Take Surrender

So  here is Sasha’s Take for Muse. The next one we are working with is :Surrender. Enjoy, please play along if’n you like.

Fire for One

Red wine in a plastic cup, red beans and rice in a paper cup, hot coals burrowed beneath a struggling fire, warm late August evening on the peninsula.
I’m camped along the wild coast of Washington, solo, beneath the coral reef of stars on the eve of the full moon eclipse. I awoke early this morn and began unexpectedly carting camping gear out to my car: sleeping bag, tent, water jug, stove, fuel, sleeping pad, fleece jacket, pants, wool hat, pillows, books, and my journal. On the ferry ride across the Sound to the Olympic Peninsula I saw five Orcas playing, fins of black rising and cutting through the surface in the blue rutted waters just beyond the vessel that carried us to land.
I was brought to the coast- the one from my dreams with the green waves under a darkening gray sky- by a silent guide, much like the tug of the moon on the tides of the ocean. I forgot what it is like to be wild, to be free. I forgot how wildness makes me soar because nothing is fabricated out here. I had even forgotten my dream where, without fear, I dove head first into the skin of the arc of repose of a wave far larger than me.
As the fire gasps and sputters in front of me, I follow the wand of smoke up among the trees. This smoky spiral opposes gravity in an upward dance that dissipates into the transparent darkness. There exists in nature an invisible current of energy that rustles, curls and deposits a free formed mark that alters the original static state: dried fallen leaves randomly scattered beneath a forest, the design in a patch of long blade grasses bent or flattened, or fingers of sea water slapping the rock as the tide comes in. Also the muse that forces action in our own bodies.
The heaving of the Ocean sprays the night air with the sound of breath. A full moon eclipse will darken the sky in a couple of hours, a marriage of celestial bodies and earth clearly marking the passage of time. Movement is life, the web suspending by the light; the muse a shadow illuminated by the initiation of movement.


Not been talking to the world for a while now, bout time to start up again.

A few Novembers back, after Charlie and Joel and I had an incredible experience of thanksgiving on Lake Titicaca, we each reflected on it in our own fashion and started to do a writing practice called Triple Take. I found it to be a challenging and simple exercise: to take a word, and to express myself around it, with image or other words. The three of us eventually fell off the wagon. I still want to do this practice. And while it’s alright to do by myself, I’d rather do it with others. I’d like to re-learn about playing. So I’ll invite you, in the spirit of Miranda July’s Learning to Love You More assignments for art, to join in when you see a Word posted that sends a little fire shiver to the creative spark in you. For this week, I’d like to request your Take on: Muse

Last month’s Take was on: Acolyte, if you’d like to play catch up. Visit tripletake.org for examples that Charlie and Joel and I played with last year. I wrote up another version of our Thanksgiving Day experience, it’s on your right in the Pages area.

Send me your takes by posting a comment with your email – I’ll not publish without your permission. But if you’d like to, I’ll create pages for the ones that get responses.

I think this is what I’ll do with this site for a while. That, and I’ve got some quotes from Liz Gilbert’s book Eat Pray Love excerpted, please visit that book – if only for a minute!

Send friends this way if they are looking for a writing practice to visit?

Here’s my offering for Muse:

Take Muse

What does call to us, like that
ineffably? From within the everyday notes
of living, the rhythms of routine
there is sometimes a bass line
repeating, a few simple low tones
that we feel bone deep.
The hips know what to do with this
they move.

And then there is a morning
on that gentle cusp of fall
when the hills are socked in fog
and the ripening corn nestles
tight still in its husks
and the mind which has been so busy
thinking, always, of lists and possibilities
stills down quiet
and the wonder creeps in.

We could waver like this
between movement and wonder
without words ever reaching
the page, without song ever
bursting out between the lips,
and nothing would be lost
of the living – it would remain
contained within the skin husk
intact, inert.

But then some Other comes along
steps in, says: What?
And we rise to the occasion
called forth to present ourselves
ready for connection.

[illumination, Because of the fog –
sometimes that happens with people too,
you scratch a little and you get a lot]