transformation Archives - Laurie Klein, Scribe

Relax into the Impossible

by Laurie Klein 12 Chiming In

“Relax” — perhaps not your first title for this image.

How long has this homely garden gnome kissed the dirt? Someone seems pretty lax in their landscaping.

Re: Lax.

Lax can mean slipshod. Slapdash.

Lax also denotes loosened muscles and limbs. Deepened ease.

Perhaps it’s a continuum?

Test Case.

A dear friend is throwing a party. She wants my help.

Guests will retell their conversion experience, 3 minutes per person.

An artist assigned to each table will take notes on their stories.

~20 minutes for listening
~25 minutes to create something, in response
~5 minutes to present it … publicly

Large room, long guest list.

Her request—seemingly impossible—suggests … extraordinary possibility.

Can it be done?

Keen attention and presence must marry crunch-time spontaneity.

Seat-of-the-pants is not how I roll.

Relax … how?

The party-room vibrates with expectation.

Pacing, I roll my neck and shoulders. Must lighten up, loosen my mind, let the nerves go lax.

I’d drop right now like a jazz dancer, collapse face-down, if I could, like the garden gnome—preferably under a table—let everyone carry on without me.

Relax. Now.

Gnome comes from an ancient Greek word, meaning “to know.” Despite my fear, I know grace has my back.

I choose a table. Memorable stories unspool.

Afterward, we artists retreat with our notes to another room while the guests eat.

Help me help me help me

25 minutes evaporate.

Showtime.

I cradle my efforts: the distillation of 5 stories rich with surprise and hope, rife with my cross-outs, arrows, and asterisks. My version is slapdash, yet deeply felt.

I teach the crowd the refrain, and we speak it aloud between each section:

“You were born from God’s longing. And here you are.”

They hear it. I hear it. Together, we relax into the impossible.

GNOME

What is a face plant but a dance,
staged alongside possible ruin,
another garden-variety hero,
toppled, among the shrubs,
clownish, inept. Unarmed.
Face-down is one nosedive
prayer embodies: the sudden
gravity, slapstick’s kissing cousin.
Practice pratfalls. Lean into the spill,
each bruise an inside turn, toward grace.

+++

“Let the beauty we love be what we do. There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.” —Rumi

What helps you relax into the impossible?

Should you wish to create a similar celebration:
My friend’s O Holy Night Party gathered seasoned dancers, writers, artists, a table maven, and a musician; great food, beautifully presented; stunning stories, each teller newly-luminous in remembrance, which happens when we recount aloud moments that changed everything.

“You were born from God’s longing.” Peter G. van Breeman, God Who Won’t Let Go
“Relax into the impossible.” Susan Cowger

*No gnomes were harmed in the making of this post.

Exposure: Risk and Gift

by Laurie Klein 8 Chiming In

Exposure—now there’s a threatening word. Are you up for an armchair adventure?

Let’s play “Exposure: Risk and Gift,” a creativity game I dreamed up, well, just because.

Exposure: Risk beginning, step 1

Using paper (or your device), write I’m afraid 25 times down the left-hand margin
Finish each phrase with whatever comes to mind, without lifting pen from paper (or fingers from keys)
Circle any “I’m afraid” statements that alarmed or surprised or annoyed you

Exposure: Risk writing, step 2

If you read my recent post on the Camperdown Elm, here is the same tree, seen later in the day and from another angle. Trick-or-treat, anyone?

Camperdown Elm with vintage home — Camperdown Elm at Dusk, Poulsbo, WA

Using one of the statements you circled, write a letter, or a list, a poem, or a song, or even a partial scene using one of these phrases below (or one of your own) as a kickstart:

They planted me deep, downhill from the Ferris place, never suspecting . . .
Sleepwalking inside somebody’s nightmare . . .
I never meant to . . .

Or you could write from the viewpoint of someone discovering the cure for Dutch Elm Disease . . .

Play with possibilities, no matter how crazy, and see what happens. Sometimes free writing unearths an emotion that’s “under the radar,” eating at your inner peace.

Exposure: Offer a gift, step 3

The Camperdown Elm in November dusk (first two photos) looks pretty creepy.

The Camperdown Elm below was taken in April, in afternoon light.

Camperdown Elm at Filoli Garden, Woodside, California

Margaret Atwood once said: So much depends on the light, and the way you squint.

Now take what you’ve risked writing so far and “gift it” with one or two of the following:

A favorite time of day, or weather
A new character
A quote or proverb you love

Follow wherever the words want to take you. Stop when you feel done.

Read back what you’ve written. Has the overall mood and/or meaning changed?

Have your thoughts about the underlying fear you identified changed?

Exposure: Optional

Consider emailing me what you created. I’d love to read it!

Was this experiment interesting or enlightening?

Would you enjoy a similar creative prompt from time time?

p.s. To see a stunning full view of the Filoli Camperdown Elm tree in bloom as well as the fabulous winged seedpods in close-up, click here. (scroll to image #5)

Crossing the Gap

by Laurie Klein 4 Chiming In

A voice comes to your soul saying,

Lift your foot. Cross over.

Move into emptiness

of question and answer and question.

—Rumi, The Glance

Woolly Bear Caterpillar (Pyrrharctia Isabella) crossing bridge — Woolly Bear Caterpillar (Pyrrharctia isabella) crossing bridge

Halfway across the pedestrian bridge I halt my stride, midair. Re-aim my foot.

Hello, Woolly Bear Caterpillar.

Black and reddish-brown bristles stripe a body the size of my second toe.

I salute a fellow “eating machine.” Colder weather has amped up my appetite, too. I’m hoping to burn off a recent binge.

Now drama looms. (So much for aerobics.)

At my feet two ill-fitting planks gape, the crack one-third Woolly Bear’s length. A stream runs beneath us. [Read more…]