So I am taking a writing class. So I am also taking a women’s studies class. The potential of what might come out in my writing is monstrous. Can you see the volcano erupting by Thanksgiving? It’s a definite possibility.

In this women-only (there are mixed gender classes available, too) course, there is a lot of emphasis on symbolism, ritual, practice, and respect. Everyone’s thoughts and words are read aloud and held in a circle of curiosity, humor, patience, and silence. It’s absolutely counter-culture.

I pride myself that this is not the first time I have been a part of circles like this. The whole Jesuit thing, JVC, XU, BC, Women’s Centers, the Sacred Feminine…if you know any of those terms or acronyms, you know this to be true: for survival, it is essential to your own livelihood to be heard and feel validated. Fragments, whole, pieces, shards. It matters not what size or in/completed-ness, what matters is that you write. You write the world away. You write about dogs, lists, magic, jealousy, injustice, art, Blockbuster lines, and gas prices. You write what you live. I live deeply, so I write deeply.

We had the option of giving our name, or giving a name we would like to be called. For whatever reason, I regretted saying my real name. I wanted to be called Flora. I wanted to be called Flower.

http://womenwriting.org