“Poetry is not merely a luxury for the middle classes – it offers a tough language for those with hard lives.” Jeanette Winterson
We moved through our collective discovery, embracing our wild child selves and working on the “yoga,” or unity of poetic practice. We used words to manifest our essential selves, used words to find compassion for ourselves and others leading towards personal freedom. Each session ended in the ritual of writing a poem as a group exposing the commonalities of our human experience. We were all amazed at the ease of writing together, the synchronicity of it...the magic!
On this seventh and last evening I peer around the sacred geometry of our circle enjoying the warmth of the genuine connection and affection. I note silently how we, like the fool in the narrative, have arrived back at the beginning. Only now we can see ourselves and each other with greater clarity and compassion. Together we embrace the light in our collective cup, a light to expose the darkness, a light that pours “like rain into every empty cup set adrift on the ocean.” (Hafiz)