Beautiful poem. The first paragraph holds the key to so much, especially it’s last line, “if only I recognize it.“ In fact, “if only I recognize it,“ holds the key to everything, doesn’t it? Thank you for the poem and for reminding us of what this holiday is about.
May the warmth of the sun take you through your day after it’s warmed your connection to your son this morning. Thank you for sharing yourself.
Your words so comfort me right now as I am experiencing some depression over circumstances in my life….beautiful writing and soulful…..bless you and your beautiful son.
Judy, what a gift to read your first "share" here. Oh, your writing....is so enchanting. I am someone who delights, in the writer who takes words and turns them into form, and a form that is reachable for others to understand and in doing so, feel the deep feel. Keep sharing here. I shall look forward to reading more.
Judy, what an incredible, life-affirming work of love. I will never look at the sunrise in the same way, again. Thank you for sharing this, along with the loss of your beautiful son; may God bless you both, always.❤️🌅❤️
This silently thunderous piece, Suleika, I feel I’m reading the meteorology of your soul on the one hand, and a dispatch from the heart’s war front, on the other. Letting the weather be your co-conspirator in survival can be beautifully subversive. It reminds me of how Virginia Woolf once described moments of being, those rare flickers when life aligns, just for a second, and something invisible yet essential breaks through the fog. You’ve captured that here, with the sky as your mirror and Calvin’s letter as your sunburst.
I love your ritual with the dogs. It might be seen as routine, but for me it’s a form of résistance. A bit like tending to a small garden in a war zone, not out of naïveté but out of defiance. As if to say, yes, I’ll still meet the morning, still greet the world, even if it comes cloaked in mist.
“Sharing our stories requires us to believe that we won’t be rejected for them” feels like the quiet thesis of everything good. What you describe reminds me more of palimpsests, the ancient manuscripts that were written over, their original texts scraped away, only to resurface centuries later under ultraviolet light. The beauty of a palimpsest is not in its clarity but in its layering, the ghost of the old text still breathing beneath the new. That’s how your work with Calvin feels. That’s how you feel in this piece. The weather, the chemo, the creative drought…. they are sedimentary layers. Each one leaves a trace. And somehow, even in your blankness, something essential is speaking.
There’s also something powerful for me in how you’ve mirrored his isolation with your own, his cell, your sickbed, both permeable to love in surprising ways. Perhaps the greatest fiction of our time is that we must be “productive” to be radiant. Yet here you are, proving the opposite: that presence, attention, and open-heartedness, especially in difficulty, can be the brightest sun of all.
May it continue to shine exceptionally bright upon you, Suleika!
Dearest Tamara, I love "perhaps the greatest fiction of our time is that we must be productive to be radiant - yet presence, attention and open-heartedness, especially in difficulty, can be the brightest sun of all". Oh, the relief! Thank you for the beauty, for the balm.
Tamara, I read your beautiful prose & somewhere behind it, Patty Griffin is humming—you hold my hand & sing to yourself, sun sun sun sun—& it feels like that’s exactly what you’ve done. X
What a gorgeous echo to receive, thank you, Kim! And what a reference: Patty Griffin’s voice has always felt like weather to me too. Something that settles over you and says, stay here a while. Your words reminded me of that tenderness that doesn’t try to fix the dark, but hums through it anyway. Sun sun sun sun. Sometimes all we can do is keep humming. And sometimes, miraculously, someone hears it.
Tamara, and everyone who responded to your message with such beauty, thank you! I am reminded of Maggie Smith’s poem, How dark the Beginning- (who i was fortunate enough to meet this week at a book signing) she writes “we talk so much of light, please let me speak on behalf of the good dark” . This connects me to Suleika’s essay & moody feelings in darker weather… let us be met and inspired by all shades, yes of course the sun in all its golden brilliance, but also the dark and mystery of the morning light, the cloudy days and the bleak comforting clouds… ❤️
Many times, after waking in pain at 3:00 AM, I finally get out of bed to tend to myself...TENS unit, ice pack, reading, writing, sometimes never attempting to go back to bed. This can put me in a bad mood. My thoughts tend to fear and to politics and to imagined rejections. But I always open the curtains, no matter how dark is the sky or my soul either one. I don't want to miss the rising of the sun. As soon as it's "up," I go out onto the porch and just stand still...listening. It's very silent where I live, and I know I'm so lucky for that to be so. In moments I hear the little sounds carried through the air...birdsong, yips of coyotes, a rooster. My heart lifts and I can face my day.
"My heart lifts and I can face my day." Pain is a robber, but it has not touched your core, for it is that, that inspiring courage to go "out onto the porch." Thank you for the truth and the light.
Waking up with pain in the middle of the night is pretty dreadful. I’m a real believer in listening to some audio - book or podcast. I keep my earbuds (with wire so I can switch ears when I turn )nearby and have an idea of what I can listen to if I need it. Years ago I had shooting nerve pain every 20 seconds and audio helped me relax deeply - or sleep. Of course - the heat or ice etc too!
My husband and I are reading the Book of Alchemy together. We both have our own copies, but it is rewarding to do the prompts and then talk to my husband about them-what we thought of them, sometimes we even share what we wrote with each other. It's a great mixture of different prompts and your introductions to the chapters are always amazing! Thank you for this book!
The sun, the sun—found not in the sky but in the seeds I’ve just set free from their honeycombed tombs. Pomegranate, torn open & pressed into the crown of a Persian love cake still warm from the oven. The jewels sting my hands, as if the fruit remembers the heat it once held. Outside, the sky has turned—dark now after days of her long reign, still clinging to the last of the heat like a hand on the doorframe. I’m about to serve it—to guests arriving from a day where their hearts were drowned in grief. The scent of cardamom & citrus hangs in the air like something waiting to be forgiven. I don’t know if it’s enough. I only know it has been made.
I saved the last of the sun in a bowl of pomegranate seeds—& placed it upon my windowsill facing north, Suleika, so she might find her way to you.
Here in Kerman, Iran, there aren't many days when it's rainy (It's either sunny or cloudy). During spring and summer, the sun shines much brighter and that's why i love these two seasons more than fall and winter. When the sun shines through my room's window, i'm always filled with immense joy.
Those last few notes..."Here Comes the Sun" (A George Harrison gem of a song)...as I put together our End of Year slide show, as I have been doing for many school years, on those last few notes, I always end with a slide of us all. Their little, smiling cheeks, cherub cheeks, and the reminder to me and to all those who see, to grow in possibility and in the love of today.
Mary, may you and your cherubs have a joyful end of school year celebration. Know that those children will forever carry within themselves the love you have given them. ❤️
That's a lovely gesture. One of my late mum's favourite songs was this one and it resonates with all my sisters and I precisely because we "grow in possibility and in the love of today.
Deborah, so you know, as you look out on the faces of the parents, watching their children on the screen, the deep love that goes with the moment. Thank you .
Hello All. Thank you so much Suleika for sharing your journey. And how this has been for you with side effects of chemo, weather and writing. I am grateful for your heartfelt words. And I loved your sharing about Calvin. “Sharing our stories requires us to believe that we won’t be rejected for them—to believe that when we reveal our whole selves, including the parts we aren’t proud of, we won’t be seen as undeserving of acceptance or love.” His journey is powerful. I continue to deal with more health issues. I am grateful for a new doctor last week and his new thoughts. And today my son is visiting for the first time since the start of the pandemic. We are beyond excited! Take care all.
“He mused at the remarkable way love and friendship can translate, even through prison walls.”
I’ve seen this alchemy up close and personal. In 2019, I started a weekly book club in a maximum-security prison for men serving life sentences. We mostly read short stories—from the Russian masters to Edith Wharton to George Saunders—and every classic in between. These stories serve as entry points for deeper conversations about what truly matters: making sense of the stories of our lives, and the narratives we build around our beliefs.
“Sharing our stories requires us to believe that we won’t be rejected for them—to believe that when we reveal our whole selves, including the parts we aren’t proud of, we won’t be seen as undeserving of acceptance or love.” Suleika nailed it.
Shame can be a powerful inhibitor. But when love and friendship are added to the mix, it can also become a driver of transformation. When we share “the parts we aren’t proud of” and are met with empathy instead of rejection, healing becomes possible.
Thank you, Calvin and Suleika, for these nuggets of wisdom—and for reminding us what’s possible when we add a little alchemy, from within all of our prison walls.
I have an amazing porch that looks out on a phenomenal garden with Gardenia, hostas, and ditch lilies. I also have a disco ball out here. The other day I was reflecting on my relapse and how every tool that I employ to get through this, and every piece of reading that brings me closer to wholeness, and every nugget of wisdom from someone wiser than me that I absorb into my body, they are like the tiny square tiles on my disco ball. And when the sun finally comes up over the horizon, and grace my disco ball with light, it sprays the interior of my covered porch and its southern blue painted ceiling, with millions of lights. I had this thought last week that the more reflective tiles I bring into my journey with this illness, the greater resistance that is to its power over me, shedding light instead around my world.
The Sun is full of generosity, kindness in its brightness, and warmth. Sometimes hot, so clear, direct, and unrestrained. A tender touch, a firm touch to ease a knot of pain, a smile. When we humans work with the Sun, an oasis may form. When we are neglectful, desertification. We are asked to actively be a reflection of this Sun, source of life. Though in darkness, Hafiz chose to shine:
“Let me meditate on the glorious Supreme Being, the Sun, which brightens all three worlds - the Heaven, the Earth and the Nether land. May he enlighten our hearts and direct our understanding”
This Gayatri Hymn (circa 1500 BC) taken from the book Bless This Food, Ancient and Contemporary Graces from Around the World by Adrian Butash. Such a lovely little prayer / mantra the I return to over and over again.
I opened the book and saw the 100 day challenge part. After all the usual excuses, I’m in the middle of another journal there won’t be space; I’m about to go on a long trip, there won’t be time and I will be interrupted, etc, I opened a cabinet and found an old, partially used legal pad. With my morning coffee, I opened the book again, saw the first prompt, wrote down the date and began. Two weeks later and one legal pad complete, I am on to the next odd note book with half its pages torn out. I will get the book on Kindle so I can keep up while away. It’s not like I haven’t journaled on napkins or hotel stationary before!
I love hearing this! It’s so easy to be really precious about the process but liberating to pick up what’s at hand and go. Happy travels while journaling!! ❤️
My husband & I were splitting and our two young boys were at sleep away camp. We drove together up to their camp from NYC. Not an easy conversation up & back but keeping it light. It was a hot summer day & my older boy was responsible for a job at camp so we took our younger son to a river of flowing water, rocks, beautiful greenery all around, hot sun, us bathing in the cool water, sun beating down, an eating a whole watermelon that we proceeded to eat, pulling off each piece & nothing dainty about it. The juice dripping down our faces, hot as hell with the sun beating down. A tiny tear falls from my cheek experiencing the joy of my son with his dad & me. Thankful it wasn’t full of anger & blame but a family delighting in the moment & me letting go of all the anger towards my unavailable husband. It was one of those good as it gets moments.
I’ve never shared here. The sun is my gift every morning. Here is my writing…
The Rise
Ribbon of red across the dawn, like God’s smile of good morning.
You remind me that I am loved.
You prove there is a fresh start I can enjoy each day,
If only I recognize it.
Ribbon of red across the dawn does not seem like a sailor’s warning.
More so the joyful dance of clouds
And the joyful songs of birds who
Delight in your sight
As much as I do.
I lost my son in Afghanistan 15 years ago. He was 25. Every morning I imagine him enjoying the sunrise with me from his vantage point. Peace to all
Judy, Thank you for sharing with us today. Your poem deeply resonates, as well as the imagery of your son sharing the sunrise with you. Beautiful.
Beautiful poem. The first paragraph holds the key to so much, especially it’s last line, “if only I recognize it.“ In fact, “if only I recognize it,“ holds the key to everything, doesn’t it? Thank you for the poem and for reminding us of what this holiday is about.
May the warmth of the sun take you through your day after it’s warmed your connection to your son this morning. Thank you for sharing yourself.
Your words so comfort me right now as I am experiencing some depression over circumstances in my life….beautiful writing and soulful…..bless you and your beautiful son.
Judy, what a gift to read your first "share" here. Oh, your writing....is so enchanting. I am someone who delights, in the writer who takes words and turns them into form, and a form that is reachable for others to understand and in doing so, feel the deep feel. Keep sharing here. I shall look forward to reading more.
Sending you blessings and love. So sorry to read of your beloved son.
I’m so sorry for your loss. Thank you for sharing your poem and the image of you and your boy sharing the morning sunrise. ❤️
Beautiful words, Judy. I’m so sorry for the loss of your son. I trust he enjoys every sunrise and sunset by your side. ♥️
Beautiful Thank you ; so sorry about your loss..💜
Judy, what an incredible, life-affirming work of love. I will never look at the sunrise in the same way, again. Thank you for sharing this, along with the loss of your beautiful son; may God bless you both, always.❤️🌅❤️
I’m sorry for your loss. 😢
So beautiful. 💖
Your poem is so beautiful, Judy. Thank you for sharing it.
This silently thunderous piece, Suleika, I feel I’m reading the meteorology of your soul on the one hand, and a dispatch from the heart’s war front, on the other. Letting the weather be your co-conspirator in survival can be beautifully subversive. It reminds me of how Virginia Woolf once described moments of being, those rare flickers when life aligns, just for a second, and something invisible yet essential breaks through the fog. You’ve captured that here, with the sky as your mirror and Calvin’s letter as your sunburst.
I love your ritual with the dogs. It might be seen as routine, but for me it’s a form of résistance. A bit like tending to a small garden in a war zone, not out of naïveté but out of defiance. As if to say, yes, I’ll still meet the morning, still greet the world, even if it comes cloaked in mist.
“Sharing our stories requires us to believe that we won’t be rejected for them” feels like the quiet thesis of everything good. What you describe reminds me more of palimpsests, the ancient manuscripts that were written over, their original texts scraped away, only to resurface centuries later under ultraviolet light. The beauty of a palimpsest is not in its clarity but in its layering, the ghost of the old text still breathing beneath the new. That’s how your work with Calvin feels. That’s how you feel in this piece. The weather, the chemo, the creative drought…. they are sedimentary layers. Each one leaves a trace. And somehow, even in your blankness, something essential is speaking.
There’s also something powerful for me in how you’ve mirrored his isolation with your own, his cell, your sickbed, both permeable to love in surprising ways. Perhaps the greatest fiction of our time is that we must be “productive” to be radiant. Yet here you are, proving the opposite: that presence, attention, and open-heartedness, especially in difficulty, can be the brightest sun of all.
May it continue to shine exceptionally bright upon you, Suleika!
I love that you invoked defiance. It makes me think of these lines of Rumi’s/Haleh’s we shared a few years ago:
“Crack open my shell. Steal the pearl./ I'll still be laughing./ It's the rookies who laugh only when they win.”
Love this attitude! Tenacity Rules! 👍🏽💜
Wonderful!
Dearest Tamara, I love "perhaps the greatest fiction of our time is that we must be productive to be radiant - yet presence, attention and open-heartedness, especially in difficulty, can be the brightest sun of all". Oh, the relief! Thank you for the beauty, for the balm.
Just a beautiful thread of alchemy shines light creating a rainbow 🌈 of light that shines directly to the soul.
Yes! Lovely comment👍🏽💜
Tamara, I read your beautiful prose & somewhere behind it, Patty Griffin is humming—you hold my hand & sing to yourself, sun sun sun sun—& it feels like that’s exactly what you’ve done. X
What a gorgeous echo to receive, thank you, Kim! And what a reference: Patty Griffin’s voice has always felt like weather to me too. Something that settles over you and says, stay here a while. Your words reminded me of that tenderness that doesn’t try to fix the dark, but hums through it anyway. Sun sun sun sun. Sometimes all we can do is keep humming. And sometimes, miraculously, someone hears it.
Tamara, and everyone who responded to your message with such beauty, thank you! I am reminded of Maggie Smith’s poem, How dark the Beginning- (who i was fortunate enough to meet this week at a book signing) she writes “we talk so much of light, please let me speak on behalf of the good dark” . This connects me to Suleika’s essay & moody feelings in darker weather… let us be met and inspired by all shades, yes of course the sun in all its golden brilliance, but also the dark and mystery of the morning light, the cloudy days and the bleak comforting clouds… ❤️
Very beautiful👍🏽💜
Many times, after waking in pain at 3:00 AM, I finally get out of bed to tend to myself...TENS unit, ice pack, reading, writing, sometimes never attempting to go back to bed. This can put me in a bad mood. My thoughts tend to fear and to politics and to imagined rejections. But I always open the curtains, no matter how dark is the sky or my soul either one. I don't want to miss the rising of the sun. As soon as it's "up," I go out onto the porch and just stand still...listening. It's very silent where I live, and I know I'm so lucky for that to be so. In moments I hear the little sounds carried through the air...birdsong, yips of coyotes, a rooster. My heart lifts and I can face my day.
The last part of this makes me think of another line from a poem in Water: “Deep listening does its work.” ❤️❤️
I so resonate with your sentiments here. It too is dark and quiet here …. I light early morning candles to welcome , with the birds, the new day
"My heart lifts and I can face my day." Pain is a robber, but it has not touched your core, for it is that, that inspiring courage to go "out onto the porch." Thank you for the truth and the light.
Thanks, Mary!
I love that you always open the curtains, Linda. This action speaks volumes about your inner strength and optimism. ❤️
I’m so glad you can enjoy the sunrises!
Waking up with pain in the middle of the night is pretty dreadful. I’m a real believer in listening to some audio - book or podcast. I keep my earbuds (with wire so I can switch ears when I turn )nearby and have an idea of what I can listen to if I need it. Years ago I had shooting nerve pain every 20 seconds and audio helped me relax deeply - or sleep. Of course - the heat or ice etc too!
Wishing you well
J
Thanks, Jean! I'm going to try that!
How do you do it says night?
How do you wake up and shine?
I keep it simple says light
One day at a time.
By the remarkable poet Lemn Sissay.
The sun always rises. Even if we can’t see her. Sending oodles of love to you all.
Mel (with a recently stable scan result so the sun is beaming at me from behind her cloud) ⛅️🦋🩵💛🌈
Mel-glad to hear that the sun is beaming at you from behind her cloud. 💛 Thank you for poem by Lemn Sissy. It’s simply perfect.
Thank you! He has a remarkable story. His book is worth reading. Happy Sun Day! 💛
I’m definitely going to learn more about Lemn Sissay, Mel.
My husband and I are reading the Book of Alchemy together. We both have our own copies, but it is rewarding to do the prompts and then talk to my husband about them-what we thought of them, sometimes we even share what we wrote with each other. It's a great mixture of different prompts and your introductions to the chapters are always amazing! Thank you for this book!
I so love that you and your husband are doing it together! I had hoped to hear of partners connecting in this way ❤️
What a lovely thing to do together! 👍🏽💜
The sun, the sun—found not in the sky but in the seeds I’ve just set free from their honeycombed tombs. Pomegranate, torn open & pressed into the crown of a Persian love cake still warm from the oven. The jewels sting my hands, as if the fruit remembers the heat it once held. Outside, the sky has turned—dark now after days of her long reign, still clinging to the last of the heat like a hand on the doorframe. I’m about to serve it—to guests arriving from a day where their hearts were drowned in grief. The scent of cardamom & citrus hangs in the air like something waiting to be forgiven. I don’t know if it’s enough. I only know it has been made.
I saved the last of the sun in a bowl of pomegranate seeds—& placed it upon my windowsill facing north, Suleika, so she might find her way to you.
Gorgeous!!!!✨✨✨
Most kind of you, Hannah—thank you.
Exquisite!👍🏽💜
Thank you, Deborah—for seeing what was quietly lit.
Kim, this is stunning!
Tucked that kindness in my pocket—thank you, Mary.
Here in Kerman, Iran, there aren't many days when it's rainy (It's either sunny or cloudy). During spring and summer, the sun shines much brighter and that's why i love these two seasons more than fall and winter. When the sun shines through my room's window, i'm always filled with immense joy.
Those last few notes..."Here Comes the Sun" (A George Harrison gem of a song)...as I put together our End of Year slide show, as I have been doing for many school years, on those last few notes, I always end with a slide of us all. Their little, smiling cheeks, cherub cheeks, and the reminder to me and to all those who see, to grow in possibility and in the love of today.
Mary, may you and your cherubs have a joyful end of school year celebration. Know that those children will forever carry within themselves the love you have given them. ❤️
Mary, thank you! And I in turn, will carry the love they have given me. The future looks bright!
Exactly
That's a lovely gesture. One of my late mum's favourite songs was this one and it resonates with all my sisters and I precisely because we "grow in possibility and in the love of today.
Juliet, I love that it was a favorite of your mom's and goes on in the hearts of you and your sisters. Thank you.
I was a teacher of young children for many years; your words made me smile…👍🏽💜
Deborah, so you know, as you look out on the faces of the parents, watching their children on the screen, the deep love that goes with the moment. Thank you .
I always love & appreciate when you make me think about my years teaching young children, Mary. Thank you! ❤️
Hello All. Thank you so much Suleika for sharing your journey. And how this has been for you with side effects of chemo, weather and writing. I am grateful for your heartfelt words. And I loved your sharing about Calvin. “Sharing our stories requires us to believe that we won’t be rejected for them—to believe that when we reveal our whole selves, including the parts we aren’t proud of, we won’t be seen as undeserving of acceptance or love.” His journey is powerful. I continue to deal with more health issues. I am grateful for a new doctor last week and his new thoughts. And today my son is visiting for the first time since the start of the pandemic. We are beyond excited! Take care all.
Enjoy your time with your son! ❤️
💕
May you have a most joyful day, Gina. ❤️
💕
“He mused at the remarkable way love and friendship can translate, even through prison walls.”
I’ve seen this alchemy up close and personal. In 2019, I started a weekly book club in a maximum-security prison for men serving life sentences. We mostly read short stories—from the Russian masters to Edith Wharton to George Saunders—and every classic in between. These stories serve as entry points for deeper conversations about what truly matters: making sense of the stories of our lives, and the narratives we build around our beliefs.
“Sharing our stories requires us to believe that we won’t be rejected for them—to believe that when we reveal our whole selves, including the parts we aren’t proud of, we won’t be seen as undeserving of acceptance or love.” Suleika nailed it.
Shame can be a powerful inhibitor. But when love and friendship are added to the mix, it can also become a driver of transformation. When we share “the parts we aren’t proud of” and are met with empathy instead of rejection, healing becomes possible.
Thank you, Calvin and Suleika, for these nuggets of wisdom—and for reminding us what’s possible when we add a little alchemy, from within all of our prison walls.
❤️❤️❤️
You are making an enormous difference in people’s lives, Heather. ❤️
👍🏽💜
I have an amazing porch that looks out on a phenomenal garden with Gardenia, hostas, and ditch lilies. I also have a disco ball out here. The other day I was reflecting on my relapse and how every tool that I employ to get through this, and every piece of reading that brings me closer to wholeness, and every nugget of wisdom from someone wiser than me that I absorb into my body, they are like the tiny square tiles on my disco ball. And when the sun finally comes up over the horizon, and grace my disco ball with light, it sprays the interior of my covered porch and its southern blue painted ceiling, with millions of lights. I had this thought last week that the more reflective tiles I bring into my journey with this illness, the greater resistance that is to its power over me, shedding light instead around my world.
I love what you wrote, Kate! ❤️
First, I inhaled ALCHEMEY greedily,. In one big bite. Now I slowly savor one essay a day, using each prompt with purpose. Next, I will gift copies.
🌟 Thank you, Suleika for your ongoing inspiration. I keep your book in sight close by, enjoying its coat of vibrant colors as well.
💜With much love, good health, & more rays of sunshine than not-✍️Debra O.
Ps Congratulations on your honorary degree from Brown University🎊
The Sun is full of generosity, kindness in its brightness, and warmth. Sometimes hot, so clear, direct, and unrestrained. A tender touch, a firm touch to ease a knot of pain, a smile. When we humans work with the Sun, an oasis may form. When we are neglectful, desertification. We are asked to actively be a reflection of this Sun, source of life. Though in darkness, Hafiz chose to shine:
“I caught the happy virus last night,
When I was out dancing beneath the stars.
It is outrageously contagious, so,
Kiss me.”
🏮
It is not surprising that most ancient religions worshiped a sun god
Keep dancing beneath the stars👍🏽💜
“Let me meditate on the glorious Supreme Being, the Sun, which brightens all three worlds - the Heaven, the Earth and the Nether land. May he enlighten our hearts and direct our understanding”
This Gayatri Hymn (circa 1500 BC) taken from the book Bless This Food, Ancient and Contemporary Graces from Around the World by Adrian Butash. Such a lovely little prayer / mantra the I return to over and over again.
Beautiful! I’m takin notes greedily!🙏🏽
Sounds like an interesting book Thanks for sharing that! 👍🏽💜
I opened the book and saw the 100 day challenge part. After all the usual excuses, I’m in the middle of another journal there won’t be space; I’m about to go on a long trip, there won’t be time and I will be interrupted, etc, I opened a cabinet and found an old, partially used legal pad. With my morning coffee, I opened the book again, saw the first prompt, wrote down the date and began. Two weeks later and one legal pad complete, I am on to the next odd note book with half its pages torn out. I will get the book on Kindle so I can keep up while away. It’s not like I haven’t journaled on napkins or hotel stationary before!
I love hearing this! It’s so easy to be really precious about the process but liberating to pick up what’s at hand and go. Happy travels while journaling!! ❤️
Yes ! napkins & hotel stationery work… as do envelopes… Emily Dickinson has a whole set of poems written on envelopes…
Kindle for an upcoming trip! Good idea! 👍🏽💜
Yes ! napkins & hotel stationery work… as do envelopes… Emily Dickinson has a whole set of poems written on envelopes…
Kindle for an upcoming trip! Good idea! 👍🏽💜
My husband & I were splitting and our two young boys were at sleep away camp. We drove together up to their camp from NYC. Not an easy conversation up & back but keeping it light. It was a hot summer day & my older boy was responsible for a job at camp so we took our younger son to a river of flowing water, rocks, beautiful greenery all around, hot sun, us bathing in the cool water, sun beating down, an eating a whole watermelon that we proceeded to eat, pulling off each piece & nothing dainty about it. The juice dripping down our faces, hot as hell with the sun beating down. A tiny tear falls from my cheek experiencing the joy of my son with his dad & me. Thankful it wasn’t full of anger & blame but a family delighting in the moment & me letting go of all the anger towards my unavailable husband. It was one of those good as it gets moments.
And Suleika praying for you, you beautiful, courageous soul.