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 I give births. I enjoy giving births. Helene Cixous

Everything is alive now.

Spring brings permission

to begin, again.

 

A fresh perspective,

as if we could be virgin,

(re)newed.

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This past weekend saw me fulfill a dream, long ago hatched. A dream begun inwhen I first set foot on the hallowed Pacific Coastal ground of Esalen Institute, and then later the sacred East Coast rolling hills of Omega. There I witnessed a new way of being, teaching and learning.

In 94, I made a start with a first humble workshop of three women called the Passion of Being Woman. Years passed, other dreams and more pressing realities, heart and body healing, money dealing, learning to take care of this self, to feed and clothe and rely on my own (re)sources.

 

How many years this journey already, and all these journals to show.

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So much more. Two degrees. Decades of Experience, Disappointment, Insight. With every turned page, the delirious (re)lease of words.

Saturday’s Opening to Joy (re)treat breathed life and meaning into the hearts and bodies of 8 brave, blossoming women. Then a performance on Sunday night, the space to be a woman artist amongst many, and a mentor to young women, divine. This love of sharing, the nerves and accolades. And the taste of truth, the slow sweet authentic precious eyes-closed delivery.

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Late last night I sent a proposal for the Artist-in-the-Community program, through Salt Spring’s Arts Council. To teach three day-long workshops in this marvelous studio, this “centre for loving inquiry”: creative oasis in a quiet room.  Free Your Words, I named it, with my lover’s prodding. The title not what I would have chosen, so simple, direct.  It doesn’t taste like poetry. Perhaps that is a good thing.

For 17 years I have stood before audiences, from 2 to 1000, shared my art, heart and soul as a spoken word poet. Since my solo debut at Black Sheep Books in Vancouver’s Kitsilano, beside the 24-hours vegetarian Naam, I have liberated my words on stages and in cafes, at bookstores, festivals, academic conferences, arts halls. For 17 years I have belonged to this (re)public of words.

Now I am inviting others to discover their own freedom, to fall dizzyingly in love with the (f)light of their words. Will you join me?

Or is there something else that is new which you are hoping to birth into the world, inspired by the permissioning of spring? What support do you need to take that first, or next step toward freedom?