Fullness the past 18 days meant:
Learning from a farmer what my locally available grain (a spelt berry) is and subsequently cooking pounds of them in dishes for every visitor I love.
Experiencing Brent Green and Band perform a live soundtrack and effects during their film showing, created with stop-motion magic on a self-built set. Believing that we can still invent with our hands from our spirits. Not micro-chipped yet.
Finally writing a letter to my senator about a bill.
Seeing from my father and mother what it is to humbly take classes even when you teach at a university.
Chanting in Hawaiian with Joy Harjo, the renowned American Indian poet, before and after she sang and spoke her words we are studying in class. FOR FREE.
Meeting hungry members of my greater neighborhood as we ate breakfast together at the community resource center. A woman with long white hair and no home to call her own whispering instructions to preserve my granola recipe.
Scratching my flee-bitten arms while teaching fractions to a 5th grader crushed by poverty and bullying. Dwellings that are not sterile, but with energy so pure.
A mountain of pages converted from symbols to meaning in classes.
Body-wracking sobs when decisions gets too heavy.
Being lifted up and twirled around my apartment by Arkansas arms that do not shake.
Notes
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