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I’ve been writing morning pages for a few months now, and every once in a while something appears that is worthy of sharing. And then I saw this quote on the last task in the last week (Week 12).
So today I am sharing some morning pages writing.
3/23/21 Touchstones, things you love
Flowers in a vase on my kitchen table
Pearl ring from my Godmother’s estate (Margaret means “Pearl”)
3/26/21 Reading Aimee Nezhukumatahil this morning. Just writing her name makes me feel smart. She names things like fruit bats and whale sharks, becomes animal in her poem, leads me to wonder what animal I am, barely alive, awake enough to feel the familiar ache of waking. I am worried about the final shot, how my body will react or not, and what immunity really means. Yesterday my dog jumped on the AT&T saleswoman at the door. I told her he was friendly while I kept my distance. We all keep distances between us. I wonder what immunity really means.
Margaret Simon, draft
3/29/21
Resistance in “not good enough” mantra
Fear is an infection poisoning my body so I cannot perform
One of the most satisfying things about teaching for me is learning. I learn something new every day, and it still surprises me. On Teach this Poem by Poets.org, I learned about a poetic device: caesura, referring to a pause for a beat in the rhythm of a verse, often indicated by a line break or by punctuation. This literary device was used with effectiveness in a poem by Yesenia Montilla,a brief meditation on breath.
A brief meditation on breath
–they’re saying this virus takes your breath away, not like a mother’s love or like a good kiss from your lover’s soft mouth but like the police it can kill you fast or slow; dealer’s choice. a pallbearer carrying your body without a casket. they say it’s so contagious it could be quite breathtaking. so persistent it might as well be breathing down your neck—
A long held belief of mine is that our bodies will tell us when to pause. I’ve believed this since 1995 when a herniated disc in my spine caused severe pain and subsequent surgery. There was nothing to do but pause and heal. Whenever I moved, pain would send me back. Luckily, I’ve not had any serious trouble since then, but I have learned to listen and pause when my body tells me to. I haven’t quite conquered yet the annoyance and guilt that sets in. We always want answers, so when the answer is “wait”, we twiddle thumbs and pace and complain.
Pause to enjoy the azaleas– Walking to the parking lot from school, I stopped to notice how two azalea bushes were intertwined.
Following The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron, I’ve been writing morning pages for a few months. They are scribbled scratches before my coffee, before my mind wakes up. I really wasn’t sure this exercise was working for me. I’ve been resistant and irritated about it. Like when my body hurts, morning pages were a kind of pain in my side. I did them out of obligation, a commitment to a weekly group. But yesterday morning, a poem came out. And today, I wrote about a picture book idea.
So, wait a minute…you’re telling me that writing morning pages every day since January 3rd is finally opening up your creativity? Could it really take that long? Perhaps it won’t for you, but it has for me. And I’m still unsure if I’ll keep up the practice after our last meeting this week. Yet, there is something to be said for taking a pause, taking your pulse before the day begins.
Margaret Simon lives on the Bayou Teche in New Iberia, Louisiana. She teaches gifted elementary students, writes poetry and children's books. Welcome to a space of peace, poetry, and personal reflection. Walk in kindness.