Writing in the morning, feels so good -- a glorified hobby, really. Wish me body felt as limber as my imagination -- back issues, etc. Need to exercise -- balance body and soul, but I am so hungry for the time to write.
Learning about the Civil Rights Movement, to educate myself about where I live now. Why don't I watch it with my six year old son, who would surely ask insightful questions and in some profound way understand? But I can't stand for him to see some of those images yet -- to know how cruel the world can be. One day, they will need to know. Oh, how I wish I could bathe them forever in innocence, though my own pleasure in writing comes of course from knowledge, from the incremental unveiling of understanding.
Tonight, my children danced for me to Vivaldi's Allegros. Oh, how beautiful their unimpeded movement, their uninhibited interpretation of that beauty. If only I could write with that same freedom, that glory in the self that is without a trace of either shame or arrogance.
So many good things here on days twelve to twenty-three; I'm catching up with you by reading your blog today, at least this part! Love your last sentence here. Also appreciate your descriptions of the yoga teacher and her lesson, how the faces of your students are like first drafts of poems, how I too need to spend time with my husband, and play music so my children can dance. There are many more things I could mention but I can't see the other posts right now, only this one. Oh, and the joy that you "get" to be a mother! The Full-ness of your life. My heart bursts with this fullness of motherhood. Thank you for the inspiration. Thank you for sharing.
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