All is quiet in my home. I am staring out at wind rocking the trees. Mr. StripeyPants curls up on the wool blanket beside me. I connect to something wild in him. I’m reminded of my March practices — mandalas and writing about the moon. Where has she been hiding? I don’t remember seeing her this month. Has it been too gray. Or have I not been paying attention. The light has come back. The sky is lighter before bed. Maybe she disappears into the white skies of summer.
There are many names for the March moon. I resonate most with the Eastern Cherokee name of Wind Moon. I came out of a meeting this afternoon, walked across the macadam parking lot. The wind kicked through my hair. There was a coolness about her, not like the dog days of August, or the warm breezes of June. It was as if the sky had licked the top of a mound of crusted snow, sucked up her coolness, and swept it across my face. I woke up.
The Farmers’ Almanac calls the March moon, the Crow Moon, a name from many of the Northern tribes. There is the Kiowa Bud Moon, the Shawnee Sap Moon, and the Alaskan Haida Noisy Goose Moon. There is the Worm Moon and the Moose Hunter Moon. But I walk with the Wind, and the poetry of the Hopi — Month of the Whispering Wind. The names are connected to the land, grounded there. That is why I like this practice. Even if I can’t see the Moon, it doesn’t mean she is not there. The tides rise and fall to her rhythm.
I haven’t walked the land this week. But I slow walk any chance I get. Across the streets, parking lots, and sidewalks in the cities and suburbs where I live. Along the steps that lead up to my studio. I always remember to look up. On the ground, my feet hold the connection. Rooted. Every angle counts. As above, so below.
The wind has been blowing all day long. Dark winter branches fall from leafless trees. Twigs snap and drop on the deck. Strong winds strip away the dead wood, prepare the land for renewal. I saw one patch of green on top of the driveway garden when tires splashed through puddles of melted snow. There is an ice dam by the garbage can, melting and freezing, puddling and coughing, spitting and sputtering toward warmth and sun.
The three cats run to the door when we return home. They stand on their back legs, noses against the screen, and stare out at the return of migrating birds. I saw my first robin on a branch near the downtown Minneapolis library yesterday evening. Traffic was heavy. We were looking for a parking spot. “Look! My first robin!” I said to Liz. “Where?” she peered out the window in the direction I was staring. “Oh, I see it! Yeah, Spring!”
Then we parked and walked across crumbled cracks in the sidewalk and into the high-rise library. We went to see a writer, Will Weaver, and a filmmaker, Ali Selim, talk about their work. The writer wrote a short story, A Gravestone Made of Wheat. The film maker read it and wept. Then he bought the rights and spent 15 years writing the screenplay and trying to gather enough money to get the film made. It is called Sweet Land. I wept when I watched it for the first time last week.
That’s the kind of writing I want to do. I want to write a story that is so true to its time, that it makes others weep. We sat in chairs in the Minneapolis public library, each with a small brass plate on one arm. The plate is etched with the name of a writer who is, or once was, connected to Minnesota. I listened to writers talk about their work. Money sometimes surfaces in these conversations. How do you make a living and write. I believe we find our way. If we continue to show up.
Continue under all circumstances. Don’t be tossed away. Make positive effort for the good. The positive effort will take you a long way. And the giving to others. I’ve witnessed it countless times. It creates an opening in me. A whole place where I can learn to receive.
I don’t see the Wind Moon tonight. I hear the knocking of the chimes. If I don’t see the Wind, it doesn’t mean she is not there. The sky is black. Two planes flash, rerouted across distant skies. I don’t hear them. I see wing lights flashing in the dark. I know the moon is behind me, rising above the oaks. If I look out the bedroom windows in a few hours, I might see her pale face, 3rd quarter – half dark, half light. There’s a symmetry, a balance in that. I count on her. The Moon is dependable. She is never tossed away.
-posted on red Ravine, Saturday, March 29th, 2008
-related to posts: winter haiku trilogy, PRACTICE – Wolf Moon – 10min, and PRACTICE – Snow Moon (Total Lunar Eclipse) — 20min
QM, I love your sentence about the “sky licked the mound of snow…” What a delightful description of an icy cold wind!
That was the wind we had here, yesterday; right off the tops of the snow covered mountains!
I have begun working with Natalie’s book, obediently following her directions…first writing a practice on what I saw before me (an etched glass bowl of potpourr)i; the second, “I am thinking of (a friend who just passed away;), and the third, beginning, I remember (a great teacher I had.) Then she wrote about bringing feeling and the senses into one’s work. Your practice shows the effect of her teaching, and this is what I will strive for, as well. I think it was probably evident in Bob’s beautiful essay on his Mother’s hands.
Don’t be reluctant to submit your work, as your “practices” are good enough to be published!
LikeLike
oliverowl, it’s great you are working with Natalie’s book and working with some of her Writing Topics. “What I see in front of me” is one of my favorites. It seems to ground me. The “I remember a great teacher” is a good one, too. I’m going to remember that when I write about Mrs. Juarez.
And thank you for your kind words. It was Natalie who taught me to add the details of the senses that I constantly am noticing. I tend to be pretty sensory oriented. But my writing used to be abstract and heady. The sensory details are so much what make writing come alive for me.
I’m very appreciative of everything I have learned from other writers. Not only have I been fortunate to study with Natalie, but also all the writers I have seen in person over the last few years (like Teri mentioning Mary Oliver last night at the State Theater) have opened up about their craft and shared so much about the process of writing.
Liz and I began moving into a studio space yesterday that we will be sharing with two other artists. I felt so lucky that I was going to have a space, a place to lay out my work, a space in community with others. I am working toward submitting a few essays. And toward the book that may take me a while to pull together. I’m letting go of time frames. And focusing on the work. I hope it’s enough!
BTW, it’s snowing here in Minneapolis this morning, winter storm warning. A few inches have already fallen. I don’t think I’ll be seeing the March moon tonight either! The good news is that it will melt quickly later in the week. The warmth of April will draw out the green. 8)
oliverowl, maybe you can get down to Taos for a class with Natalie sometime. She also sometimes has weekend classes she might do with other teachers. In the past, I have flown from Minneapolis to San Francisco to attend one of her weekend workshops. If you are ever drawn that way, it’s worth it!
LikeLike
I have only recently found this gem of a website, and it has fit so well into my writing practice and need to have a writing community in my life. QM, I am struck by the beauty of your writings; raw, soulful.
I met Natalie many years ago when she came to an independent bookstore in Takoma Park, MD (or maybe it was Politics and Prose in DC). She read from Writing Down the Bones, and I was hooked! I have practiced ever since, as well as read all her books and listened to her audios (especially when I am traveling down to Asheville, NC and north GA mountains).
One day I want to make it to NM to study under Natalie, but living on the east coast has prevented me from doing this; however, I found out she is coming to MA during the summer. I hope to make it to this.
LikeLike
Spiritdwel, Asheville, NC and the north GA mountains are beautiful places. I have not seen either in years. I remember the Tennessee mountains most from when I was a child. It’s beautiful there (but I used to get so car sick on those winding mountain roads when we made the trip from GA to TN!).
I’m so happy you found us. It made my day to read that you have found community here. ybonesy and I have really wanted to create a space that offers that to others who might want to connect around the creative. Thank you so much for letting us know.
I hope you make it to MA to hear Natalie this summer. The gift she has given me is to treat my writing and creative endeavors like a practice — a spiritual practice. And to carry that over to the rest of my life and the way I treat others. It’s all practice – not perfection. I’m so glad I don’t have to be perfect anymore.
I appreciate your comment, Spiritdwel. I hope you’ll return.
LikeLike
RECALL:
wind rocking the trees
she disappears into the white skies of summer
Wind Moon
The wind kicked through my hair.
It was as if the sky had licked the top of a mound of crusted snow, sucked up her coolness, and swept it across my face.
Crow Moon
Kiowa Bud Moon, the Shawnee Sap Moon, and the Alaskan Haida Noisy Goose Moon
Worm Moon and the Moose Hunter Moon
Dark winter branches fall from leafless trees. Twigs snap and drop on the deck.
melting and freezing, puddling and coughing, spitting and sputtering toward warmth and sun
“Look! My first robin!”
The film maker read it and wept.
I wept when I watched it for the first time last week.
I want to write a story that is so true to its time, that it makes others weep.
I hear the knocking of the chimes.
If I don’t see the Wind, it doesn’t mean she is not there.
I know the moon is behind me, rising above the oaks.
her pale face, 3rd quarter – half dark, half light.
There’s a symmetry, a balance in that.
The Moon is dependable. She is never tossed away.
LikeLike
QM, this is a great post & yb hit it on the head with her recall! Your words flow as you write with such an intensity!
I also have started reading Natalie’s book & what a great surprise! Such inspiration! I am getting ready to start my writing of memoir, & when I explained to my niece this past week-end my intentions, her words were so encouraging & that alone made we want to continue to show up.
I am so happy to read that you have your studio! What a delight that must be! Good luck to you & continue under all circumstances! Have fun getting settled in. Always…D
LikeLike
diddy, you are reading Natalie’s new book on memoir writing, correct? And it’s the first book you’ve read by her? I’m so glad you are finding inspiration there. AND that you are starting your memoir! Exciting news.
I was hoping the fire would catch and you’d be off and running. You have been hinting about it on red Ravine over the last 5 months and I was hoping you’d start to write down your stories. I know they’ve been brewing inside you for a while now. I’m glad you are getting support from a family member. That is so important. Keep us posted as you start to dive in. 8)
LikeLike
QM, yes the book “Old Friend from Far Away”. And it is the first book that I’ve read by her. Very helpful! I decided to get started earlier than planned. My niece encouraged me start now. As I muddle through it I will keep you posted.
This book couldn’t have come along at a better time & thanks to redRavine for turning me onto her practice. D
LikeLike
diddy, we are all muddling through together, one step at a time. I’m excited for you and your writing. Thanks for everything you bring to the red Ravine community.
LikeLike
[…] -related to posts: winter haiku trilogy, PRACTICE – Wolf Moon – 10min, PRACTICE – Snow Moon (Total Lunar Eclipse) — 20min, and PRACTICE – Wind Moon – 20min […]
LikeLike
[…] trilogy, PRACTICE – Wolf Moon – 10min, PRACTICE – Snow Moon (Total Lunar Eclipse) — 20min, and PRACTICE – Wind Moon – 20min, PRACTICE — Pink Frog Moon — […]
LikeLike
Last night I couldn’t sleep. I got up and walked out to the couch where Chaco was curled up in a ball in the middle of the down comforter. We were in the middle of a big winter storm. The wind was whipping and whistling through the door, the snow was flying, the chimes were banging against each other. Sometimes I’d hear a thump on the roof.
Later in the dead of morning, dead time, it was pitch black out. I remember turning over on the couch and there, through a crack in the living room blinds, was the full March Wind Moon shining bright as could be.
I remember thinking the storm might be over. No more fog and gray. I remember thinking in a split second before I went back to sleep, I walk with the Wind. Like the poetry of the Hopi. March, Month of the Whispering Wind.
LikeLike
Beautiful, beautiful. I love your slow walks.
LikeLike
Thanks for stopping by. You remind me that it’s been a long time since I slow walked through the neighborhood. I have become too busy. And here it is, the March Wind Moon again, the Worm Moon, the Sap Moon, the Crow Moon. I want to slow down again. Years have gone by since I wrote this practice. I have lost one of the three cats. I feel older and some days worn. But still dreaming. Still making plans. Still working at my goals. It’s in the quiet spaces I feel the best.
LikeLike