This is what my car looks like all packed up to drive to Commonweal. I’m carrying a case of Writer’s Journey sweatshirts, a Jambox speaker to play music and poetry, a shoe box full of evocative postcard images spanning 40 years to use as writing prompts, a computer, a portable printer, spare cartridges of ink, a necklace that spells out C-R-E-A-T-E in Scrabble tiles, a pair of fuzzy slippers, 24 beautifully lettered name tags in plastic cases, a stapler, various office supplies, a power strip, my c-pap machine and a half gallon of distilled water to go with it, a gallon of my favorite local chai, sneakers for hiking, files upon files of powerful poetry I read while teaching a retreat, an open heart, all the materials my co-teacher Evelyn needs to set up an altar, 30 years of experience guiding writers deep into themselves and their words, a desire to serve and speak truth to power, a pair of flip flops for walking to the sauna but no bathing suit, and for those of you who know me, my ever present Tibetan brass gong.
