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Background Photo Credits: Michelle Doucette

 Creative Writing 

Other writing and record of past creative processes = saracoffin.blogspot.com

 

July 25, 2018 - in transit to the Yukon 

Take your time

Escape Time

Feel Time Expand

 

I don’t know what I will find

I want to get lost to get found

 

Wild, Please guide me

Embrace me

 

Disappear along the river

So that I may find myself

 

Soft Front

Strong Spine

Wild Heart

 

A whisper in the wind

 

******

 

 

August 1, 2018- Yukon River

Spine of the River

Trace the river through the spine.

It’s bends and curves, a fast eddy and slow standing pool.

 

The river dancing like seductive silk, the silky sweet flow of a running history.

Deep aqua green whispers in the cracks of my vertebrae.

 

A curious quick turn on the bank of the cervical spine.

Remember the twists and turns and long silent paddle strokes that swirl along the long bend of the River’s lumbar spine.

 

Well-worn vertebrae become the small rocks along this shore.

I am as fresh and tired as this land.

Trace the river through the spine, a map of time, place, and weight.

A moving map with ground and sky, ever twisting spine of flow.

 

 

******

 

 August 9, 2018 - Fort Selkirk Yukon River

Empty rooms, lost thoughts

Empty rooms, lost thoughts

Words dancing through a rhyme that has now gone missing

 

Relics of once was; a time of purpose and function now sleeps, sunken in and nestled among the rotten floor boards.

 

I use to stand here; this once was my shell, my home

But now I exist only as a distant memory.

I look through the windowpane and see my fading shadow disappear in one breath.

 

The wood stove no longer burns strong. A house once full of excitement, laughter and long conversations now sits lonely at the river’s edge. My past stories whisper through the trees.

 

I am passing a slow solitary hike through the woods and only my spirit remains in the sunset or soaring freely with the eagle’s wing.

 

******

 August 13, 2018 - Yukon River

 

 

Empty Creek - Authentic Movement Responsive Writing

 

The sun as a bright light source, I see my shadows through the soft translucent flesh of my eyelids.

 

The traces of my own movement become trees and vines enveloping me in a soft caress.  I framed the sun with my bones as the light passes through me. The breeze carries me.

 

Off balance, tiny micro adjustments of the ankle joint runs through my body. A monumanteous terrain at the calcaneus becomes a river through my body.  The river once ran here and now the vertebrae of the riverbed are cemented together making ground for new life to emerge from.  I feel nestled between these mountain peaks.  The spine of mother earth guides me down the river.

 

What is my materiality within the materiality of this landscape?

 

Time passes at a rate that is long and strong.  Old spirits or the imprint of past  forgotten marks  float down the stream carried north by the strength of the river. I wonder what the sense of time is in the composite of my own bones. My own landscape may not be that deep or is it oh nature or the past lives that carry within my cells.

 

Flesh like the crusted ground Earth mud, bones of rock crest Mountains and towering trees, hair as ancient horse grass blowing the breeze.  The exhale of my lungs creates a mini gale that dissipates with the river flow running through my blood.

 

The pulse of the heart pumping in the current of time, like that of the directional current running through the river.

 

The mini peaks and valleys of the ear is its own ecology of tiny mountains or a boil within the river at the same time.

 

The ribs curve like the riverbank or are smooth well-worn pieces of driftwood that I carry inside me.

 

I stumble, my  foot can’t find grounding. Pushing into the earth I spin in a circle.  The earth’s force reverberates through the time trace of the fascia's spiderous web.

 

Falling, catching myself right at the point of my next fall.  Fall, fall, falling, again, and again. Rolling, tumbling through the  mystery of this dried Creek. I manage to stay afloat.

 

I feel as fresh and tired as this land.
 

August 14, 2018 - Yukon River


River Haiku - Poetry Fire

Thrust through the water
Rushing current that take me
Toward the Unknown

Immersed Wilderness
Soft Front, Strong Spine, Wild Heart
I  have landed here

New Friends to laugh with
Gold Leaf, Breeding, Carmichael
Fish pole left behind

Hidden booze barrels
Rocks weighing down the canoe
memories to last

Paddle for the views
tired body lugging shit
perfection to hold

Waiting to boil
Milk, piss water hydration
It is still worth it.
 

 

******

 

New, my body feels it.

 

A heart that longs to be loved.

 

******

 

August 25, 2018 - Susie Lake, Halifax

 

Sighs for the River

 

Lakeside a substitute for the river.

Silky fresh water caress my skin and my inner thighs and armpits float in the sweet seduction of nature.

A pool of tears from the sky so large it carries me to happiness.

A calm grace that I cannot describe but a sensation that I deeply feel and need.

 

I sit here alone feeling the pull of opposing emotions.

The solid rock, sweet spruce smell and the femininity of water holds my heart and my nervous system is at peace.

 

Simultaneously I mourn the laughter of 12 experiencing the present moment together. I miss my river friends and our brief cosmos of artistic river richness. Beings so sensitive and articulate to every change of texture along the sky and water, their impact on my soul is profound.

 

A wave of loneliness returns of the settling to home. Why is home and a need to be here filled with loneliness and disillusion?

 

I stroke the ink deep in my wrist and remember the beauty, love, and laughter that carried me along the river.  I am blessed to have had this moment in time forever printed on my skin and in my soul.   

 

******

 

September 12, 2018 - Halifax, week 1 studio process

 

A wild I can’t describe

What is this wild that I am enchanted by that I’m trying to capture or hold on to.  How can I physicalize the feeling I can’t describe.  Even when I do this very task for a living I am confounded by the deep wild that stirs inside me.

 

In the wild there is a tactility of the body and respect for the materiality of function that is potent, raw, practical but rich.  Our eyes are open to the horizon.  The translucent windows to the soul allow the light to flow in  so that  we may take in the landscape visually and cellularly.  The breath connected to the feet on the ground, held in a large pregnant pause knowing our significance or presence is minor to the larger cosmos that unfolds around us.

 

Animals passed by me traveling through their own ecological track undisturbed or indifferent to my path. Their path or process of existence is an incredible mystery to me, yet held in the utmost reverie or romanticism. My heart stops as I hold my breath witnessing the simple action of each mighty foot fall as they pass.  This animal gently imprints the landscape, in a larger cycle or ecological framework they mean so much more that I can’t even begin to fathom but I know it is real.

 

******

 

 

Sensations of the wild body:

Free

Alert

Sunkist

Tired, weather worn,  but steadfast and pushing through

Inspired, awe

Contextualize counterpoint

Blue Horizon lines clearing the mind

Suspended, float

Time passing, strong history -Yet time at a standstill

Quiet tension

Larger than life stillness

Anticipation

Prioritizing/understanding/actualizing necessity

Salty, Sandy, Dirt

Deep Squat

 

Leaning back with surrender and breath

Push Forward, Sleep you can’t escape

 

Weighted time or suspended weight waiting for the  pot of water to boil, sun to set, or fire to hold/catch.

 ******