Relaxing Exercises to Help You Write! by Carolina Sosa

Some people easily shut down themselves by following relaxing exercises instructions. To some others the mere fact of closing theirs eyes means more space and opportunity is provided for more and more different thoughts that come to knock their brain door or just climb up and get in through a forgotten open window. I definitely belong to this last group.

-Close you’re eyes. Breath deeply… Inhale deeply… Exhale… Concentrate in your breathing  and deeply inhale… Slowly exhale... Let’s do it one more time… Now, let’s go to to that special moment. -I was told.

-Really? -My questioning voice replied.

-Ok. I will try my best, -I answered to me.
So, I closed my eyes and that memory immediately came as obediently as a good dog runs to his owner's call.

-Go away! -I harshly almost yelled.

-Ok, it seems is gone. Let’s try again. Let’s go to this special moment. – I tried to remind myself.

-Did you really chose not to think about me? -I heard again that whisper getting stronger with each word. I mentally opened my eyes and acidly said:

-You again? Please, I'm not going to uncover that already sealed hole. Of course you won’t steal my attention now! I am trying to bring a unique and special moment to my mind. So please, just let me finish my thought (or in this case, start it) and then maybe we´ll have time to share our past.
This seemed to work.

Back to my special moment I tried to take my whole spirit to that place. I forced my brain to remember every single detail. I looked around that place. I tried to see me there. I also try to see it through my eyes there…

-Why don´t we just finish our conversation and then you could pretend you really went to that special moment and write about it? -He asked bringing me back again with any effort at all.

-It seems I won’t get rid of you. -I resignedly answered. -Yes, let’s remember that.

Why are my thoughts always distracting me? Why all of them want to have the main role in one wiriting at the same time? Why is that uncontrollable obsession of showing up as much as they can getting more and more annoying? Sometimes this endless battle gets me so stressed. Whenever I come with an idea for a topic I decide to write about, all of a sudden, my thoughts start pressing me, intimidating me, and I have to admit, sometimes, silencing me. 

So don’t try to help me with relaxing exercises. That doesn't really work. They don’t have enough power to shut up my thoughts. But of course, you could try them! Good Luck!!!

Age of Exploration

Age of Exploration

In a world where critical thinking

is necessity

questioning everything

is the norm

and trust is hard to come by

we are asked to explore.

Explore what? Our practice? Our differences? Our social advantages and disadvantages?

Disjointed as it feels

to teach

or observe

a stellar lesson

then feel nothing but emotional turmoil due to the

*gasp!*

protocol

Respect prevails

the wonderings endure

And I’m left feeling both speechless

and

a desperate need to

Explain

myself, the practice, the reason I stopped contributing

Question

myself, the practice, the reason I’m even here

And explore

myself, the practice, and what this damned process has in store

Rez Dog by Kelly Hamilton

You were found under a Juniper tree.

A scared little puppy

who had survived all alone

for six months

in the high desert of Northern Arizona.

That’s how Kenny knew.

Why he thought of your name

the minute he saw you

before he even knew this fact.

You died the first week of May

in a year that hadn’t been going very well to begin with.

You waited for me to get home

from my trip across the sea

before you let go.

You needed your mama to be there

to hold you.

Because after more than ten years

of living together
you had come to know me

as your mama,

though it took a while

to earn your love.

I remember how you tried to

shove yourself between us

on my first date with Kenny.

He didn’t even have a couch,

but you found a way to fit

on that papasan chair.

When we left your homeland

for our eastern destination,

you started showing

signs of age.

After all, you are the dog

who sat in the back

of the moving truck

all day

while we loaded

Kenny’s condo up

to move in together

those many years ago.

Moving across the country

had taken its toll.

My grief sometimes catches me

by surprise. I think of you

at random times.

I’ll see your picture hanging

on Kenny’s office wall

or hear the jingle of a dog collar

and remember that you’re gone.

That I miss you.

And I do miss you all the time.

It’s not fair to say

“I miss you every day”

because I’ve gotten used to your absence.

When you passed, it was the end of an era.

Something more than our family pet

was lost.

You represented an important phase of life.

You were part of Flagstaff.

Part of Kenny.

Of me

becoming who I always knew I would be

but never wanted to believe

I could become

in case I didn’t.

You could always be trusted.

That time we walked up to Buffalo Park

I didn’t put you on the leash.

You trotted just ahead

always our scout on any trail.

We came upon that herd of elk.

My heart began to pump

and I felt the familiar icy adrenaline rush

that came with the possibility

of dog action.

Would you run after them?

Would I lose you?

Would you get hurt?

But no. Typical Juni,

you froze in your tracks

the minute you perceived their presence,

a football field away,

through the vanilla sweet Ponderosa.

One look at those scary elk

and you turned around

and trotted back

toward home.

You didn’t bolt away quickly,

skittish and scared.

No, this was a more calculated fear.

You knew that those elk could take you down.

Run you over.

So you weighed your options

and decided that you weren’t going to take your chances

with pushing ahead.

You simply ran home.

I trotted behind you

all the way.

Still in awe

of this beautiful life

we were living.

But then again

you could also run

with utter joy;

Scampering and scooting,

racing fast

around Hart Prairie

with your ears flattened

against the sides of your head,

tongue lolling out of your mouth.

Cutting the corners

just a little too close.

I knew when we met

that you were a special pup.

I knew

I would miss you.

And I do.

ALL TWISTED

Albania Vásquez

At Silver Center for the Arts, there’s this photography exhibition: “Photography Through the Trees” by John Anderson. Each photo pictures a beautiful landscape of verdure, wooden bridges, and riverbanks. However, what is unusual about these photos is they are all bent. You can see the sky on the ground, or the river and the trees in the sky. In one of them, the water under a sturdy arched bridge seems to slide from the riverbanks to the center and form a sort of pond. In another, the bridge and its surroundings are enclosed in a sphere. A third one is curved in the shape of an infinity symbol. Nothing is in its place. At the same time, though, these phorographs have this rustic beauty, this peculiar harmony that is soothing for the soul.  

Peace Garden

By Laura McDermott

Minds appear to be depicted

as mazes and labyrinths lately.

Have you watched Westworld?

The center is always the goal,

The ultimate achievement.

The peace garden exists in the parking lot,

A feature of social media self-aggrandizement.

Did you see her selfie at the center of the maze?
Did you see how she was a Buddhist for a day?

It’s an apt metaphor:

Make your way through the maze so that

you can stop making your way through the maze.

Lose yourself to find yourself. Be part of the collective,

drop the ego. But are you looking at me doing it?
Can you see that I’ve had a feeling of transcendence?

What has peace become?

                                           A single flower from Plymouth out of many!
                                           Zobeida Sanchez

Wao! You either write or write! How? That is the mystery! The National Writing Project has this Magic Stick to turn Frogs into Writers. Everybody generates ideas all the way along; but how come? It never occurred to us such an easy way to learn to write. We spend all our academic lives believing we can't, but by just trusting the process all of a sudden you find yourself creating ideas, jotting them down, brushing off beautiful texts, that eventually become masterpieces. How again? With a lot of patience, community work, love, passion, pleasure and joy to join the ride knowing for sure we will reach completely safely to a productive end. Now we know that writers become writers writing. We are, We are the Writers! Summer 2018.

Zobeida Sanchez