"What if you are the story—not the author, but the sentence, the breath between lines? What if the most radical thing you can do is stop needing to be known, and start becoming part of what is knowing?" Ahhh...yes. Beautiful pairing with yesterday's experience of being 1 of 11 million breaths crying "WE THE PEOPLE." Total anonymity. Ultimate power. Essential reconnection to what matters. Love you and love your exquisite expression.
Gosh, this hadn't even occurred to me Gail until you pointed it out! How serendipitous that I posted this essay on the day after NO KINGS day—a perfect antidote to the "me me me" mongering of that little man's parade. Millions of breaths joining together in total anonymity, a power that will continue to rise.
well i take up the advice you give your Mom here "surround yourself with something that makes you feel awe" each time i read these pieces. they are remarkable as are you xo
I can take no credit for those words "surround yourself with something that makes you feel awe". Those are from "the world" but channeled through the woman behind the The World Is Writing project. It's been lovely to hear my mom's delight each time one arrives in her mailbox. I have no idea what they'll say but each time, they land perfectly. I asked my mom what they evoke in her when she reads them, and her response: "I feel loved by life." (All that to say, I'm glad in some way these jumbled word salads of mine also surround you in awe. Thank you.)
Dear Kimberly, I have read your exquisite words three times now, each time a response has rippled from between the lines but so awash with tears I couldn't see to write it down; unknowingly you wrote this on a June day, the same June day in 1996 which still trembles in my heart when my mothers own, too young heart, suddenly, simply, stopped beating. I felt her presence so strongly when I read this I ached and cried and have only now stopped.
I have an old leather suitcase under my bed, inside is every letter my mother wrote to me alongside those I wrote to her, many travelled the circumference of the world to arrive in the hands they were intended for. Not one is signed with a name but each holds, entwined in its words, love and hope, sometimes fear too - separation is often an anxious emotion - all were stories; a whole world of stories of land and people and homes and animals and journeys is contained in within. On my mothers birthday and on Mothers Day I read one up to the sky in the hope that my words land on the cloud she is lain upon. A ritual of love and longing.
I could pull so many lines from this beautiful letter but here "What if you are the story—not the author, but the sentence, the breath between lines?" I feel her breath.
Thank you for that feeling, that knowing...
One other line I cannot leave without repeating "Why isn’t the world more snarky or more upset with us humans? How is it so relentlessly LOVING?" I ask myself this question over and over, can only think it is our most benevolent friend. xx
Oh Susie, thank you for bringing your mom into this hearth. Thank you for spinning her words and the love that fueled them into my own spinning. I will forever hold onto this image of you, opening up the suitcase of her letters, bringing one up to the sky and reaching for her with your longing. (I will also envision her reaching back—not just as arms, but as the tendrils of care and presence I feel in every one of your letters. She is woven into you and we are all now the beneficiaries of this eternal love. I'm so moved by your sharing here Susie. Thank you thank you thank you for showing me that friendship isn't founded on simple nods and exchanges but a profound willingness to show up, gutted and raw, and say, "Will you love me even then? And in response I echo this beautiful "relentlessly loving" world, and say, YES!
I echo back "Thank you thank you thank you for showing me that friendship isn't founded on simple nods and exchanges but a profound willingness to show up, gutted and raw, and say, "Will you love me even then?"
Dearest Kimberly, I feel these words flowing through the blood and bones of me, I will love and love say YES, YES, YES, to this world and you and all its beautiful humans for as long as I am living and breathing, and, I hope, as my mother is, long, long after too.♥️
This is just such beautiful alchemy, Kimberly. What a wonderful gift to relax into anonymity as I read and hear words of the field, from the forest, unbound and communal. These words, “I wanted to feel how adoration rises beneath my feet, from filaments that root one self into the loam of a thousand others.” Wow. So often I feel like words fail me, but actually, perhaps, it is that I fail the words, and what I need to do is let my ‘longing settle into the unwritten’. Thank you for this transcendent series. Much love xx
Yes yes yes! I love how you just phased this Emily. "So often I feel like words fail me, but actually, perhaps, it is that I fail the words." Settling ourselves and all that chatter into the unwritten is such a fertile place. And you, with your many outlets of creativity, I imagine the unwritten finally gets to express itself in infinite texture, color and form. Much love to you dear friend!
Thank you Carissa. Isn't that poem wonderful? I love how it starts, "I want to disappear" - - feels abrupt, almost scary. But then melts us into a different, more ecstatic kind of disappearing. :)
This reminds me of the joy I find in the anonymity of travelling, especially in a different country. As you say it's a retrieval of self, or many selves perhaps. Perhaps the free, natural, curious child self 🤔 And an absolute relief for me to not be known, to not be seen by anyone I might know, to drop the 'act', to shake off conditioning, to stop worrying what people think of me, to not care, to dare a little, to walk confidently (great way to feel safe as a solo woman too), and to look curiously... And I suppose in doing all that, I become part of this 'travelling hum' - people coming and going, and feeling part of that collective doing and being without being known. 😄
You're so right. Traveling is a wonderful way to melt into the murmuration. You just reminded me of a time my dad decided to rent a Buddhist monk costume while traveling in California. He walked around all day in that costume—his handsome 6'6" figure robed and humbled—I wonder if he felt a freedom in this exercise. Or maybe it drew even more attention to him!
Melting into the murmuration... Hmmm I like that 👌
I love this story about your dad! Sounds very freeing, and perhaps more attention in that way felt fun? Also my mind just went to - not as attention grabbing as billowing around in robes like Severus Snape 🤣
There’s just too much beauty in this essay to find only one thing to quote. This is some of the most luminous writing I’ve ever read of yours. It’s infused with so much love and wonder and noticing. Pure poetry.
Gosh, perhaps the more anonymous, the more luminous? It definitely felt like I needed to step inside (our stretch into) the abundance of voices to write this one. I'm so glad it translated for you as love, wonder and noticing. Those are three qualities I'll be trying to cultivate to the day I die. ;)
Exquisite writing, Kimberly. And reading this early in the morning in Tokyo makes me feel that so much of the harmony that Japanese culture strives for is also a similar defence of anonymity, or rather, a blendng of self with selves.
Oh fascinating Jeffrey! You reminded me of an article I read decades ago, maybe in Utne magazine, about how even the Japanese language de-emphasizes the individual, reflecting a sense of group identity and shared social purpose. Maybe you can refresh my memory but I think it said that expressions like "one's own" can be used to refer to oneself but imply connection to a group. Does this ring true for you?
Thank you, Kimberly! You may be referring to 自分 (oneself), which perhaps has Buddhist nuances in some of its historical meanings or uses that convey the connectedness you mention. But these subtleties are well beyond my level of Japanese!
Oh, Kimberly, how the unknowing pushes us forward toward the search for meaning, the never-ending search that lead towards love as everything you write and produce does.
Anonymity defines how I too feel with its power to speak, nonetheless.
The letter for your mother closes this piece like a gorgeous turn of a brilliant poem.
Such a beautiful reflection friend. You hold this “knowing unknowing” with grace in all you do. And just as soon as we discover a meaning, it shifts into new versions of unknowing. We are multitudes!
I am sitting here tearing up. This is the awe in my day. the permission to dissolve from the self into the collective. This is a beautiful piece. thank you for writing it. This morning I had one of my 'episodes' - the dissociation that overwhelms me, that takes me from myself and the world. It holds me apart, sometimes for a breath, sometimes longer. It's hard. But this offers me an entirely different perspective from which to consider this anonymity from the self. And for that I can't thank you enough.
Gosh Evelyn. Your comment stopped my breath. Rewind. Reread. Then—recognition. What a reframe on dissociation! While this hadn't occurred to me, you've just opened up a new way of seeing. It makes me think of the shamans who often have dissociative tendencies but in their culture, this is seen as a gift, an opportunity to shed the self and join the selves. An opening to receive messages from "the world." I so appreciate your vulnerable sharing. I love it when something that is so often perceived as "bad" or "something to fix" is turned on its head. Hmmmm... maybe I need to do an In Defense of Dissociating? :)
As i embark on my healing journey it seems that so much of it is just learning to see things differently. Michael has a note on his whiteboard that says, ‘whatever happens to you, happens for you,’ and i try to use that as a tool to reframe difficult experiences.
Oh yes! I would greatly interested in that, I love the way you bring new meaning and perspective to things in your writing. It’s so authentic and enjoyable to engage with!
"What if you are the story—not the author, but the sentence, the breath between lines? What if the most radical thing you can do is stop needing to be known, and start becoming part of what is knowing?" Ahhh...yes. Beautiful pairing with yesterday's experience of being 1 of 11 million breaths crying "WE THE PEOPLE." Total anonymity. Ultimate power. Essential reconnection to what matters. Love you and love your exquisite expression.
Gosh, this hadn't even occurred to me Gail until you pointed it out! How serendipitous that I posted this essay on the day after NO KINGS day—a perfect antidote to the "me me me" mongering of that little man's parade. Millions of breaths joining together in total anonymity, a power that will continue to rise.
well i take up the advice you give your Mom here "surround yourself with something that makes you feel awe" each time i read these pieces. they are remarkable as are you xo
I can take no credit for those words "surround yourself with something that makes you feel awe". Those are from "the world" but channeled through the woman behind the The World Is Writing project. It's been lovely to hear my mom's delight each time one arrives in her mailbox. I have no idea what they'll say but each time, they land perfectly. I asked my mom what they evoke in her when she reads them, and her response: "I feel loved by life." (All that to say, I'm glad in some way these jumbled word salads of mine also surround you in awe. Thank you.)
I'm just going to say what Nelly B said above :) Love it, such a warm embrace. Lovely Kimberly, thanks.
I like that my essays can feel like a hug. :) Thanks Jonathan.
Beautiful. All of it. Just beautiful. I so appreciate you writing and sharing it 🙏
I appreciate you for joining me here and pausing to take it in!
Dear Kimberly, I have read your exquisite words three times now, each time a response has rippled from between the lines but so awash with tears I couldn't see to write it down; unknowingly you wrote this on a June day, the same June day in 1996 which still trembles in my heart when my mothers own, too young heart, suddenly, simply, stopped beating. I felt her presence so strongly when I read this I ached and cried and have only now stopped.
I have an old leather suitcase under my bed, inside is every letter my mother wrote to me alongside those I wrote to her, many travelled the circumference of the world to arrive in the hands they were intended for. Not one is signed with a name but each holds, entwined in its words, love and hope, sometimes fear too - separation is often an anxious emotion - all were stories; a whole world of stories of land and people and homes and animals and journeys is contained in within. On my mothers birthday and on Mothers Day I read one up to the sky in the hope that my words land on the cloud she is lain upon. A ritual of love and longing.
I could pull so many lines from this beautiful letter but here "What if you are the story—not the author, but the sentence, the breath between lines?" I feel her breath.
Thank you for that feeling, that knowing...
One other line I cannot leave without repeating "Why isn’t the world more snarky or more upset with us humans? How is it so relentlessly LOVING?" I ask myself this question over and over, can only think it is our most benevolent friend. xx
Oh Susie, thank you for bringing your mom into this hearth. Thank you for spinning her words and the love that fueled them into my own spinning. I will forever hold onto this image of you, opening up the suitcase of her letters, bringing one up to the sky and reaching for her with your longing. (I will also envision her reaching back—not just as arms, but as the tendrils of care and presence I feel in every one of your letters. She is woven into you and we are all now the beneficiaries of this eternal love. I'm so moved by your sharing here Susie. Thank you thank you thank you for showing me that friendship isn't founded on simple nods and exchanges but a profound willingness to show up, gutted and raw, and say, "Will you love me even then? And in response I echo this beautiful "relentlessly loving" world, and say, YES!
I echo back "Thank you thank you thank you for showing me that friendship isn't founded on simple nods and exchanges but a profound willingness to show up, gutted and raw, and say, "Will you love me even then?"
Dearest Kimberly, I feel these words flowing through the blood and bones of me, I will love and love say YES, YES, YES, to this world and you and all its beautiful humans for as long as I am living and breathing, and, I hope, as my mother is, long, long after too.♥️
This is just such beautiful alchemy, Kimberly. What a wonderful gift to relax into anonymity as I read and hear words of the field, from the forest, unbound and communal. These words, “I wanted to feel how adoration rises beneath my feet, from filaments that root one self into the loam of a thousand others.” Wow. So often I feel like words fail me, but actually, perhaps, it is that I fail the words, and what I need to do is let my ‘longing settle into the unwritten’. Thank you for this transcendent series. Much love xx
Yes yes yes! I love how you just phased this Emily. "So often I feel like words fail me, but actually, perhaps, it is that I fail the words." Settling ourselves and all that chatter into the unwritten is such a fertile place. And you, with your many outlets of creativity, I imagine the unwritten finally gets to express itself in infinite texture, color and form. Much love to you dear friend!
Wow. Another breathtaking piece. A letter from the world— brilliant. The anonymity poem— how did the poet know how I’ve been feeling lately?
Thank you Carissa. Isn't that poem wonderful? I love how it starts, "I want to disappear" - - feels abrupt, almost scary. But then melts us into a different, more ecstatic kind of disappearing. :)
This reminds me of the joy I find in the anonymity of travelling, especially in a different country. As you say it's a retrieval of self, or many selves perhaps. Perhaps the free, natural, curious child self 🤔 And an absolute relief for me to not be known, to not be seen by anyone I might know, to drop the 'act', to shake off conditioning, to stop worrying what people think of me, to not care, to dare a little, to walk confidently (great way to feel safe as a solo woman too), and to look curiously... And I suppose in doing all that, I become part of this 'travelling hum' - people coming and going, and feeling part of that collective doing and being without being known. 😄
You're so right. Traveling is a wonderful way to melt into the murmuration. You just reminded me of a time my dad decided to rent a Buddhist monk costume while traveling in California. He walked around all day in that costume—his handsome 6'6" figure robed and humbled—I wonder if he felt a freedom in this exercise. Or maybe it drew even more attention to him!
Melting into the murmuration... Hmmm I like that 👌
I love this story about your dad! Sounds very freeing, and perhaps more attention in that way felt fun? Also my mind just went to - not as attention grabbing as billowing around in robes like Severus Snape 🤣
I’m almost moved to tears. Thank you for sharing. 💙🕊️
Awwww! Thank you for opening your heart to this piece!
There’s just too much beauty in this essay to find only one thing to quote. This is some of the most luminous writing I’ve ever read of yours. It’s infused with so much love and wonder and noticing. Pure poetry.
Gosh, perhaps the more anonymous, the more luminous? It definitely felt like I needed to step inside (our stretch into) the abundance of voices to write this one. I'm so glad it translated for you as love, wonder and noticing. Those are three qualities I'll be trying to cultivate to the day I die. ;)
Anonymity.
From woven we, us to all.
No byline needed.
…
A familiar tug,
not of war, but of wonder.
Interconnected.
…
Free from false pretense,
free for the (give and) taking.
Belonging to all.
“From woven we, us to all.” That is such a beautiful expression, I’d like to paint it on my wall. 🙏
May woven we-world
be painted all, wall to wall.
Better yet, no walls!
Marisol, wow. Thanks for sharing these beautiful words.
Thank you, Donna dear*
May we share words’/world’s goodness...
Glad for resonance~
Hello Kimberly, I just saw this and I’m gonna come back so I can sync into every word. 💜
“Sync” I love you that spelled it that way!
Exquisite writing, Kimberly. And reading this early in the morning in Tokyo makes me feel that so much of the harmony that Japanese culture strives for is also a similar defence of anonymity, or rather, a blendng of self with selves.
Oh fascinating Jeffrey! You reminded me of an article I read decades ago, maybe in Utne magazine, about how even the Japanese language de-emphasizes the individual, reflecting a sense of group identity and shared social purpose. Maybe you can refresh my memory but I think it said that expressions like "one's own" can be used to refer to oneself but imply connection to a group. Does this ring true for you?
Thank you, Kimberly! You may be referring to 自分 (oneself), which perhaps has Buddhist nuances in some of its historical meanings or uses that convey the connectedness you mention. But these subtleties are well beyond my level of Japanese!
Oh, Kimberly, how the unknowing pushes us forward toward the search for meaning, the never-ending search that lead towards love as everything you write and produce does.
Anonymity defines how I too feel with its power to speak, nonetheless.
The letter for your mother closes this piece like a gorgeous turn of a brilliant poem.
Such a beautiful reflection friend. You hold this “knowing unknowing” with grace in all you do. And just as soon as we discover a meaning, it shifts into new versions of unknowing. We are multitudes!
I am sitting here tearing up. This is the awe in my day. the permission to dissolve from the self into the collective. This is a beautiful piece. thank you for writing it. This morning I had one of my 'episodes' - the dissociation that overwhelms me, that takes me from myself and the world. It holds me apart, sometimes for a breath, sometimes longer. It's hard. But this offers me an entirely different perspective from which to consider this anonymity from the self. And for that I can't thank you enough.
Gosh Evelyn. Your comment stopped my breath. Rewind. Reread. Then—recognition. What a reframe on dissociation! While this hadn't occurred to me, you've just opened up a new way of seeing. It makes me think of the shamans who often have dissociative tendencies but in their culture, this is seen as a gift, an opportunity to shed the self and join the selves. An opening to receive messages from "the world." I so appreciate your vulnerable sharing. I love it when something that is so often perceived as "bad" or "something to fix" is turned on its head. Hmmmm... maybe I need to do an In Defense of Dissociating? :)
As i embark on my healing journey it seems that so much of it is just learning to see things differently. Michael has a note on his whiteboard that says, ‘whatever happens to you, happens for you,’ and i try to use that as a tool to reframe difficult experiences.
Oh yes! I would greatly interested in that, I love the way you bring new meaning and perspective to things in your writing. It’s so authentic and enjoyable to engage with!
Beautiful. Your writing astonishes me.
Gosh, I feel so held by your generous presence. Thank you,