Still
She Will Not Be Quiet: A (mostly unedited) daily writing practice
Day #161 of (mostly unedited) daily writing/sharing
Still
I am still here. It is still summer. I sit here on this summer morning sipping stillness. Still, the mothers, the fathers, the children, the babies, the babies, the babies, have empty bellies. I am desperate to do something, anything. Still, I cannot save anyone. Instead, I tiptoe around the kitchen, turn the sink on just a little so as not to scare the sweet, sweet hummingbirds, the hummingbirds who sip nectar from the feeder I fill and fill. At least I can still feed the hummingbirds. I pet my dog for an extra long time, look into her eyes and say I love you, give her extra treats, marvel at the delight of her. At least I can still feed the dog. Can still marvel. Can still delight. Still, I can jot down these words and share them with you and you and you. Oh, the abundance of words. The abundance of you. I plead with the still one inside— please, please show me how to help. I look up and scan the morning for butterflies, butterflies that remind me of angels, poet-angels named Andrea who remind me, and remind me again, to look up, to keep looking up. That still, I can look up. That still, there are butterflies. And poetry. Still, there is poetry.
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Day 6, Jill's 10-minute morning write, excerpt:
And isn't it interesting that after each time you post on Julia's substack, you think OK this is the last time I'll post here...I'm taking up way too much space on her substack. And then she writes you something expressing gratitude and grace for you sharing space with her, and then you say, well OK maybe one more day of sharing. This is Day 6 and it's happened every day since day 1! OK. So I will say - one more time and with deep gratitude - thank you Julia for your generosity of spirit in inviting me into the coven, into the possibility of writing myself free, into the possibility of writing myself true.
'I am desperate to do something, anything.' Yes. This piece made me stop to be still and pray. Thank you.
'Look up, keep looking up!' Thank you Andrea and butterflies and you!