Once again, I am inspired by my teacher, Reiko Rizzuto, as I listen to her speak on a panel at the Enoch Pratt Library in Baltimore. What makes me breathe in is the story behind the words on her pages -- how, over time, she staked a claim in the territory of writers, until writing became her work, inclusive of all the dreaming that the job entails.
I gave myself permission to do the same but only because my healing body demanded that I stop perseverating, seek honest land, and homestead. Not that teaching wasn't honest work. And meaningful, too. But that someone wasn't me anymore.
No comments:
Post a Comment