It didn't matter to me if we hugged trees, as long as we could write. And write we did! My brain, feeling like its been in a holding pattern for the past couple of years, nearly exploded with the words. By the end of the first day, not many of the words made much sense, but that's what revision is for, right?
The Learning Center is on the shore of Lake Diablo, with several snowy peaks sticking up around it. Its a great place to write from if you want to be inspired by nature. I like that the focus of the retreats is about gaining inspiration from creation, though they wouldn't put it in those words!
Turns out I was the local hero too - I was the last person to sign up, just a week or so before the retreat, and they'd been about to cancel it because of low numbers. But my registration saved the day! So we were an intimate group of eight, with two instructors. Ana Maria Spanga taught memoir/essay and Tim McNulty got us writing poetry.
Now, poetry is way low on my list of creative things to do, down there with painting portraits and arranging the linen cupboard according to thread count on the sheets. A bad experience in grade school put me off poetry for life, or so I thought.
Poets can be made, we learned. There are actually steps you take in crafting a poem that result in a meaningful string of words. Who knew (well, I suppose poets do but I never bothered to listen.)
We did some work in the classroom, doing a few mental exercises to get in touch with all five senses. I suppose it's a bit like those things actors do to get into the scene -it looks (and may sound) way weirder than it really is. Tim talked about being attentive, observant. All good, practical stuff. Hmm, maybe this isn't too liberal-hippy for me after all.
The afternoon was spent outside on one of the lovely trails used by the Learning Center. Armed with our notebooks and pens, water bottles and hats, and liberally doused with bug spray, we headed off to attentively observe and write it all down. At this stage I was still feeling a bit clunky with my word choices and imagery. Kind of like being a hiking boot lined up next to a ballet slipper. But here's what I love about these kind of things, especially ones held out in the wilderness - everyone has insecurities and it ends up being a supportive and safe place to share.
There was a bit of nature-inspired tension too - we briefly shared the trail with a mother bear and her cubs.
They'd been in the area all season, not causing any trouble (very good bear security prevails at this place.) It satisfied my curiosity about what it would be like to meet a bear in the woods. A heightened awareness of where you're standing (behind the person who'd had many encounters with bears is a good place, I learned), appreciation for a wild animal doing her thing, and relief when she moves off and you can proceed down the trail again.
It didn't really add anything to my poem but sure made for a good photo op!
You can stop reading here if you're one of the great unwashed who don't read poetry, like I was before this retreat and still am if it gets too introspective. But I want to share my poem . It was quite cathartic. (I love that I can use that word in a sentence and its appropriate.) The hang-ups are gone. What a sweet surprise.
A silver glint sparks.
A rock lies upturned beside the path,
moss on its back.
Tipped by a careless boot, perhaps?
A rock undisturbed long enough to sprout moss.
Turned over, it still glimmers
Moss can't hide the sparkle.
My last poem penned in grade school. Mumbo-jumbo about summer sounds,
the awkward ending, "and crickets sound like sleigh bells too"
a host for moss growing on my creativity.
A small rocky cave appears.
What hides there? A bug? A skittery rodent?
A perfect metaphor?
Come out into the light.
Sparkle, catch my attention.
Don't let the moss take hold.
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