What would Pirate Girl say?
Listening to the wild person inside of you can be a great place to make sense of your life. You can play with writing an exactly-50-word story as a way to bring the words to your experiences.
When you engage your playful side, you find the deeper wisdom that hides from your serious mind, the one you learned for school.
To help open yourself, you can choose a pen name, or a Nom de Mischief, to write under, so you can be free of the judgment of others, even if they only live in your head. Channeling that internal voice allows play and wisdom to show up as a result.
It doesn’t matter if what you write is good. It only matters that you like it and have fun. And if you’re lucky, wisdom, hope, and a direction for your life will emerge.
Wrestling with the 50 words can bring clarity to what you think and feel about events in your life or shape an inquiry. (Note: I let MS Word count my words.)
Many people don’t know what they really think until they write about it, seeking clarity. It’s true for me.
You can play with beginning your story with “Because…” or “As we all know…”. Complete this sentence, then another. Or start with a wild proposition and see what follows: Without Donald Trump, you don’t get pink pussy hats and the revolution. Send him flowers.
Here are some of my 50-word stories:
On exceedingly long stems, two perfect coral tulips rise above the brambles. When I was eight, my mother took me to visit wildflowers in the spring Ohio forest. I wanted more than anything to be wild. I was disappointed. Now, more than anything, I yearn to be a wild flower.
Is That a Shark?
Is that a shark? Holy poop! It’s a big shark! Swimming my way! Through the cavern, 20 feet below me. Swim away, slowly, at a 90-degree angle. Breathe. Don’t look back, yet. Swim away. The fish aren’t worried. Hmm. Breathe. Head for the beach, hang out with the fish.
There Is That of Christ in Everyone
At eight, I believed in bad guys. All my money was in the Sandy Springs Bank, a Quaker institution. Watching my wealth, I asked, “Mom, the guards don’t have guns.”
“Well, they believe there is that of Christ in everyone.” Bam! Awakening! I got it. Nothing has been the same.
Buddhas on My Table
Buddha walks in, lies on my table and reveals the Sacred, moment by moment. I rarely swoon, but sometimes the light grows so brilliant… What can I say?
When she is done, she writes me a check, and departs.
Then Buddha walks in again wearing a different form. I bow.