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Mar 4, 2023Liked by Danusha Laméris

Thank you, Danusha! This is so delightful and wise. What you say reminds me of William Stafford's poem: Report From a Far Place

Making these word things to

step on across the world, I

could call them snowshoes.

They creak, sag, bend, but

hold, over the great deep cold,

and they turn up at the toes.

In war or city or camp

they could save your life;

you can muse them by the fire.

Be careful, though: they

burn, or don't burn, in their own

strange way, when you say them.

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Love that poem

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Thanks so much for this one. You're a gift of a guide. Love the idea of stepping out of the village into the forest. Perfect.

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So glad to hear it! And thank you.

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These are loving sharings -- from the heart of an amazing poet.

thank you! keep on!

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Thank you, Michael! Sending some love your way. 🙏🏽❤️

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Dear Danusha,

This is exactly what I needed to hear this morning. I am working on poems and essays about my grief experience and it feels pretty darn naked. I question what I'm doing and why. But it seems that when I share my writing with other women in my situation (a small group but a group none the less) they thank me for speaking the same language they are speaking. That makes me want to continue on the path. It's all those others, those who haven't experienced the loss I write about, who question what I'm doing and make me think I should put my pen and paper and tears and pain away. Since it doesn't resonate with them they make me think it won't resonate with that larger world and I feel vulnerable and naked once again. And the critic gets louder and louder. Thank you for leaving a cairn ahead for me to walk towards.

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Oh please keep that pen at hand! A service to yourself and others. Thank you for sharing this.

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