#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
Every day, now, a surprise, new growth, new blooms and colors, and this morning, last night's raindrops sprinkled on every stalk and leaf and bud. We go early into the woods, freshened by storm. Today, after walking, is my Wednesday morning writer's group, and I've picked out a poem for the free write. It's a poem about a ritual, and since I've been writing my essay about a ritual, I'm intrigued and inspired, and trust the writers will be as well. We read the poem twice as a group, letting it orient and settle inside us, or us inside it. Then, five minutes of silence, in movement or stillness. I have given no instruction but this. And I play music, the drumming, just drumming, whether we're moving or not, we feel motion. Then, when time's up, I tap shoulders, one at a time, asking each to spontaneously say one word, what she's feeling out loud, and they do. Then, the writing begins. I have not asked them to write from the poem, but they do, and the writing is earthy, enchanting, and rich as good soil – yes, one of them writes about wanting to be like the soil she's been planting and weeding in her garden; and our group process becomes like that, for each other, like earthworms, opening pores.
“When you put on the mask the thunder starts.
Through the nostril’s orange you can smell
the far hope of rain. Up in the Nilgiris,
glisten of eucalyptus, drip of pine, spiders tumbling
from their silver webs.
The mask is raw and red as bark against your facebones.
You finger the stripes ridged like weals
out of your childhood. A wind is rising
in the north, a scarlet light
like a fire in the sky.
When you look through the eyeholes it is like falling.
Night gauzes you in black. You are blind
as in the beginning of the world. Sniff. Seek the moon.
After a while you will know. . . .”
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/57659/tiger-mask-ritual
All photos and text ©Kelly DuMar unless otherwise attributed