a delicious prompt! X
this is a beautiful prompt for me because 24 hours ago i was unexpectedly at the hospital with complications from leukemia. as you said, Ash, a short vivid image embodies a long story. thank you for this nice trick that evaporates writing intimidation!
1. a full ER with people who looked like their whole lives had led them to this place. me, sitting in a corner as far as possible from others, quietly watching, and wondering about, and praying for everyone for 6 hours.
2. my large, brand new, private room, the kind nurses who welcomed me and immediately began enveloping me in love and care.
3. checking out the bed, the bathroom, the light controls, the little night sky out the window, the food order menu, and finally at 2am, getting into bed wearing the clothes i arrived in.
4. 4am the nurse sets up the IV. son of a filipino immigrant father, we had the BEST wide-ranging conversation i've had with anyone in longer than i can remember, for 2 hours, stopping only for him to silently focus on flicking the IV line to get the air bubbles out. an image of 2 hours of instant friendship, respect, curiosity, commonalities and differences, and genuine love with a "stranger". wow wow wow.
5. morning. sitting in a chair with the window behind me, laptop open to my zen sangha in meditation, the hospital room in full view beyond it.
6. oatmeal and banana for breakfast.
7. visit from 3 kind, patient docs who sobered my optimistic attitude when they told me it was too risky for me to do the treatments as an outpatient.
8. waiting outside in the drizzly rain for my valet-parked car to come around, and after 30 minutes realizing i was looking for my old blue toyota instead of the silver subaru that replaced it. oops.
9. walking into my living room to see the big old orchid in full bloom, white flowers with maroon streaks (huh...like blood). the 12-day-old birthday flowers next to them have wilted.
10. my english students on zoom...rosa, the 65-year-old retired family doc from barcelona, and 4 hours later, maggie, the free-spirit, 18-year-old mexican girl who is a poetry genius. and in between rosa and maggie, 56 loving faces from all over the world, in little squares, at the closing meeting of our month-long zen retreat. every cell in my body joyful and grateful.
10.5. looking out the big window in the living room, i see the old woman on her daily stroll in her electric wheelchair, with her big black dog at a fast clip alongside her. now THAT'S an image that holds a story!
Thinking of you Judi, and sending healing thoughts your way. I was struck by Your #4 image, and connection with the nighttime RN. Wishing you more of these spontaneous, beautiful moments, - be they a few minutes, or hours.
Last night in Brooklyn was magical. Suleika and Jon showed us, as always, their gorgeousness, generosity, grace and greatness. They are a couple made in heaven. Or, as the Yiddish saying, "meant to be" is expressed, "bashert." Truly a blessing to us all.
Thank you, Suleika, for your incredibly beautiful, inspiring book!! I’m so grateful for this, what a wonderful gift for unlocking hearts, souls, and pens, too! Being part of this online isolation journal community has meant so much to me these past years. It has touched me and helped me in so many ways. Having this book to hold in my hands is like “the icing on the cake,” as my mom used to say! Thank you so much ❤️❤️
Seeing you and Jon at BAM last night was the last of ten magical NYC moments. I live in Denver and was totally compelled to get tickets when they first dropped. Called my friend Nina in NYC and that started it. Got breast cancer lumpectomy. All my young doctors know about you. Guaranteed me I’d be there! Actually getting on the plane. Coming to the beautiful spring weekend. Feeling great. Seeing the Frick. Taking an uber over Brooklyn bridge. Today the Met. Back to Denver tomorrow. You inspired me. 83 is great time to be alive and reminding me to live each day as my first. I’m from Mandeville La and seeing you with sweet Jon and the thousands of people your open heart brings in…good reasons to be thankful for being alive. I’ve been journaling, thank Julia Cameron, for decades❤️🩹
Oh Carolyn—I love this so much! Each day as if it’s our first ❤️
It's never too late to be inspired, Carolyn, and this was so beautiful to read, kind of like another coming of age process?
And the Frick just reopened after a long renovation process. So looking forward to visiting later this year!
Like the Frick, we just need a little updating and new chances to shine, Nancy🩷
So true, Carolyn, so very true (smile).
Here, on a bookshelf, the little handmade felted pony, handmade by my beloved, and dying, and now dead, partner
Here, on another bookshelf, two black and white raku tea bowls, made by a fine potter from Japan
Here, on another bookshelf, a lovely wooden bowl made by a local friend who exchanged this bowl for one of my clay bowls
Here, on the wall above my desk, a “one time only” reproduction of one of my teleidoscopic photographs, ablaze with light
Here, a music stand, tall and beckoning, holding pages of my short, simple compositions for the Japanese shakuhachi
Here, on my kitchen counter, rolls of white tape, boxes of probiotics, preparation H, antibiotic cream, adhesive strips used to hold together my wounded left middle finger, and all sorts of stuff to help me heal this wound
Here, my hearing aids, recharging, preparing for another day, allowing me to hear bird song and insect choirs
Here, standing in the corner, a sturdy, well-used, black flute case, empty now, reminding me of an amazing musical journey to Palestine a few years ago
Here, a microphone that allows me to zoom live flute music into children’s hospitals around this country, USA
Here, two windows in my small livingroom, where, each morning, I greet the day, coffee in hand, reciting, twice, a favorite poem.
Dear Suleika and Jon, thanks for reminding me of the pleasures available just by observing what is available close at hand.🏮
David, wow - thank you for writing on my prompt! This was intentional and soft and somehow in very few words, I felt invited into your home. The use of “Here” to begin each image pulled me along, as if you were walking me around your home and your life and pointing to the stuff of it. And what a story the stuff of our lives can tell! Thank you for telling yours. It was beautiful.
David, this is all so lovely...okay, the Preparation H did give me a giggle.
❤️❤️
David, this was so special.
I loved reading that you play flute music to children.
I'm so curious about your favorite poet!
Cheers- I'm off to write my 10 things.
There are times when the sharing on Isolation Journals seems to deliver a needed gift…..enough that I left my bed at 5:30 am and picked up my journal. Yesterday was a 24 hour whirlwind that I processed using images…22 in 7 pages of writing. Packing up our home of 35 years to move in a month, I am diligently trying to make good decisions about possessions. While fending off grief at moving from the place that has been the ground and anchor for so much in our lives, images and emotions arise constantly. Concurrently, my husband has had sudden and unexpected cardiac issues. A pacemaker followed a call to come immediately to the Emergency Room after his heart monitor was read. Another hospital stay last week for pericarditis. Chest pains returned yesterday morning. A call with the Doctor was reassuring, prescribed lots of rest for him, but did not blur this new source of stress. Writing my yesterday in images was cathartic and revealing. It was so easy to write because it was a true exercise in self care and understanding. This is the message in “The Book of Alchemy”, in the spectacular evening spent with Suleika and Jon Wednesday evening in Philadelphia, and in the Zoom call Monday night with Lizzie and Suleika. Facing fears and meeting them with creativity.
That night I also ran into Lizzie coming into the theater. After some pleasantries and a hug, she handed me a sticker that said “You are Loved”. It has a home in “The Book of Alchemy”.
So glad you have the journal as a companion in this transitional moment, Harriet. Sending lots of love to you and your husband ❤️
Oh dear Harriet, you’re carrying a whole world on your shoulders right now. The unspooling of home and unraveling of your beloved’s health? It’s all so in-your-face! I am beyond grateful that my prompt gave your words and images a safe place to flow. Sometimes for me it’s like squeezing blood from a stone and I end up with bottle caps and cloud shapes to finish off the 10 images. Other times, it’s as if I could list images forever and never stop. 22 images in 7 pages sounds perfect for what you’re going through. I hope they age like a fine wine. And wish you well as you keep moving forward. With love. 💖
So much gratitude for your story, your words and your encouragement! Wishing you all the very best!
Dear Harriet, My heart goes out to you. Packing up 35 years of a shared life really is hard. I recall those hard decisions, as the 'treasures' amassed in piles of "keep" or "give" I finally surrendered to mostly "give" . And you know what, unpacking at the new place felt pretty good after that :) Best wishes, Robin
Wow, that is a lot! Thinking of you.
Harriet, oh, the packing up and leaving...and those decisions...and the untold amount of stress you feel with the unexpected cardiac issue was something you experienced along with your husband. The Caretaker is often forgotten. Not on purpose, but it happens. Sending you so much love.
Oh, the visual feast first of Suleika's images and then the invitation to write about ten of my own...this is a great way to start this day. Ten images: 1.My little students and students from two other classes halting their play to gather 'round a large bee. Such a circle of contemplation, reverence for nature, and a master class in education. 2. Our sweet kitty basking in the sun, perched on the window seat, eyes closed in contmeplation and serenity 3. My daughter, hair up in carefree curls with no idea how beautiful she is as she creates something I have never neard of for her Quantum classes 4. A vial of Ocisillocosimum (sp?), it's little, round "pills" reminding me of the candy medicine from a doctor's kit I had when I was four. 5. Coffee, black, dark roast, a ritual of every morning-never disappoints, 6. Mom...her loving face imprinted on my soul and coming to me in a warmth and grace with profound gratitude that I was her middle child. 7. The vast number of seedlings my daughter and I have under grow lights, which seemed to have all had 100% germination! 8. Our home, this 1898 four-square savior, the place where I am becoming myself again in the light through it's sky high ceilings, and equally tall windows on all sides. 9. All the materials I had ready by the door for my Author's Event at my Alma Mater and then having to cancel because I am sick with accompanying fever. 10. My dad's face, in my heart, in one of his tender moments, saying to me, "It's alright. Your book will find its way. Today was not the day. Now, move all that stuff out of the way so no one trips on it!" Thank You Suleika and Ash, for this very healing prompt. Suleika, seeing your book and you (no you, no book) crush it, is just sublime. And that bench!!!! When I lived in Germany, every Saturday, people would put out their "no longer need" items. What a beautiful memory for me. There's nothing like a "found" object.
Oh Mary, thank you for writing on my prompt, dear heart! I could feel myself step into every image with you as if you’d poured me a cup of coffee and invited me to take a seat. Somehow it was the Oscillococcinum, recalling you to six year old Doctor kit tablets that made me want to know more! Because it means you’ve been paying close attention this whole time and you never lost it! You’re gorgeous and detailed words. I tend to agree with your dad on this one. Everything in its time, dearest. 💖
Ash, this means everything to me! Thank you for reading my response and for bringing meaning to my remembrances/images. We shared the coffee through our words, didn't we? Thank you for the opportunity to give words to my images and for your images as well.
I LOVE this idea! I have to say the 10 is feeling kind of big to me… I’m at the other end of the spectrum right now, making watercolor paintings or simple drawings on a 1 inch square every day— capturing a moment of awe, wonder &/or connection.
Yesterday’s square was the view of the stage from my seat at BAM—so thrilled to experience the Alchemy tour.
I was there! Bought merch that was not in my budget! haha but oh the absolute joy…pure joy from that experience will be with me forever and utterly priceless!
I saw the merch on the way out and didn’t stop to wade through the crowd… I will have to look into it! (The scarf — like the book cover — is magnificent!
Saw you and Jon last night at BAM. It was pure spiritual magic to me, precious and rare. It changed me. “Thank you” doesn’t cut it, but it’s what I’ve got. Bless you both.
Some images of the moment: 1. my brother, slightly hunched forward, protectively carrying the teal urn with his husband’s ashes. 2. The white robed clergy swinging the brass container puffing frankincense smoke 2. My niece with green hair throwing up. 3. Gathering wet stones by the river. 4. Teal velvet love seat 5. Burgundy and lilac bow ties 6. Yellow bursts of forsythia. 7. Squeezing a pound of limes for cosmos 8. Barking black and white dogs springing up behind the gate. 9. Siamese cat fur on black pants 10. My brother’s eyes twinkling for the first time in 2 months when he says ‘I knew he was the one the moment I saw him’.
Oh Sheila, there was an entire universe in your collection of images. Somehow I’m sitting on an airplane and welling up with tears over people I will never meet whose names I don’t know. Thank you for sharing such sacred imagery. The stuff this short life is really held in ashes and stones. Thank you for doing my prompt such a massive honor and sharing. 💖 my heart is with you. And your brother.
The prompt:10 images; this past week:speaking to my grandson and son in Seattle on FaceTime,
Going to Lincoln center & participating in a chorus on the song “love got a hold on you”-the joy! My apartment flooding—me in trauma, dancing in my home to Salsa Queen,Celia Cruz, seeing how my friend who came to the chorus with me was in pain & how it disappeared while she was learning her part in the chorus, a beautiful young woman from another culture than myself- I believe Asian, helping me sing with the soprano section and being so kind, a baby ghinko tree in my hood, blossom again with her green leaves which will grow larger and greener during the summer, while waiting for my friend to participate in the chorus with me & realizing I make wonderful experiences for myself & others & it made me feel so much love for myself, crowed cafe at Lincoln center, didn’t like the crowds, went to the rest room, and when I came back crowd was gone—it was heavenly and quiet, a baby orchid in my bedroom blooming over & o et & with the many years I’ve loved & had orchids, this one reblooming like crazy, not remembering what I planted on my balcony but so excited the green leaves are popping & thrilling to see what flowers will emerge, walking a crowded nyc bus and bus driver was mean so I walked thru bus and got off the back realizing there’s always the next bus, the sounds of people’s voices blending together in chorus & it feeling sublime, and it’s really hard work, it’s 7am while writing this, and looking and in my decorative & vibrant bedroom & feeling such joy, sitting on my balcony, & the warmth of the 10am sun warming my body. Here’s to Suleika’s new, wonderful book, which I have & loving the texture of the book cover and the lovely secret under the cover. A big @amen” to our community! Love you all!
Oh Sherri, these words! “seeing how my friend who came to the chorus with me was in pain & how it disappeared while she was learning her part in the chorus” wow. What a potent image. That’s one I hope never leaves you. What a gift to witness the relief and release of a fellow human being. 💖
Thank you Ash. Great feeling!❤️
I would've been late for that bench! I'm journaling with my copy of "The Book of Alchemy" every morning. I watched the Zoom and wished so badly I could have attended a live event! (The Zoom caused me to weep with the feeling of love for Suleika and Elizabeth). Ten things...(from yesterday because today is still the middle of the night). 1. Sitting in a truck on a nondescript corner waiting to meet up with friends and looking for beauty in the gravel parking lot. 2. Finding it in breeze blown prairie grasses. 3. Sitting by a river and watching a flock of birds (swallows?) circling each other and the trees. 4. My paper plate increasingly folding up against itself as the wind picked up. 5. Curiously looking at the ingeniously designed camp chair of a friend (with pull out table for cell phone and drink) 6. Shiny pennies laid out on the picnic table for a mind puzzle to solve. 7. Driving by a natural bench in the landscape and hearing about how it has been turned into a makeshift shooting range. 8. The fire in the fireplace that warmed me after I got home. 9. The low slant of sun across the valley as evening creeped up. 10. The drip of toothpaste in the bathroom sink at day's end.
Linda, it is so fun to read your response to this prompt! When I originally started the practice, I was so drawn to the little, banal details. Somehow years later it’s not the big sweeping images that bring me back to a place, it’s the almost nothings. The stuff I almost missed. So you gabbed me with your paper plate! The way the lip of it folded on itself in the wind! How absolutely normal but somehow I’m sure you’ll come back to that image in ten years and the whole scene will flood back in. 💖
Ash...I wondered after I wrote about that if I wouldn't have remembered it a few days from now! LOL
Oooffff my heart is full of the colour, the love, the whirlwind and the glorious reception of the wonder that has been created by souls collaborating and showing love. For one another. For all of us. This is the true business of living! 🌈❤️🎉
I did that prompt last night. I've never been a fan of writing prompts before but I am being open minded and giving it a go. It feels like this might be an exciting 100 days
Yaaay! I love that you did it!!
Thank you. I'm doing a hundred days of journalling. See what happens
I knew Ash and her parents in Switzerland while we were all learning French before heading for West Africa as missionaries. I LOVE her idea of 10 things! I'm thrilled to see her honored in your book, Suleika!
Oh my goodness Debbie! Love love love to you!! What a delightful surprise!!!!! 💖💖💖💖💖💖
As I wake up from oversleeping on a rainy Sunday morning, I see pictures of my boys on my chest of drawers. Also a picture of my late father, holding his grandsons. Then, it’s my cat waiting for me to get up and open the patio door for her and her cry of disappointment when she realizes that it’s raining. On my kitchen table, the tulip petals fallen from the Easter bouquet I bought for myself. Next to it, the chocolate Cadbury Cream Egg that I found yesterday, well after the egg hunt was over! Outside, the garden coming slowly to life, the grass is greener, the allium is sprouting and the maple tree is budding (spring is late, north of the border). I hear the patter of rain on the roof our breakfast nook as I write this post. The Tunisian foutas draped over the bench. Is that 10 items already? I have yet to make my coffee. I will do so quickly as my overgrown boys also sleep in to the sound of rain, while my husband is out for the weekend. Thank you for the lovely prompt. I thought I had nothing to write about.
My 24 Hours (yesterday) in the Australian Bush
1. Coffee served in thick white cups, the table too small for all the elbows leaning in, sunlight catching the edges of plates & the slow drift of morning talk.
2. Men with sleeves rolled to the elbow & Sunday hats tugged low against the sun, measuring the bocce court with slow, deliberate squints.
3. Vintage Bentleighs lined up like retired kings, still proud under the wide country sky.
4. My unmade bed in my friend’s country house, linen creased & breathing out the night’s coolness, my faithful stuffed rabbit half-buried in the folds, one ear twisted skyward as if still listening for dreams.
5. A battered trestle table groaning under piles of faded linen & forgotten teacups, a hand-painted sign overhead trembling in the breeze: “Everything Must Go, Even Our Goodbyes.”
6. A plate of scones balanced precariously on a knee, steam lifting from the torn middles, jam bleeding out along the seams.
7. The mob of kangaroos lifting their heads above the gold grass all at once at the sound of my car — still as questions — their gaze wide & curious as I screeched to a halt, lifting my own head above the roof to mirror them.
8. A garden hose left coiled like a sleeping snake in the long grass, forgotten where the paddock & the lawn gave up arguing.
9. A cracked watering can placed carefully on a tree stump, filling slowly with rain, as if someone had left it there to catch pieces of sky.
10. Three battered suitcases stacked beside the garden gate, buckles rusted, handles missing, looking ready to leave long after everyone else already had.
⸻
In your every glance shared, every page turned, every quiet moment behind the curtain — the spirit of your week burned with joyful, radiant energy. Thank you, Suleika to you & EG for the online workshop & for offering not just a glimpse inside, but for giving us a moment to feel the pulse of all the effort, the sweat, & the work it took to bring this journey to life.
I’m a sucker for an unmade bed, so 4 really got me. But every one of these is so vivid I felt like I could step inside each image with you for a minute. Beautiful work! Thanks for writing on my prompt, dear one!
Ash, I love that you felt like you could step inside the images. I wish I could share the picture I snapped of Bunny — face planted into the sheets like he'd had quite the restless night, & then another image of him waiting patiently on the bed once I half-heartedly remade it, ready to be snuggled in again. It’s like he’s holding onto the moment, waiting for me to read to him, if only to enjoy the sweet smell of my blood jam toasted breath. Thank you, for such a delicious prompt! X
Bunny!!!! 🥹🥹🥹🥹
this is a beautiful prompt for me because 24 hours ago i was unexpectedly at the hospital with complications from leukemia. as you said, Ash, a short vivid image embodies a long story. thank you for this nice trick that evaporates writing intimidation!
1. a full ER with people who looked like their whole lives had led them to this place. me, sitting in a corner as far as possible from others, quietly watching, and wondering about, and praying for everyone for 6 hours.
2. my large, brand new, private room, the kind nurses who welcomed me and immediately began enveloping me in love and care.
3. checking out the bed, the bathroom, the light controls, the little night sky out the window, the food order menu, and finally at 2am, getting into bed wearing the clothes i arrived in.
4. 4am the nurse sets up the IV. son of a filipino immigrant father, we had the BEST wide-ranging conversation i've had with anyone in longer than i can remember, for 2 hours, stopping only for him to silently focus on flicking the IV line to get the air bubbles out. an image of 2 hours of instant friendship, respect, curiosity, commonalities and differences, and genuine love with a "stranger". wow wow wow.
5. morning. sitting in a chair with the window behind me, laptop open to my zen sangha in meditation, the hospital room in full view beyond it.
6. oatmeal and banana for breakfast.
7. visit from 3 kind, patient docs who sobered my optimistic attitude when they told me it was too risky for me to do the treatments as an outpatient.
8. waiting outside in the drizzly rain for my valet-parked car to come around, and after 30 minutes realizing i was looking for my old blue toyota instead of the silver subaru that replaced it. oops.
9. walking into my living room to see the big old orchid in full bloom, white flowers with maroon streaks (huh...like blood). the 12-day-old birthday flowers next to them have wilted.
10. my english students on zoom...rosa, the 65-year-old retired family doc from barcelona, and 4 hours later, maggie, the free-spirit, 18-year-old mexican girl who is a poetry genius. and in between rosa and maggie, 56 loving faces from all over the world, in little squares, at the closing meeting of our month-long zen retreat. every cell in my body joyful and grateful.
10.5. looking out the big window in the living room, i see the old woman on her daily stroll in her electric wheelchair, with her big black dog at a fast clip alongside her. now THAT'S an image that holds a story!
Thinking of you Judi, and sending healing thoughts your way. I was struck by Your #4 image, and connection with the nighttime RN. Wishing you more of these spontaneous, beautiful moments, - be they a few minutes, or hours.
Last night in Brooklyn was magical. Suleika and Jon showed us, as always, their gorgeousness, generosity, grace and greatness. They are a couple made in heaven. Or, as the Yiddish saying, "meant to be" is expressed, "bashert." Truly a blessing to us all.
Thank you, Suleika, for your incredibly beautiful, inspiring book!! I’m so grateful for this, what a wonderful gift for unlocking hearts, souls, and pens, too! Being part of this online isolation journal community has meant so much to me these past years. It has touched me and helped me in so many ways. Having this book to hold in my hands is like “the icing on the cake,” as my mom used to say! Thank you so much ❤️❤️