where the writers are

Trying to clean up and sort through books, notebooks, get things more organized, de-clutter. I can’t help but peek into my old notebooks and journals to see what’s inside while I shuffle through everything. Partially pulled in some way by Thaisa Frank's blog on journaling and perhaps looking for words that speak to me, that are in me, were in me, and have resurfaced today, but that I can’t get at now.


After flipping quickly through many notebooks, some from 1995, some from 1998 and other odd years, the one I settle upon that captures my mood in this moment is this one written in the rough years ago.




Original free write date:  May 21, 2008

 Desert.  It is dry, but is it also wet…barren? Large, crackly, vast. At night it cools; the flowers bud, showing their beauty in the sweltering sun. Unfolding color into your heart. Desert, keep going, crawl into the sand, snuggle up with the scorpion, let him bite down on you, feel the pain, feel the heat.

6 Comment count
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Hi Rebbecca

Just wanted to say 'Hi' and thank you for posting this.

Take care.


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Thanks for stopping by and

Thanks for stopping by and commenting, Ryoma.

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Thanks for this. You find lovely things in your journals.

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Thank you, Thaisa.

Thank you, Thaisa.

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Did it strike you that you

Did it strike you that you have tried to encapsulate the macro into the micro, Rebecca? Pardon the use of such dry words, but they were the only ones to emphasise this that I could come up with now:

Desert, keep going, crawl into the sand

Sand is particles, desert is only part sand.

Rather profound thought you had here...


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Farzana, thank you for

Farzana, thank you for pointing that out. I'm glad you used the dry words because it does snap it into mind. When I wrote that, it came from inside—I wasn't thinking—and when I found it recently, again, I felt it—my mind only briefly fell on it. I appreciate your comment and pulling that line. It is indeed how I feel more so now than probably any other time in my life. Thank you for your insights.