“That luminous part of you that exists beyond personality–your soul, if you will–is as bright and shining as any that has ever been....Clear away everything that keeps you separate from this secret luminous place. Believe it exists, come to know it better, nurture it, share its fruits tirelessly.”
― George Saunders

That luminous part of me, as Saunders says, I feel it deeply, when I am outdoors, at the river, in the wetlands, at the brook. As I was this morning. As I am every morning. The snow in the wetlands this morning was luminous, quiet. Sturdy, and I could walk safely out onto it, into the messy layers of the wetlands. A ribbon of the brook cutting through the center, in reach of the river. The snow, and also the sky, light to light, even despite the clouds. Bluish ice, water bubbling. Charlie and Suzi, my company. I walked around easily in my boots, no wet feet this morning. I would love to have stayed longer, because there was so much to see and examine and feel. I wanted more chance to see what had blown off the trees, or fallen from dead branches, or shaped itself in the ice patches. Tonight I hear the rain, clearing the canvas for another fresh morning. I had a busy, rich day. Two writing clients, wonderful sessions, transformative, and then I went to a free write offered by my friend, the playwright, Ana Carneiro, for the IWWG. And she led a prompt for writing dialogue, and it was so stimulating. It has been so long since I have written dialogue! I was surprised and delighted to let it come pouring out. And when I was done, I looked for a poem, instead of a play. Tonight, family time and pizza. My daughter, my youngest came with her boy friend. Ah, where did this week go? I am very very satisfied right now with my two books: on audible, the Plath biography, and at night, in hardcover the new George Saunders nonfictions which is excellent and I stay up reading too long: “A Swim in the Pond in the Rain,” about the Russian short stories he takes a close look at and critically analyzes. It’s a gorgeous experience. I felt my mother close to me on my walk this morning too. Because I dreamt of her. She had gone missing for a long time, and then turned up, and I was so glad to find her still alive, even though I felt guilty for having let her slip away. It was pleasant to have her with me. To think that she’s still alive. And I supposed in many ways she is. A lovely thing one of my colleagues said Thursday in poetry workshop: “Young people don’t realize, the dead never leave us.”