On Saturday morning, January 9, in the last few minutes of the writing circle, everyone chose an Inquiry Card from a deck made by Sylvia Nibley. Here are the responses to those questions, written by some of the women in the group.
What am I committed to?
- Anonymous
Be-ing. No more scurry. No more flurry. Nope. Now is now. Feet on floor. Sit bones on the chair. Air in. Air out. Just that simple. But nope, not that simple.
At dinner, another diner said that relationships, in her mind, are simple. She said, "Society pictures them as such." As though that made it so. I harrumphed. Relationships' glory is in their messiness. In the chance to see a snarled tangle, one with the hair from our childhood hairbrush in it (?), and to gently untangle it; to curiously, gently, and with kindness loosen the strands, and then to run one's fingers and nuzzle one's face in the other's silky locks, that is the divinity of connection. To scurry, to rush, all of that just tightens the knots, the tangles. All of that just sucks life from existence.
I am committed to bringing my be-ing the same gentle kindness and attentive curiosity that allows me to untangle snarls with people and hair. So I let myself be. Feet on floor. Sit bones on chair. Air in. Air out.
Where is my joy?
- Anonymous
Where is my joy?
I left it on the street, behind the house where betrayal stung with the shame of loss and secrets.
Where is my joy?
It stayed in that moment of seeing my children for the first time. I inadvertently left it behind.
Where is my joy?
Scattered in the wind with my mother's ashes.
Where is my joy?
It sank like a storm-battered ship — too tired and overwhelmed to go on.
Where is my joy?
within me
deep down
still there
waiting
What's working well?
- Camilla
The well. The well is well. The water keeps coming up and we don’t even know where the well actually is. The guy who owned the house before us wasn’t even sure. The pump has been pumping since the fifties for god’s sake. “Dontcha think we ought to find it and figure it out and what if it stops and what if there is a finite bunch of water and what if there’s a drought and…?!” But somewhere along the line we forgot to worry and the pump keeps humming as a giant wet heart. It’s a mystery. And that’s what works.
What inspires me?
- Chris Carstensen
art color form architecture buildings beauty people love nature friends family words stories emotion passion travel Italy
I especially like to write and draw
I especially like to learn and love through the structure of school
I especially like to share
I am inspired by beautiful design and thoughtful purpose
I am looking for inspiration to move me into the next form of my life activities
What can I experience more fully?
- Edna S. Brown
joy
love
sadness
loss
sensual pleasures
quietness
music
dance
absence of judgment
sunrises
sunsets
darkness
the winter sky
openness of heart
What moves you?
- Lilace Mellin Guignard
I am moved by mystery. Not answers.
What do the clouds see in us, and do they argue about it?
When that vertebrae burns in the back of my neck, what chakra is that and should I be worried?
What color is the soul? Does it change colors over a life? Are bug souls a different color than lizard souls?
How many roads must a man walk down before you can call him a woman?
How can anyone talk about the end of the earth and feel comforted?
Why would anyone want to have everything figured out?
What am I hungry for?
- Margaret Snow
Such a relevant question now, at this time of year when we make resolutions, many of which involve shaking addiction. If it's not sugar, sex, or drugs that we're hungry for, I'm reminded that it's time to find out what our souls really crave, and feed them that. Stop, pause, ask the question. Go inside. The craving is real, and we must nourish ourselves.
What can I let go of?
- Maureen Owens
How about everything?
Boxes unopened — for years in the basement
Running shoes I don't run in
Running shoes I won't even walk in
All jewelry
Folders with teaching stuff — I don't teach anymore and I don't want to
Massage stuff — I don't do massage anymore and I don't want to
Judgment (especially self)
Worry
Doubt
Busy
Fear
Facebook
Just about everything
Where can I be more kind?
- Priscilla Walker
In the shadow of my mind.
What are my boundaries?
- Susan Dixon
Well, a nice fence, certainly. A fence is my agreement with predators: you stay out there, in here is mine. But just a sturdy fence isn't enough. Good boundaries mean a well-ordered garden inside the fence, one with neat beds, some for flowers, some for vegetables. Even then, though, weeds invade, so good boundaries involve another agreement: everything inside the fence has to cooperate, like a French potager or a Three Sisters Garden — corn supporting beans, beans fixing nitrogen, squash keeping down the weeds.
What am I expecting?
- Zee Zahava
laughter
movement
strength
gentleness
alchemy
abundance
creativity
friendship
change
miracles
wordswordswords
the unexpected
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If you are interested in knowing more about where these questions come from check out:
InquiryCards.com
