Welcome in.
I'm so excited to hold space for a little storytelling,
A little bit of poetry.
So think about where you are right now.
Calling in and settling in to your body,
To your breathing,
Knowing that there's no right or wrong and there's nowhere else you need to be right now.
Seven years ago,
I wrote a book called Dear Current Occupants,
A hybrid memoir,
A walking tour of all the different houses I lived in as a young girl.
For me,
Poetry and storytelling became meditation as an adult,
But in my younger years,
Storytelling was a way to communicate.
It was a way to imagine.
Storytelling was a way to envision a second chance for myself.
What I am about to read to you today is a free verse sonnet about the spaces of happiness in between.
There are always moments of gold filled cracks in the narrative.
So think maybe about where you are right now in your heart,
In your mind,
And what you've been wanting to let go of,
What you've been wanting to fill with gold.
This is a poem called Of the Last House I Remember.
It is so ordered.
It was always about going back home.
No hands around your throat,
Sheet of the night,
Backyard silent.
Let these children play.
Now,
You may never know how the pull between two sets of lips feels,
Or the warm air stuck between the two.
This may be so.
Yes,
It was only about going back,
Back to the bricks that line the path to the house with the one yellow light lit to guide them.
Inside to the knee socks and high-waisted pants,
To the simple things not left alone.
A clothesline hung from thick rope is the only piece of sweet silence swinging north to south between two poles planted deep in the dirt.
Taking a moment now to think about that pole.
And was there a word,
A line,
An image,
Or an idea that stuck out to you?
Maybe writing it down,
Maybe closing your eyes and saying it back to yourself.
I'll read that one more time.
Of the Last House I Remember.
It is so ordered.
It was always about going back home.
No hands around your throat,
Sheet of the night,
Backyard silent.
Let these children play.
Now,
You may never know how the pull between two sets of lips feels,
Or the warm air stuck in between the two.
This may be so.
Yes,
It was only about going back,
Back to the bricks that line the path to the house with the one yellow light lit to guide them.
From inside,
To the knee socks and high-waisted pants,
To the simple things not left alone.
A clothesline hung from thick rope is the only piece of sweet silence swinging north to south between two poles planted deep in the dirt.
Taking a moment now to write down even one word,
One word,
One image,
One phrase,
One line that you can carry into the rest of your day.
How will you take that word or phrase and turn it into gold?
When we give ourselves the opportunity to listen to story,
To tell story,
To create space for story,
It is in these moments that happiness is possible.
Happiness is only meant to hold space for the briefest fleeting moments.
We want to make intentional space for these moments of light to shine in.
What are the words or images or ideas that make you curious?
What are the ideas that make you ask yourself?
What else is possible here?
Anytime you need a moment to flicker on the light,
Come back to this meditation.
Come back to this opportunity to start your own story.
When we share stories,
We give someone else the possibility for the briefest moment of happiness.
Taking a moment now to adjust your body,
Maybe tilting your head from side to side,
Maybe breathing in and out at your own pace,
Knowing there's nowhere else you need to be right now.
Holding close the idea that sometimes one word is enough.
You are enough.
Come back to this meditation anytime you need that reminder,
Anytime you need the spark of a story.
