Fragments of Samsara

Mandala painting by Jill Sans.

sam·sa·ra
/səmˈsärə/
the cycle of death and rebirth to which life in the material world is bound.

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Early Morning Fire ~ American Sentence Day 94 of 108

I drift between wakefulness and sleep from around 3 to 4 am until about 5:30 – I fall back to sleep until 6, when my alarm goes off. It’s better when I surrender – maybe take a cool shower and then, drift in and out of sleep, thinking of dreams,
and noticing.

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So much filling a room

We moved to a small room in an annex to the Poetry Project at St. Mark’s Church. Nada Gordon was teaching – I think we were free-writing, getting warmed up.

My marriage was a disaster and I did’t necessarily feel like feeling anything – so I focused on the room and the sounds and the imagery and the energy of nervous writers filling the space. I put a lot of pressure on writing to take the place of music.

I’m guessing this happened in 2004.

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Nothing is Personal

It was a time when I was alone, not ready to be with anyone. Scorched by the last love affair, nerves still scarred over. It was a Monday night. My friend Leslie texted me, the model for her life drawing class didn’t show up – would I want to model? I said sure, I can be there in 20 minutes. I grabbed a bath robe, drove through the snow, and before I had a chance to think, I was naked in a circle of artists. Next day, I wrote this . . .

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Five

Tangent pulled from the middle of this free-write: Brunettes. I love dark boys, the dark hair, the dark skin, the pale eyes. I never thought I had a type, but looking back I see I have a thing for Mediterranean men. Darker men. I love curly hair and almond-shaped eyes. Light brown eyes, green eyes, blue eyes. Oh, but dark hair and lovely sharp features.

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Flash (R)evolution

I am moving house. Well, apartment to house. Still renting, but I am spreading out, sort of.

Whenever I move I find stuff – lots of writing especially. I write a lot, but it doesn’t mean I type it, or file it properly, or share it.

The discipline is in the order, not the action for me. I don’t know when I wrote this, I suspect right before moving to Arizona, 2006/2007, while I was leaving my husband and living in a basement in Brooklyn.

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