In the gap between the “heads up, you may die,” and your actual departure much goes on with the mind, body, and soul.
Heavy stuff, I know, but I began thinking of this when I read that the weekly writing prompt, over on Wordsmith Studio, is “Preparation.”
I immediately thought of a trip my mother and I took to Paris several months ago. We boarded a plane from LAX to Washington D.C and changed planes to proceed to France. We had several rocky minutes, bouncing up and down, before the Captain’s voice erupted loud and clear over the microphone.
I began jotting words in my travel journal.
The second time the Captain spoke is when I, and probably everyone else on that plane, experienced our own preparation. My first thought was to pray through the apprehension around me. My mother and I linked hands.
This is Your Captain
“We are having mechanical difficulties.”
The video screen shows a map of the east coast,
Atlantic Ocean and Europe.
The tiny plane marker is a quarter of the way over the Atlantic
on the USA side
Shivers and shakes mark the minutes
Turbulence grows strong,
“Due to these difficulties we are adjusting our plans…”
speaker crackle, then silence
“We are redirecting to Washington Dulles airport..”
several murmurs, what’s, why’s
“Redirecting is necessary, we are over the ocean,
too much space to cross..”
people stand, anxiety floats, babies wake
zippers open, purses readjust, whispers abound
The plane tilts to the left,
breath catches in throat,
Another dip, a rumble,
tremors beneath our collective feet.
fingers grip seat arms,
our bodies shift to attention
to appease the quaking thunder
“Crew take your seats,” the pilots voice is strong,
direct, like a father saying “Kid’s stop it.”
Passengers glare, foreheads pull down,
lips squeeze over tight teeth.
The plane dips,
a roller coaster for half a second,
escape from parted lips no longer pink
gasps that feed fear fill the air,
We returned safely to Dulles, went through hours of rescheduling while listening to rude passengers yelling to the customer service agents about the delay and the fact that we had to stay in a hotel overnight.
I didn’t like it either, but compared to what could have happened I was easy-peasy. My mom sat in her wheelchair and dozed while I took care of business.
Five days after returning from the AROHO writers retreat at Ghost Ranch in Abiquiu, New Mexico I still have many memories swirling through my mind . One such memory is particularly embedded in my skin. I have 12 itchy scabs from 12 mosquito bites despite the mosquito repellant and itch cream.
On the second day of my arrival I began my small group, Writing on the Edge, taught by Jillian Lauren. She is the author of Some Girls: My Life in a Harem and Pretty Girls . Jillian proved to be an excellent guide and inspiration.
The blurb for her course caught my eye and interest:
Drugs, sex, violence…are you bored yet? Why is some of the juiciest material so hard to translate onto the page in a dynamic and engaging way?
I don’t know if Jillian chose the location for her class, but it was near the edge of a small mesa. I had to hike up a dusty switchback to get to class under 90 degree weather.
First day in group, the seven of us were asked if we knew yoga. All of them, sans moi, knew the poses. I lumbered onto the map, stretching and opening my ‘creativity’ as Jillian instructed. Plank, Downward Dog, and Pigeon stretched me beyond where I had gone before. I do have to say that the stretches, deep breaths and silence did make me feel better.
Conflict and tension is necessary in most stories, especially to keep the reader interested. But how do we do that? Jillian explained that the act itself may not be dramatic, but to
…look at the journey, the motivation, the fear of the character
The result of those thoughts is what has to be created and put down on paper. A way to do this is with a free write:
Warm Up: After you have stretched and opened up your creativity, pull out a pad of paper before your “real” writing begins. Think about what you’d like your next “edgy” scene to convey. You can use a timer to write for 10 minutes. Write without your pen lifting from the page, no cross outs, no self editing. You may find the words flowing right away on the page.
Jillian had us sit with our journals and gave us a writing prompt. We had to write for five minutes, again keeping the pen on the paper.
The prompt: How are you feeling right at this moment? Here is my response.
A very intelligent mosquito found its way to a patch of unsprayed flesh beneath my bra strap. He bit into my warm skin and drank like a thirsty elephant, leaving me with a swollen itchy blob of mounded skin. It is a testament to his prowess. Cortaid is too weak for the wound.
Scratching has released oozing fluid beneath the tender hill of skin. His creativity is to be applauded. He bit a spot that is difficult to reach. The itch will soon go away, leaving a brown scab on a red sensitive bump, a reminder of my time at the AROHO retreat.
Some memories are made from stuff like this, the sudden bite, the quick stab, the stealthy adventure in the dark. A surprise visit from someone or something you tried to avoid, someone you tried to keep safe from. The best laid plans sometimes need to be disrupted reminding us we can’t stay insulated from pain or danger.
Two days later we talked about our “shadow self. ” In Jungian psychology, the shadow or “shadow aspect” is a part of the unconscious mind consisting of repressed weaknesses, shortcomings, and instincts. This was the ‘edgy’ writing we came to learn.
We had a ten minute exercise to write to our shadow, then we burned the paper, mixed it with sand, straw, and water. Some of the shadows were lumpy blobs of clay, others smaller, holey, glittery, big and small. We released the dried clay into the Abiquiu Lake a couple of days later, bidding them goodbye.
The next day we were given another prompt. We could choose one of these: Fear means… Shame means…Risk means… I chose to write about shame.
Shame means inward responses to outward looks. Whispering or shouting responses that no one hears.
Shame turns inside, tight and tiny, steals whatever is near to cover up, look like something else. Only you see the shadows lurk, grow huge, come nearer.
Shame hunches shoulders, shuffles feet, has you fascinated with your hair or a piece of candy.
Shame has you move into corners, watch the world go by, carry a purse full of secrets, and lies. A wardrobe of masks and decorations.
Shame has you sweat inside when you see those particular set of eyes, a facial gesture, a mannerism.
Shame makes others use tools, hammers and chisels, to get to the real you. Tools very few people seem to carry or want to use.
Shame makes you fight, first with yourself, then with others.
If you’re lucky you fight the real reasons for that shame. You use the chisel to cut off the crap, move deeper, make something uniquely beautiful from a slab of stone. *
The yoga exercises, discussion on the “shadow self,” and prompts were valuable. You never know what you will find when you delve in deep. Thanks Jillian.
*The narratives are copyrighted and the property of Mona AlvaradoFrazier. Thank you for sharing and linking back.