Gift*Away: Our Word: the collective guide to intuitive writing

This week I am giving away a spot in Our Word, a 6 week intuitive writing journey.  

I wanted to give you a little taste of what you might find in the course this week so I asked each guide to give me a small gesture of a prompt that relates to their week's content.  Isabel Abbott - who I personally think to be one of the greatest questions proposers on the planet-  came to me with a few prompts around Naming {which is what you will explore with her during her week in the course}. Because this is an intuitive writing course, we try to practice unknowing, or not thinking about our writing as "perfect" or sellable or even readable.  What we do is try and tap into the wordplay, the wordflow, the soul harvest, the tingling on the surface of the skin and the deep belly blows coming through.  This isn't a thinking process, it's a feeling/doing process.  Later, we can always go back and select the jewels and keep working on something if that's what is calling to us.  Our Word tries to shine a golden light on this: Writing is for everyone. It's a personal practice for the Self.  When we sit down to intutively write we have to be willing {no matter how much of a seasoned/professional writer we may be}to start from the beginning, because in the beginning there are so many places to go from there.


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what is the name of the deep breath you would take, over and over, for all of us?

Sometimes I forget to breathe. And I'll spend a long time suffocating and feeling disconnect but I always have a moment where I remember. And so I name breath Remember.  And then I take it all in and hold it close for a few seconds or maybe days or years and it becomes Life-  it lives and grows in the deepest shelter of my womb.  This breath is beyond air now, it’s the blood and it’s the stones, it’s the salt and it’s the bones.  It’s the inside out aches and pains and bruises and slices and screams.  It's skin on skin bliss of first times and it’s the knowing and sour smells of the 100th time.  It’s the lover leaving and the mother staying.  It’s the swords below the chrysalis and the shadow that is proof the light lives behind us. It’s the knowing and believing in the unwinding and undoing and then it’s the laying down to rest. It's the ease and the salvation, the redemption and it's chance.  It’s a breath of wild mystery, of life re-born, of cedar and nettles, of resin and smoke. It’s the snow of the sawtooths and the hot sand of the sea of cortez and it’s the temples from the land my grandmother’s walked and cried and birthed over.  It’s war and poverty and royals and shepards.  It’s walking alone against the road on a freezing, star exploded night.  It’s the song and the singing and the racing and the panic and the coiled up tension ready to release it's glory. It’s the ripped skin and torn clothes and the slow cooked sauce on sunday and the sun draping through dirty windows. It’s the ‘I don’t know so please tell me’ and the ‘how can we keep holding on to this?’ And the ‘how can we ever leave this?’  The breath is the demand for the answers and being satisfied when the answers are just more questions. The breathe is named Remember. and also, Life. 

what is the name of the piece of land you walk and roam and call your home?

Mother and Sorrow and Love.  Her name is Many Names. Her name is fire, ice, particle, mineral and enzyme. Her name is Blood and Holder and Hester and Endless and Artemis. Her name is Sex.  Her name is War.  Her name is Rock.  Her name is Dust and Skull and Skin Cell and Turtle Shell She also goes by Old Crow.  I call to her ‘Take Me Away’ and ‘Please Hold Me Close’. Her name is the name that can never have a name, the ever-changing name, the 10,000 names. And if it’s uttered it cannot be truth. Her name is what I beg to hear murmured when I am lost, in my ear, on my skin, written in snow.  Her name is what I try and scream when I am found.  Her name is what I search for, always and forever, and even though I walk on her, carry her dirt in the cracks of my heels and eat the leaves that grow from her ground,  I don’t know my place so I call out to her to bring me Home. Her name escapes me and yet lives in me, I have been walking on her for so long, like a blurry line of events and places and tables and beds and doorways and clouds and moons following along.  Her name is barren field.  Her name is woven forest. Her name is running river.  Her name in no different thatn my own. Her name is Amen. 

what is the name of your heartbeat, in this moment? and now this one, following?

This heartbeat is heavy.  This heartbeat is hope in the heavy. This heartbeat is heavy and deep in hope.  This heartbeat is escaping.  This heartbeat wants to be heard. This heartbeat skips.  This heartbeat is Big Bad Heavy Bomb.  This heartbeat is the song and the cry and the howl and the screech and the scratch and the moan and the mantra and the plea and the prayer. It is dry ash and wet dirt. This This heartbeat is named One.


1. Leave a comment here and answer one of these questions.

2. Share the link in your own blog or Facebook or Instagram or Pinterest.

3. I will randomly choose the winner this coming Sunday evening.

4. Good luck. Let's write.