Summer in Berkley

I've been to Berkley and back, two classes at Pacific School of Religion. The class on Writing as a Healing Ministry was the final piece of the puzzle for my next journey. I now have an affirmation for the work I truly want to do, which is not the job I'm doing now. The critics in my head, the ones who niggle and complain when I move closer to my true self (the artist, teacher, healer) had much to say at the beginning of the week. Here is some of it:

I noticed she has 60 pairs of shoes, 31 of which are black
and there are no screen windows
in her million dollar home
but there are 3 original Ekuk masks
from the Bakwele tribe
squinting from her fireplace mantle
with coffee bean eyes.

I noticed she has 20 framed photographs
of children, step children, and grandchildren
nestled beneath a 3' x 4' foot wedding portrait.
She is a divorce lawyer specializing in uncontested
divorce contracts. Her daughter is an author
with 2 books to her name. I admire that.

She has 3 goldfish left in a 4' x 4' foot round
pond in her backyard and 1 white-tailed deer
who frequents her front yard to breakfast
on white narcissus. I caught a glimpse of him
this morning just before he tenderly slipped
into the wooded periphery. I want
to see him again.

I heard her ask me, "Now why are you here?"
I said simply, "I want to write. I am a writer," I declared
as I was instructed to declare on the first day of class.
I heard her ask with a slight edge, "Well, how many
books have YOU written?"
"None," I replied stunned and defensive,

"But, who's counting?"