Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 2 Comments

Thank God for Heartbreak…

…such a wealth for writing!

And just in case any of the handful of loyal readers to the Archives may be wondering, my present state of mind (and heart) is fine and well.  That last Imprint post may have been a little heavy, but truth be told, if I was actually in the deepest throes of that wallow it never would have made it on to WordPress.  It took a year to write about dead grass from a king-size tent and crying in a towel.  It may take another year to laugh about it.

But maybe not that long after all.  Because once you give the story words, in many ways, it leaves you.  And not the melancholy leaving of an airport goodbye.  More like the freedom found in flight with real-life feathers.

photo by Jessica Dofflemyer - all rights reserved

“Just give it away!” said Lisa Goettel in my ‘Rise Up Singing’ workshop.  Her hands gesturing out from her body like she was slinging her very essence across the room.  She was speaking of our voices and letting them free.  No holding back.  No hoarding.  No saving for a rainy day.

Rainy days will come and go but our deepest well will never dry.  Tap this place and share, because we know there is abundance.  The replenishing fathoms of our feeling hearts.  Our expanding throats filled with a kaleidoscope of tones.  Our words gush forth, seeping forgotten crevices and tangling with ancient roots in terra firma.  This soil is fertile in forever.  Just give it away!

So thank you to all the bringers of broken promises.  All those that told untruths.  There is gratitude to every footfall that walked further from my doorstep.  You gave me the chance to love and give it away.

photo by Jessica Dofflemyer - all rights reservedf
Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Imprint

you know it was deep
when the sound of a bull frog reminds you
a certain shade of grey in the clouds sparks a feeling
the current dew point bringing a familiar sensation from the past

you know the imprint was made cellular
this time last spring
if nature holds the key to unlock memories
surprising you in a bird song

there was that giant tent you erected streamside
heaped inside with pillows and so many blankets that he got hot
how the sound of pig hooves could be heard
running hard on soft soil in darkness
just beside you both
only thin tent fabric between you and he
and the grunt of a mama with her baby

when the campings over
and he’s ready for the plane
you step into the utility closet
and sob into a towel
but the crying is so loud
you know he heard you anyway

he leaves  clothes for ‘next time’
but your heart knows he won’t be back
there’s wildness in paradise
it takes work to live and love here
return flights are reserved for tourists
bringing home snapshots and a new sarong

back home for you is an empty tent down by the water
you see the ants are moving in
funny how he didn’t help dismantle it
as you pull thick tent stakes
and wrestle collapsing arms back to compact
trying to fit its greatness into a small zip up bag

you clear all the tarps and bungees
walk away
from the big brown square
of deadened, flattened grass
a tangible tell-tale
that he really had been there
and now is all
but gone

you know the grass will grow back quickly
last traces will disappear
except for the low baritone of bullfrog
in the rushes
steady still
this year

photo by Jessica Dofflemyer - all rights reserved

 

 

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Wow wee!

This morning there’s a missing goat in the neighborhood.

The plant beside my desk does well, but seems to remain static in its size.

I’ve got written works in the works but nothing ready to be shared.  (As if lost goats and small houseplants are noteworthy.)

As I seek words that evoke magic, my eyes rest on the few random quotes staring at me from my desk.

On a card from a friend:
“Some people are so much sunshine to the square inch” – Walt Whitman

On a bookmark from Big Sur:
“The real voyage of discovery consists not in making new landscapes but in having new eyes.” – Marcel Proust

From a sound therapy website I stumbled upon:
“That which you seek, is not outside of you!” – Zacciah

Like shelling on the beach, I gather these finds into my container.  Then reach for the treasured conch – The Gift from Hafiz – open to page 259 and trust in serendipity to speak to my soul.

photo by Jessica Dofflemyer - all rights reserved

 

Wow

Where does real poetry
Come from?

From the amorous sighs
In this moist dark when making love
With form or
Spirit

Where does poetry live?

In the eye that says, “Wow wee,”
In the overpowering felt splendor
Every sane mind knows
When it realizes – our life dance
Is only for a few magic
Seconds,

From the heart saying,
Shouting,

“I am so damn
Alive.”

~ Hafiz