"This work is unlike any other, in its range of rich, conjuring imagery and its dexterity, its smart voice. Carroll-Hackett doesn’t spare us—but doesn’t save us—she draws a blueprint of power and class with her unflinching pivot: matter-of-fact and tender." —Jan Beatty

Archive for the ‘Writing Through the Chakras’ Category

Daily Prompt Love <3 Bullies, and What's Elemental

29 June 2017

Make art about a bully, about standing up to bullies, or about the need that drives them.

stop bullying

30 June 2017

el·e·men·tal (eləˈmen(t)l/)

adjective

  1. primary or basic.

    “elemental features from which all other structures are compounded”

    synonyms: basic, primary, fundamental, essential, root, underlying; 

    rudimentary

    “the elemental principles of….”

  2. related to or embodying the powers of nature.

    “a thunderstorm is the inevitable outcome of battling elemental forces”

synonyms: natural, atmospheric, meteorological, environmental, climatic

“elemental forces”

Make art about something elemental.

elemental

 

Daily Prompt Love Catch-Up <3 Darkness, Illness, Body

21 June 2017

Make art about finding your way through the dark.

through darkness

22 June 2017

Make art about illness.

illness

23 June 2017

Make art about what the body remembers.

body remembers

Daily Prompt Love <3 Like A Circle In a Spiral

30 May 2017

Been hearing (and singing) this song since I woke up. 

Like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning
On an ever-spinning reel
As the images unwind
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind

Make art about circles, inside circles, circling, unending spirals, cycles, the circles we inhabit, the circles we create.

Daily Prompt Love <3 Give a Little, Take a Little

26 May 2017

In The Citizen’s Handbook, Charles Dobson talks at length about what he call harmonizers: a facilitator whose main job will be to encourage people with different views to listen to the other, and ask questions, rather than trying to score points.”

Make art about harmonizers, about creating or fostering harmony, about harmony through compromise.

harmony

Daily Prompt Love <3 Even–Especially–When It's Hard

23 May 2017

Make art about seeing the world through eyes of Love, especially when it seems most impossible. 

love first

 

 

Daily Prompt <3 That Beautiful Yawp

22 May 2017

Thanks and Love to that fabulous poet-sister Amy Tudor for posting the article that inspires today’s prompt. 

“Adults in America don’t sing communally. Children routinely sing together in their schools and activities, and even infants have sing-alongs galore to attend. But past the age of majority, at grown-up commemorations, celebrations, and gatherings, this most essential human yawp of feeling—of marking, with a grace note, that we are together in this place at this time—usually goes missing.”

How Communal Singing Disappeared From American Life: And Why We Should Bring It Back

Make art about singing with others, about that joining of voices. 

singing

Daily Prompt Love <3 Another Chance: A Very Special Birthday Prompt

19 May 2017

Seven years ago today, my oldest son J was in a terrible car accident, his little plastic Saturn sedan t-boned by a brand new Dodge Charger with its all-steel construction.

J, my laughing, charismatic, kind, smart son, only 22 then, was critically injured, with a compression skull fracture, subdural hematoma, subarachnoid hemorrhaging, and four feather bleeds into his beautiful brain. They airlifted him by helicopter from our small town to the major medical facility, MCV, in Richmond, admitting him directly into the neurological ICU. He was conscious the whole time, talking, joking, charming the nurses, complaining that he couldn’t look out the window on his first-ever helicopter ride, even saying things meant to reassure me, his sister, his brother, the friends who stood by us at the hospital. We bedded down in the ICU waiting room, while behind those heavy doors, monitors clicked and hummed, documenting my son’s traumatic brain injury. That was Wednesday. 

Early Thursday afternoon, as I stood as J’s bedside, a doctor we hadn’t seen before strode in, his crisp white lab coat flowing behind him. He introduced himself as the head of neurological research, and after a moment, he asked us if we had seen J’s latest CT scan. We hadn’t, so he hurried from the room, telling us he’d be right back. J and I looked at each other, confused, and my son must have seen worry in my eyes, as he patted my hand. 

The doctor returned, wheeling in a large piece of equipment, a medical imaging viewer, and positioned it at the end of J’s ICU bed. He turned it on and the image of my son’s skull appeared,  stark in the black and whiteness of it all. For a second, we were completely silent. Then the doctor, smiling, began to explain what we were seeing.

What we were seeing was nothing: no bleeding, no bruising, no swelling. The only sign that remained of my son’s injury just 24 hours before was the spiderweb of fractures in the bone, as if a pencil eraser had been pushed into the fragile shell of an egg, a network of bone break just beneath the C-shaped wound on the side of his head.  J’s brain looked completely normal, showing not a single other sign of the blow he’d taken the day before in the wreck that had left his little car mangled, left nothing but the driver’s seat intact. 

The doctor grinned, saying, “We want to study you, study why and how you healed so quickly.”

That was Thursday. We brought J home midday on Friday. Six weeks later, he was back at work, then back to his last year of college that fall. We talked time and again about his miraculous healing, about why it might have happened. 

J, my wise son, said, “Mom, I don’t know why it happened. I just know I got another chance.” 

He now calls May 19 his birthday. His Facebook status this morning read, “Today, I am alive.” 

Make art about being given another chance. 

 

J and Max

 

 

 

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