Writing is a sanctuary, a church. This is a paraphrase from the brilliant, deep Susan Tiberghien, founder of the Geneva Writers’ Group.
Am writing from the back of the room at the 40th conference of the Guild.
I am here. At Muhlenberg. Today.
Thinking of my mornings, every morning, my coffee, and the light through the dusty kitchen window. The cupboards I should wipe down.
My cup of coffee — in the mug from Taize or from Westport, NY.
I write to say I am here. I write to say I have arrived.
I journal to figure out my day, my story, my list of things — so many things — to do. Journaling in the morning is my church too. My meditation. A place free of judgment. A moment of Ahhhhh.
Living in a dynamic, whirlwind family — the teenagers, bound for college, the husband, declining yet still active, an actor with Parkinson’s.
I am still here, I say in my journal, I have not lost myself entirely. When I write, I do not disappear.
I refuse to lose myself.
Now I am in Alyce Smith Cooper’s class, the Use of Creating the New Narrative of Compassionate Inclusion.
“How do you lift your voices and sing?”