on seasons in ten minutes

from the "archives" of last year’s writing club. Amy had the idea for us to write. We took turns creating a prompt and wrote for ten minutes. This was the beginning.

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Tuesday, October 8 1:17 pm

By the time these ten minutes are over, many things will have shifted. The light is moving, the Earth is spinning, my fingers are typing on this keypad. My breath is steady and my stomach is churning this bitter coffee. 

Let me come to presence… to this space in between all of the moving change.

Presence at this moment is my eyes looking at this screen and seeing the green leaves of plants peaking over my computer. The plants themselves are changing, leaves are breathing and roots reach into the soil of the planters. 

Somewhere someone is waking, somewhere someone is dying.

The words of an article in Time disturbed me this morning, something about “throwing bodies into the Nile”. It dawned on me that those bodies were likely sisters, brothers, and friends of someone. Those bodies had eyes that witness life and change.

I think a lot about being “In” my body, in this form. A being that notices and experiences things, water on the lips, dry eyes, a runny nose, a soft tissue. Bodies hold so much. I wonder if we even really think about how much they hold. 

It is now 1:23… 

I am writing without even reading or thinking. Just writing.  

There’s so much to say and really nothing at all. 

Looking up, I noticed that one of my plants is thirsty. It’s leaves are drooping and it’s clear I haven’t watered it in awhile, but I will wait until these ten minutes are complete. 

Back to presence. Breath. This moment. Rest. Stillness. 

A body that is in the middle of all the chaos of change. The breath that can create the stillness to move between past, present and the future. 

Time is fluid. 

It is now 1:27. 

I will water the plant.