294: One Stubborn Layer at a Time

How do we find our way back to remembering who and what we really are, in the midst of lives that so easily call us into busyness, distraction, fear and the gnawing sense that something is always missing? How might we speak with one another, and write, in a way that evokes one another's depth? And why it is that, in these days of an new explosion of machine-writing software tools such as ChatGPT, we need the honesty and generosity of writing and speaking to one another that can come only from our humanity - from the inside of this one, mysterious and infinitely precious experience of being alive.



This week's Turning Towards Life is hosted, as always, by Lizzie Winn and Justin Wise of Thirdspace.



Turning Towards Life, a week-by-week conversation inviting us deeply into our lives, is a live 30 minute conversation hosted by Justin Wise and Lizzie Winn of Thirdspace.  Find us on FaceBook to watch live and join in the lively conversation on this episode. You can find videos of every episode, and more about the project on the Turning Towards Life website, and you can also watch and listen on Instagram, YouTube, and as a podcast on Apple, Google, Amazon Music and Spotify.



Here's our source for this week:



One Stubborn Layer at a Time



Peace finds me today, meets me 

in the clear waters of poets' words,

in the distant call of mourning dove, 

in the bursting buds of the old mossy oak. Even 



the black fly is an almost-welcome visitor, 

its relentless buzz challenging me to meet it again

and again. It flies up close to my open eyes

and asks—even this? 



The young men painting the house next door 

play their festive music and sing and sing, 

they sing as if not a thing in the world hurts, 

as if this singing moment is guaranteed.



Or maybe they sing because 

there is so much hurt 

in the world and none 

of it is guaranteed.



I love how, for once, I feel no need to justify

this not-doing, afternoon spent cradled 

in hammock's kind lap, pen and notebook close 

for when words decide to come—



and when they do, I catch one 

at a time, like a child catching snowflakes 

on her tongue. I say thank you 

for each one—



for what else but words point me back,

show me how to, one stubborn layer 

at a time, undress myself—how to dive naked 

into the clear waters of what is here.



Julia Fehrenbacher

www.juliafehrenbacher.com 

May 16th, 2023



Photo by Radek Grzybowski on Unsplash