Prosed poetry is often the format through which I write in my personal journal. It’s a lot of observations. About what is near to me, inner and outer. I often write and rewrite in the spirit of “note to self — remember this today.” Or, “note to team — what if this guided us today?”
My prosed poetry so often sources from my listening habits, wanting to hear a clarity from within. I tend to write reminders to guide life lived with courage and clarity of heart.
The images above are compelling to me. From a beautiful and moving weekend in Midway, Utah, a short drive from where I live. Autumn leaves. A creek flowing. A blue sky compelling. Loving company. All of which helped create this prose, these notes below.
Follow what brings life and joy.
Welcome what gives breath and belonging.
Follow what flows.
Into the inspiring patterns.
Trust that it all invites contribution,
and alway has.
Love it that every moment
inherently invites a now, and a next.
The poetry so often guides to the questions for me. It’s one of my favorite things to pivot from poetic expression to a question that engages myself, the individual, or the group. I tend to pick one and let that be enough to begin for some circled listening.
What holds you steady these days?
In what ways are you experiencing life and joy?
What have you appreciated lately that is beautiful to you?
In what ways are you finding breath and belonging?
What do you notice lately that flows so naturally?
What inspiring patterns are you living or compelled to live?
How is it that you are currently trusting your contribution or the contribution of others?
What invitation are you loving now?
What is this moment, this very moment, inviting you to?
Yah, the questions are abundant. They invite story. They invite witness. They invite noticing. They invite becoming. The ability to ask the questions of myself and of others is so often what I rely upon in helping groups move to more wisdom and kindness, to more helpfulness and life-giving practice.
Into the deeply personal, yet also, so universal. Into the leaves. Into the creeks. Into the blue sky of the beautiful humans that we are.