women’s collective writing group

Welcome readers to the Women’s Collective Writing Group!

WCWG came to fruition after many years of searching for the perfect writing group and coming to the realization I wasn’t going to find what I was looking for online, so I might as well create my own group! It has always been a dream of mine to gather the creative women in my life and do something collectively together. Whether that be through music, art, literature or a shared love of writing, I knew I wanted to do something in this regard.

When I approached the women to see if this was something they would be interested in, I couldn’t believe the excitement and positive response I received. They, as much I, were searching for an outlet to feel inspired by.  We were all in need of a safe space to let our creative juices flow and to write unapologetically about how we feel.

The goal of the WCWG is for our writing to serve as inspiration for others, create more openness within ourselves, and to expand our writing skills while connecting on a deeper level with each other; ultimately leading us to live more authentic lives by sharing with the words that live in our hearts.  I will be featuring a couple pieces every month, written by the women in the WCWG. We hope you enjoy the words we share & find something that inspires you.

Sincerely,

Megan Napoletano

If you are interested in joining the WCWG, please contact me via email at megannapoletano@gmail.com

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What I put out into the world

What people recognize in me,

Is important.

That comes from insecurity.

Fears of failure.

Desire to be chosen or wanted.

The aggrandizement of self.

I want to lead with those things.

Expose them.

Recognize them.

Nurture them.

I want people to recognize true self,

That being vulnerable isn’t a weakness.

Relationships, I have found, 

Is about being recognized and understood.

A safe space for expression, 

Even with reaction, 

All without judgment.

I can now walk away from relationships,

When the other is not willing to do so.

I’ve discovered many lack the ability to be introspective.

Inability to shift perspectives. 

It’s sad to me that people can’t see their own self, 

Their own behaviors.

This inhibits their accountability. 

It is not my job anymore to do others’ emotional labor. 

It is my job to walk away from people that don’t feed understanding. 

I am better at recognizing those that only feed their egos. 

I walk away from them when I realize my ego is starved to satiate theirs.

Am I any better?

Absolutely not. 

I am my own worst critic. 

However, I love myself enough,

To hold myself to a higher standard.

When I fail, 

When my projections or old habits hurt others, 

It kills me. 

Negative thoughts only poison my progress. 

Let those negative feelings dissipate,
And move on. 

When the moment comes to share with our children about the great love they do not know

What do we say?

Where do we start?

How do we paint the picture of who their mother was then?

How do we talk about a love that isn’t their father?

The opportunity is a gift, because it is an opportunity

To guide our children

To connect with our children

In hopes of proving to them we are human

In hopes they will not miss the chance to feel something raw

In hopes they will carry more than one within their heart

I will say it was

A love of mystery

A love of risk

A love of courage

A love of fault 

A love that did not sustain

But a love that is pure

 When your friend’s son dies

You will see a person break open,

cracking and groaning like a continent

splitting from other parts of itself and leaving

irregular brutal surprised shards

and edges that make no sense.

But you will not see this often.

Mostly you will see her knotted and

stitched up—haphazardly, yes—  

but tight and tautened, fastened into a hasty clutch,

with no thread loose for you to grab.

Hermetic and kept close.

When your friend’s son has died

you will do everything she wants.

You will say, Yes!, to whatever cold effort she proposes:

another mile, another mountain, another hushed trail.

Yes! You will say because you can do nothing but hand her things

to throw into the hole. 

In they go! the rocks you hand her—Here’s another!

Yeah, here’s a big fucker—Throw that in for a noise.

You both will lean over and listen for the striking sounds,

the ricochet and clatter, because that will mean the hole

has walls and a bottom and bounds.

When your friend son dies

she will spend the summer kayaking,

so there is no sensation but the screaming muscles of her back

as their ripples mimic the arc of the blade and the repeat

of the capillary waves she cuts and curls into a river he loved.

Her shoulders’ blades will sharpen and widen and lift

above vertebrae rising like a line of new foothills

from the flats of her faulted body

and you will imagine the birds bringing her food,

like you do. A banana? A beetle?  A flower’s hips or fruit’s pips?

She needs nothing to row but her arms

and another day of water beneath the vessel.

You will be alarmed by her body, yes. Her shins,

where they press against the underside of her skin,

thinning it to sheer. Sharpened and whittled tibia

tear through her running tights. 

Clavicle precipice cheekbone shadow cave  

When your friend’s son dies, you will pay

for everything, spending money like a pimp.

You will shove her aside, debit-card cocked and aimed,

because her son has died! And she deserves

a strong cup of coffee, for fuck’s sake. 

At least that, for God’s sake.  And a scone.

When your friend’s son dies, you will ask

again and again to see the snow pig

way back in the old pictures on her phone,

built on a day off school. Open-mouthed, he stands by the mailbox

pebble eyes smoothed sides and nostrilled snout

winter piney piggy tail.   

In that slideshow at the funeral home, the snowpig

appears early. You will hook your arm around her waist

and plant your feet to sturdy her tilt. She will watch her son

flick past diving climbing running, grinning with the Spanish club. 

He grows older to the tune of sickening funeral home music

and she will say, “I can see the light going out of his eyes.”

When your friend’s son has died,

his family will hike to a peak he knows well.

They try to let him stay there, to watch the waves

and smell the balsam and overlook Acadia.

Surfing on the rolling air, an eagle’s steady sweep

promises a vantage beyond this day.

But even he is no fit guardian. 

And you will write only words that everyone says

in flaccid metaphors and shrunken, airless clichés.

You will say nothing helpful and nothing right

and nothing true about this thing that cannot be true

the true thing that cannot have happened.

All you can do is tend the snow pig

aged and lamed by suns and freezes.

You will repack his softening legs and smooth his haunches

perk up the fold of his cocked ear and brush his hooves

He winks at the mailman and flicks his twiggy tail.

I cannot escape our love

As each month passed

I prayed your presence will settle into the corners of my mind

With every song

Every sunset

Every child’s laughter

My mind was visited by your voice and touch

Time is a gift

Time has healed my pain

Healed the loss of a life I imagined with you

With love and heartache

We feel we are victims of timing and past choices

Victims of things beyond our control

But I do have control

Control of my own renewal

I hold the key

The key to let the light back in

The light is a different shade of gold

The light gives me permission to free my regrets 

And hold onto the moments of pride and vulnerability

With this light, I again can

Hear the wind whisper through the trees

Dance in my living room

And see the bluebirds fly

I cannot escape our love

Nor do I wish to

But the keys to my heart are mine

I choose to unlock the light of my renewal

The light that will shield the past

And illuminate what is to come 

There is no side

There is not right, nor no left

For our world is round 

And we are inside of the infinite circle together

Together

Together

We are one

One being

One species 

One kind

One race

Humans, mortals, persons

Together

Together

Together we can be better

We WILL be better

And now is the time

Now is the time to unite

The time to connect

The time to hope and grow and love

The time to make a change

The time to be one

Together

Together

Together we stand. 

I fell in love with California

 On the beaches of the Central Coast

I have hiked amongst the red rocks of Sedona

I have slept amongst the boulders of Joshua Tree

I have felt the mist of Yosemite Falls

And slept under the glory of Half Dome

I have driven from Portland to San Diego,

 With three women who will live in my heart forever

I have marveled at the green of Multnomah Falls in Washington 

And slept beneath the Redwoods

Snow began to fall on my last mile up the Grand Canyon,

As our water ran dry

I have squeezed through the slot canyons in Arizona

And watched the sun rise through Delicate Arch in Moab

Hiking through the Narrows of Zion,

 I promised I would bring my twin to see her beauty,

And I kept that promise

I have danced for days to bluegrass in mountains of Telluride

And listened to music at The Range in Slab City

I have hiked in the snow of The Giant Forest

And felt the spiritual presence of the Sequoia Trees 

I have felt the wind on my face in Bryce

And danced between the Red Rocks in Colorado

I have swam in the hot springs of Steamboat under a full moon

And heard the Aspen trees whisper to me in the night

I have made love in the Flat Irons of the Front Range

And hiked amongst the flowers of the Super Bloom in the Anza Borrego Desert

I have felt the ocean water revive me on Santa Cruz Cove

And watched hundreds of sunsets at the end of the eight in San Diego

I have climbed many peaks within the Cleveland Forest

And shared wine at Big Sur with my oldest friend

I have hosted countless nights of crowded tables in my tiny apartment

And shared joy with hundreds of children 

I have received immense strength and humility from the West

I kept my promise

I am a steward of the West

Be Here Now - Sam Adams

Disclaimer - I understand it is a privilege to have the ability to explore (ideas); to learn and to create during this time. I understand that many people are dying and many are struggling; economically, mentally, physically and emotionally. I understand that this time is confronting people with very real fears of death, the unknown and a myriad of other things that they perhaps have never been faced with before. I see the chaos it is stirring up. I feel the sadness and fear…but I am still optimistic for our future and for us all. My heart is with you. 

What is there to say about this strange moment in time. I went into quarantine with a feeling of relief; a feeling that it was a blessing in disguise. A chance to slow down. To learn. A chance to listen more deeply to ourselves and to the cries of the world. Forced reflection for the many people caught up in capitalist systems; a chance for us all to slow down and sit with ourselves. A chance for people to finally see the truth of our broken and failing systems. I thought perhaps this time would be like a collective chrysalis for humanity. A collective shift in consciousness. An opportunity to inculcate new ideas, new habits, new ways of being and to create from that place. A chance to reflect and transform ourselves. A chance to collectively re-align ourselves with what is important, to connect to the truth of our humanity and our connection to one another. I went into this time with a desire to learn to create in the empty space that quarantine left me in…

What I found was a void. Nothingness, madness, lack of inspiration. Blank walls. History. Static. What is there to say, what is there to create when our world’s become solitary and isolated? There is no inspiration. There is no movement. Just silence. I wanted to use the silence and solitude to bring my thoughts to form. I wanted to learn to create from the void of nothingness. To turn nothing into something. Solitariness into something shared. Silence into song. But in the silence, I found it hard to feel. I found myself forcing. Forcing to create; to contribute, to come up with some meaning to share. I found myself uncomfortable, surrendering to this strange and solitary place. To the silence.  

I’m learning more deeply now about my creative process. About surrendering fully to the present; releasing my trying, my resistance, my old ways of seeing, so I can actually see what is; not what has been or what I hope will be. I’m learning to create structures for myself where none existed. I’m learning to draw inspiration from the space before me; from the air I breathe, drawing and painting presence with meaning and movement and inspiration. And I’m learning that even as I figure out how to create in this space of silence and solitariness my true source of inspiration comes from people, ideas, contrast, collaboration and love…which is always shared. The solitude and slowness, that at first left me empty, are what finally allowed me to let go. To arrive, fully, here. When I finally surrendered to everything before me; to the silence, to the nothingness, to the void…my experience transformed. I found everything I had been seeking. When I let it all go, I arrived right where I wanted to be; fully into my being; present and capable of co-creating with the experience before me. 

I hope that whatever people find for themselves in this space, it can help to collectively move us closer toward a better future; one of conscious creation. I hope that we can be present with what this moment is illuminating, so that we can build a future in response to it. Not a future built on old habits, structures and ways of being, that are not only dead, but killing us; but a future built on truly being with what this moment contains. Collectively and individually we must release what no longer serves us and surrender to what is beyond our control. We must surrender to our humanity so that we can create from a space that is fully human. Arundhati Roy said it best, “Another world is not only possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing.” After many quiet days, my hope is that more people can hear that new world breathing. 

Guacamole - Sarah Hershkowitz

I see him in the produce section,

Shaggy brown hair,

Black sweatshirt,

Pale blue eyes peeking over a slate gray mask.

Hand squeezing an avocado

Searching for something-ripe.

I want to say “A medium softness is the best for guacamole”

Or “A light softness is best for avocado toast”

But I hesitate-

Would the friendliness in my intent be conveyed

with my golden-brown eyes?

Smile robbed by a thin veil of black cotton?

He looks up at me,

and pauses.

Our eyes locked.

And what we are both conveying,

Him with his pale blue eyes, slate gray mask,

Me with my golden-brown eyes, veiled black cotton,

Is the loneliness.

It’s not just the lost potential of a friendly flirtatious exchange,

It’s the glaring realization that we are alone with a feeling in this moment.

We mourn the lost chance in this chance meeting.

All of us walking around-

Veiled mouths,

Wanting for something

But afraid of everything.

Surrounded by avocados,

And the only sure thing is the potential for guacamole.

Where do our minds go when the world shuts down? - Christina Callahan

Where do our minds go when the world shuts down? When masks become the global uniform. Our daily routines, altered. Some days I find myself turning inward. Using the uncertainty to fuel creativity. An unexpected but motivating force. Other days my heart breaks. For those fighting for their lives or those who have lost that battle. I feel sadness. For those who have lost their loved ones, their jobs, or their businesses to this horrific virus. Many days I feel anger. Towards the ignorant. The egoists who doubted this would happen. Those disregarding regulations, putting others' lives in jeopardy. Despite warnings from world health leaders, environmentalists and health care professionals. 

Day in and day out I struggle with all of these emotions. But the strongest emotion I’m left with at the end of the day - hope. Hope that this pandemic will make us all more human, more empathetic, more aware of our global footprint. Hope that we’ll come out of this stronger. More grateful, more loving and united.

The Forced Stillness - Carlee Lewis

The forced stillness

Silence from answers

Absence of physical touch

Grabbing a hand, stroking a cheek

Separation from loved ones

Fear in your spouse’s eyes

Loneliness in your sibling’s voice

The forced stillness

Reminding us we live in a global world

Choices matter, free decisions matter

Masks signaling to each other we share a planet

Nothing is mine, nothing is yours

This burden is ours

The forced stillness

Reviving lost memories buried in the corners of our minds

Reminding us life is too short for lies

Reigniting the flame of creativity

The resilience of a child in a virtual classroom

The courage of volunteer serving food

The patience in a nurse’s hands

Hope is resting within each of us

The forced stillness is not mine or yours

But it is ours to bear together

the Child Within - Meg Napoletano

About a month ago, I remembered feeling like I couldn't hear myself, I was spinning in circles but I didn’t know how to stop. My life felt loud, but the funny thing was, I didn’t want to believe it was, until now.

I did my best to lessen the noise - I practiced yoga, read before bed, ran the cliffs, went for walks in my neighborhood and focused on deep breathing throughout the day. When I got home from work, I’d turn my phone on airplane mode and sometimes off completely so I wasn’t distracted from the present moment. I’d drive to work with no music, so I could sit with myself or I’d journal in the mornings to feel grounded before my day began. I thought I was doing everything in my power to lessen the noise and I was; but as I look back now, I can see that it wasn’t enough - I was spinning a web that wasn’t catching me and the maze I had built was becoming harder and harder for me to find the light, until now.

This time has been a blessing in disguise for me and I know so many of us are not as lucky. I still have my health and my job and family and friends and I count my blessings everyday that I still have all these things - Because without them, I would not have been able to come back to the little girl i lost, so many years ago...

I hear the sound of silence 

This time

She is welcomed

My soul recognizes her presence

It is my own silence 

A familiar silence 

The same one I once heard as a child 

It is the sound of peace

It is the sound of myself 

It is the sound of my breath released from my being

Flickers of light sparkle in the distance

The web is delicately unravelling before my eyes

My feet grace the ground

The child within me is alive 

She is here

She is breathing

She is not going anywhere this time

Sarah Hershkowitz

Nothing. I have learned nothing and everything.

I’ve learned that there is nothing that we ever deserve. I’ve learned that it is always better to earn. I’ve learned how to let go. I’ve learned how to fail. Resilience brought me through. I’ve learned that love lives in sunsets and silence. I’ve learned that love is in the tiniest of smiles. I’ve learned that love is not a word. I’ve learned I have a good imagination. Sometimes love was living in it. I’ve learned that I don’t need materials, I need materialization. I’ve learned that you didn’t deserve the skin cells that I shed walking away from you.  I’ve learned that I will never love you again. There’s comfort in that. I’ve learned that words mean nothing, actions mean everything. I’ve learned to pay attention to people’s patterns. I’ve learned that people will believe anything, even me. I’ve learned that the cycle breaks with you. The healing begins with me. I’ve learned to be vulnerable. I’ve learned to be humble. Humility in the right hands can bloom you. I’ve learned how to spot narcissists. I’ve learned that if someone tells you they’re an asshole, believe them. Character reveals itself when you open your eyes. I’ve learned how to be an adult. I’ve learned how to be a wife. I’ve learned how to compromise. I’ve learned never to put others first. I’ve learned that if you do, you will always be last. Even to them. I’ve learned how to be a mother. I’ve learned how to keep another human alive. Through nourishing their bodies, hearts, and minds. I’ve learned that life began with her. She is the fire. She is the light. She is the hope. She is the motivator. I’ve learned that it goes on, even when you don’t want it to. I’ve learned that wishing it away makes it come faster. I’ve learned that I want life. I live it in the light. In the color. I’ve learned my words mean something. I’ve learned that people are not always deserving of them. I’ve learned to not give them away. I’ve learned that maybe they belong to everyone or no one. But here they are, dancing out in the world. 

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Kitty Cullen

As I reflect on this past decade, I am consumed with so many emotions. I laughed, I cried, I loved, I lost. I partied way too much and had too much fun. I pushed myself physically and did things that felt impossible. I developed emotionally, it hurt so much and felt good at the same time. And most of all, this past decade, I grew up. The decade began my freshman year of college, at the University of Florida where I was playing Division 1 lacrosse and ended with me figuring out how to be an adult and living in San Diego, CA. There is so much that happened in this past decade, and so much that I could write about, but as I think about what I have learned I think my most important lesson is one that I have heard my entire life, yet did not fully understand until now: Everyone is different. 

Difᐧferᐧent adj. 1. not the same as another or each other; unlike in nature, form, or quality. to be different than others.

We are taught at a young age that everyone is different. We all look different, we have different color skin, we come from different backgrounds, etc, etc, etc. I always understood that and that made sense, yet what I didn’t fully understand was that our insides, our core, our soul, are all different and that is a gift. 

We are connected to people for various reasons. Brought together as classmates, teammates, friends of friends and so on. While we always share a common connection, that doesn’t mean you are the same. Over that past decade, I have met so many wonderful and amazing people whom I cherish and love all for different reasons. As I look back on all my amazing memories I would not trade them for anything, though I can’t help but think about how often I was doing things and being someone to fit in, to be socially accepted, to be liked, and because it is what everyone else is doing. It took me the entire decade to become comfortable with the fact that it is ok to think outside the box, it is ok to enjoy different activities than your friends, it is ok to be different. It is so easy to be afraid of what others will think and to fear other's judgment, but at the end of the day being you and being different is the most fulfilling thing of all.  We are all different, we all think differently, we have different values, hopes, and dreams. It is not our job to decide who someone should be or what they should do. When we can learn to accept our own differences and the differences of others, we will grow and appreciate life in an entirely new light. Being different is who we are, what we were made for, and being different is me.

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Christina Callahan

10 years, a lot can happen in that time frame. Happiness, laughter, sadness, friendships, relationships, love, loss, heartbreak. Everything can change in one decade. In 10 years your life can be shattered; then re-built again. In 10 years you grow without even realizing it.

I think back 10 years ago to when I was 21. Where I constantly felt like I was spinning. Trying to find my footing, trying to fit in. Looking for validation in all the wrong places. The years of uncomfortableness that I would never change. I’ve learned that even the uncertainty brought me here. To the woman I am today. 

In 10 years, I learned how to move forward using my intuition, to trust myself. I learned to say goodbye to those not meant for me and said goodbye to those I never thought I’d have to. I learned that these people will always be with me. Whether they are scars, lessons, or guardian angels to help guide me on my journey. I learned to appreciate things more. The quiet early mornings and the star-filled nights--and the beauty in being awake to enjoy them. I learned to use my voice and write. Two things I kept hidden for the majority of the decade and my life. 

Now I sit here lost in words...and that’s everything.

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Meg Napoletano

• Intuition is the voice of the heart. 

• Authenticity is crucial for survival.

• Women must stick together.

• Your parents are just people trying to figure it out.

• When you love someone, tell them.

• Talk less, listen more. 

• Your heart is your truth. 

• Practicing self-love is life-changing.

• Writing can save you when nothing else can.

• Knowing how to be alone is important.

• When you travel somewhere new it changes you a little bit each time.

• Time magically disappears in nature. 

• Creativity feeds the mind.

• Have a relationship with your grandparents and get to know their story (their story is your story).

• Not everyone is going to like you and that’s ok. 

• Live music makes you feel closer to the people you love, even if they are no longer in your life.

• Reflection helps give life meaning. 

• Everyone is different, go at your own pace.

• Forgiveness will free you.

• It’s good to have a little uncertainty in life.

• No one really knows what they’re doing, just listen to the dreams in your heart.

• Treat life like one big adventure.

• Love fearlessly. 

• Live fearlessly. 

• Don’t compromise yourself.

• Have faith.

• Believe in magic.

• Remember that all we have in the end is love. 

I rush through the house,

Filling my lunch bag,

Wiping crumbs from the counter, 

my mind silently scheduling my day,

I reach for my coffee mug, 

And stop.

It’s there.

The silver Keurig,

Unassuming,

Generic,

dripping dark liquid in my cup.

And I feel the presence of your smile,

As you hand me the box.

A house warming present,

“Welcome home Sarah”

So many presents you gave:

Knick knacks in the kitchen.

Stuffed animals in the toy chest.

Jewelry in little blue boxes.

Your words on a card. 

It all lives silently in my house.

Now the presence of you,

only screams of your absence.

The prince is not coming

Stop force feeding this idea to our girls

Although, I believe, at one time, I had him.

Smart

Wealthy

Handsome

And fully

Undeserving.

Our little girls

Should know

It is they who save themselves

True saviors 

Live in them.

Love is a risk

All who partake willing do so

In hopes their love will be given and received equally

Every choice is made in the promise that life will be

a little more calm

a little more stable

a little more bright

We take this leap of faith knowing how broken one door might leave us

We open our hearts because that is what makes us honest to ourselves

The acknowledgment that no one is perfect

Imperfection is what makes us connect and it is what makes us beautiful

True love does not make us weak

True love does not make us foolish

True love proves we are brave

I do not  believe in regrets

Love is a risk 

Why do you need to feel strong?

Why must I be weak?

Why do you need the power?

Why must I kneel?

Why do you need to feel safe?

Why must I comfort you?

Why do you lie? 

Why must I be faithful?

Why do you have conviction?

Why must I disappear?

You are known.

I am lost. 

You are here.

I am gone. 

Who are you?

Who am I?

You’re ok. 

I am compromised.

When was the first time you heard the Grateful Dead?

There’s not a specific moment that sticks out as being the first time I heard the Grateful Dead. But I imagine it was in my Dad’s old Saab winding through the back roads of Connecticut when I was seven or eight. My dad was young, still had his long curly hair in a ponytail and still had the love of music that has slowly faded now. I have memories of him talking about the Dead, the passion he felt for the music…he would get lost in the words and in the melodies, often getting full-blown chills and goosebumps all over his body. He would say, “Look Ky, goosebumps, just from music”. I was hooked. He talked about “noodling” and “spinning”, two types of dances often associated with the Dead. He would noodle in the car with his fingers and described Cristin (my step Mom) as a spinner. I could only imagine crowds of people out in the halls at shows spinning around like mad, I wanted to be like them. I went to camp, probably sometime in middle school, and would sing Fire on the Mountain. The counselors would lose their mind hearing some 10-year-old sing the Dead…calling me a hippy and saying my parents probably made love to this stuff. I knew there was something special in this music, the way people talked about it, the way people fell so in love with it. My dad took me to my first cover band called The Other Ones when I was maybe 12 or 13. That was the first live concert I had ever seen, and how special to be with my Dad and seeing a band I had grown up listening to. I like to think the Dead has shaped my whole life - Made me who I am, given me the friends that I have, driven me to chase musical experiences, and allowed me to remember the connection we all have to each other.

- Kylie Bivrell-Walsh

I went to my first Dead show when I was in college in the mid-1980s. I had listened to the Dead often and I loved their music, but as a heavy-duty concert goer in high school and college, I went to show after show of classic rock like the Stones and Bruce Springsteen, big shows like Elton John or David Bowie, stadium concerts like Live Aid and The Clash, outdoor concerts for Crosby, Stills, and Nash, and smaller club shows for Warren Zevon, the Pretenders, and Jackson Browne or newer groups like The English Beat. The live local music I liked was what would probably be called punk. I’d go to Philadelphia with my friends or my older cousin and slam dance to local punkers or we’d see local favorites-made-good like The Hooters. But I never saw the Dead until I went to Maryland with a friend who had tickets. Everything about the Dead show was different from the other concerts I’d attended: from parking, to the entrance, to the seating. It was outdoors and we just sat on blankets on the grass. I think I had expected the normal amount of security, ticket-checking, and so on, but everything was totally different. People were selling stuff but not overpriced tee shirts or soft pretzels. I bought an egg sandwich from somebody making them on a portable grill. On the lawn and in the aisles under the large covered seating area, people danced and danced—eyes closed, spinning in circles in long, gauzy, patterned skirts. And the band itself just played and played and played. I do remember wanting to hear my favorites at first, but then realizing, “Oh, wait, this music is *different*.” I had expected the studio type versions of their work, but here at the concert they were just going, just playing. Sometimes a song I knew would begin, and then—sometime later—it would actually end. But many of the songs were just being exhaled by the band into the air around them and around us. Active, vital musical pieces would carry us along on the power and musicianship, and then soothing, lyrical mellow pieces would just settle and float around us. It was the longest single-group concert I had ever attended at that time, and I left at the late end of the night already wanting to listen to more of the Dead’s music and, of course, attend more shows.

- Meg Cronin

If was the second week of school, Freshman year at Keene State College. We were laying on your bed, sharing headphones, swapping our favorite songs. You played the Grateful Dead and moe. for me. I played you REM and The Beatles. It was this night that I heard the sweet sounds of Jerry Garcia’s voice and the profound lyrics of Robert Hunter for the very first time. I guess you could say everything changed after that. You see, there was my life before the Grateful Dead and my life after. Kind of like when you fall in love and there is a before that person and after (a part of you knows your world will never be the same again). To me, the Grateful Dead was love, new beginnings, different perspectives on life, eternal connections and a place where the lyrics gave meaning to every aspect of my life. Their music inspired me to seek adventure and live freely. Being somewhere like Gathering of The Vibes, or a Dark Star Orchestra show or seeing Further, the music created this safe space to be whoever I wanted to be and the love in the air was fleeting but yet has this permanence to it and that has always stuck with me long after the show is over. It’s sort of this dream like state of mind…a euphoric feeling of the past, present and future all wrapped up into one and being connected to something universal and something that is much greater than myself. The Grateful Dead now serves as a constant reminder in my life to follow my heart, love fearlessly, live in the moment and never forget…

There is a road, no simple highway,
Between the dawn and the dark of night,
And if you go no one may follow,
That path is for your steps alone.

- Megan Napoletano

I don’t remember a specific moment or a specific song, but I remember the feeling of hearing the Dead, the spaces they were played in…a feeling. Vibes. Of a beautiful place that had existed before I found it and that welcomed me right in. People flowing freely, joy, love, and potential in the air. A timelessness and presence and love that opened my world up without even realizing it. It was the Dead infiltrating the air, creating the space that welcomed me home.  And just like that, without even realizing it was happening, the Dead made their way into my consciousness, my perception of the world and my heart…it was as if they had always been there. They welcomed me as I began my journey back home, back to myself, back to love.

- Samantha Adams

When my older sister would return from college, I thought everything about her was so fucking cool. From her nail polish to her bangle bracelets to the music she listened too, I wanted to be as cool as Haley. On a road trip to South Florida one summer she said, “Let's listen to the Grateful Dead”. She pulled out a cd some frat boy had burned for her and played the Dead. I had never heard anything like it. It kept me mesmerized for hours in the car. The Grateful Dead was unknown to me. I feel with the 70’s generation you either go the Grateful Dead route or the Chicago route. My parents were definitely the Chicago, James Taylor folk route. Secondly, when I listen to the Dead, I am taken back to a time and place of a lost love. His father was a member of the Hells Angels in Janis Joplin’s entourage. Listening to the Dead was a lifestyle for him, it transformed the way he knew he wanted his future to look like at a very young age. I was intrigued and captured by the music that shaped this man. The Dead reminds me of my sister who I adore, and it makes me feel close to a man I will always love.

- Carlee Lewis

I remember when I learned about the Grateful Dead for the first time, but not what song I heard. If I had to guess it was probably Fire On The Mountain. My mom had told me a story about how her roommate in college paid someone to paint their door as a Grateful Dead mural, and then she bought the door from the school when she left. I thought that was rather radical, so it made me learn about the Dead and their following and the culture they created. My first Grateful Dead experience was seeing Dark Star Orchestra in 2008 and I have been chasing that feeling they give me ever since.

- Laura Orcutt

The fear of feeling alive 

Sometimes the beauty is too much to bear 

Love, heavy in the passing present 

Fresh air 

Open spaces 

This life 

My love 

People 

Presence 

Fleeting 

Humanity 

The weight of it all overwhelms me 

My mind can’t process 

My heart can’t handle 

The love of feeling fully free 

How to hold on? While letting love flow 

As it comes 

And goes 

A frightful practice of surrendering our hearts to our humanity 

With life comes death 

With love comes loss

Living freely, means loving fully 

Loving fully, means living freely 

Fearlessly 

I fear that freedom 

Of a love so big that I cannot hold 

I’m afraid of being free 

Of being fully alive and present in this life 

Because true presence is full of empty nothingness 

It is a void that we fill with love 

Love, that slips through our fingertips 

Everything is contained in each moment 

Presence invites it all 

Lifetimes of emotions 

Love and loss 

People and places 

Everything and everyone 

It all comes and goes 

Just as the moment before us unravels into the sinking sun 

Hello, goodbye 

Good morning, good night 

Each day we must begin again 

My love accumulates 

It is in everything 

And everyone 

What is there to hold on to?

My heart is open

I am free

There’s a darkness that surrounds you

With the darkness comes a chill

But even with your darkness

Most days, I think you could keep me warm forever

I AM warm

I AM light

Tall and reaching into you

Like a sunflower longs for her sun

My head and my heart open and outstretched

Like the delicate golden petals which surround her head

With darkness

There is always light

For me,

Will there always be you?

Or will I begin to droop and wilt away

Just like the sunflower when it losers her sun?

I want to be warm forever

There’s a time of night where the blue sky melts to pink. When the cotton candy horizon begins to fade into night.

Birds flutter; retreating to their treetops. 

Fireflies come alive bringing life to a dimming canvas. 

A cool breeze whispers a gentle lullaby creating a blanketing stillness.

The grass dances gently to the wind’s tune.  

Soon the moon and the stars will become visible. 

Igniting a glow to guide us through our earthly dreams 

Until the sun rises again.

“You are my sunshine my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are grey. You’ll never know dear how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away”.

Before when I sang this song, I envisioned the image of man. A man that checked all the boxes, and a man I couldn’t live without. That image is the desirable light at the end of a very long tunnel. Now, luckily I envision a different image. For three years I lived on Del Monte Avenue in Ocean Beach, San Diego. Another blonde creature also lived on Del Monte. We always saw each other late at night and at unplanned times. This handsome blonde male was a cat I named “Sunshine.” One night I was walking home from an undesirable male at Tony’s Bar, and Sunshine pranced up to my feet and expected to be petted. I was assured he was well taken care of because of his saggy tummy. He was so sweet and gentle, like real men with tummies. Sunshine greeted me and walked me to my door many nights. He was there when I unloaded my Christmas tree, and when my friend Ashley and I danced home from Winstons. Every night I walked home and wondered if I would see him. I do not know his owners or what his real name is. I do know I left him a little extra snack at the bottom of my stairs many Saturday mornings to celebrate that is was the weekend. I am positive Sunshine is a special cat to many who live on Del Monte Ave.

I no longer live on Del Monte, but my dear friend Meg does. One night we went night swimming on Santa Cruz Cove, Sunshine ran right up to us and sat on a stump. When he looked at me, I knew in his head he was thinking, “where have you been?” I explained to Meg that Sunshine and I are old friends. He was always a gentleman and would walk me to my door. Sunshine provided me so much joy and comfort.

Today the memory of him reminds me that something doesn’t have to belong to you for it to live in your heart and dwell in your thoughts. If you find yourself walking down Del Monte Ave between the 400 and 500 block, you might be lucky enough to see my old friend and catch some ocean breeze 🍃☀️

_

‘You Are My Sunshine’ by Beat Root Revival

The end of the eight is a collection of people who share a common thread

We come from all corners of the country

Some from tall buildings and crowded subways

Others from two-lane highways and empty spaces

We bring different stories

But something inside us is the same

We share a bond of understanding and perspective

Refusing to settle for stagnation and complacency

The end of the eight is where I found a family

The end of the eight is where the love of my life found me

The sun sets on her jagged cliffs and deep blue horizon

The end of the eight is where we are free

If you are looking for me

You will find me at the end of the eight

I drop you off in front of your new door

By the bodega, on Arthur Avenue.

You bought a giant papaya, and that

Made me laugh. Plaintains and mangoes, crosses

Woven or wreathed from pale old palms. Across

The street are windows of bread: hot cross buns,

Pannetone, braids set with colored eggs.

You will not go hungry here.

Your mouth is by my ear as we goodbye.

“Am I gonna be all right?” the small boy asks.

The young man draws back, holding my shoulders

“Are you gonna be all right?” you ask then.

The Merritt Parkway pink with bud.

And I drive through its archway of branches

Its speeding curves and encroaching banks, north,

With my rushing fellows, past aging snow,

Toward the four-thousand footers you love.

Why did you have to go in the Spring?

Under those old Connecticut bridges,

I leave. Dunkelburger’s designs—his wings,

Ivy, spiders, and blossoms. Picturesque shapes

Remembering old travelers: Indians, deer,

Puritans, butterflies, grasses, grapevines,

Settling in or passing this way. These

Art Deco arches and concrete motifs--

Threshold after threshold after threshold.

You’ll do this one day yourself, and you’ll know.

We practice our partings and each one is worse;

Longer black stretches of panic and prayer

The phone by the bed, the cop at the door.

Passover, Passover, Angel of Death.

I bloody my lintel to make it so.

Oh, if I could be the thief on the cross—

So ready to pay but then coattailed up

For the one good thing that I do.

And maybe that good thing is you.

The Merritt Parkway pink with bud

And April really is the cruelest month

Am I gonna be all right?

It makes me uncomfortable when you look at me that way
Like our forbidden love will be given away
Yet I crave your attention and wandering gaze
Because I sense we’ve met before this
A different lifetime, time and space

My mind’s relentless questions:
Is what I’m feeling real?
Or a construct of my aching heart
That has been searching for the real thing,
Let down time and time again

But when I look at you
My heart’s floodgates open
Longing to ease your every pain,
Praying you’re strong enough to breakdown my walls

I wasn’t looking for you
But you found me anyway
In this lifetime, time and space

It’s strange to think about now 

But it struck me the other day

How I became aware of you before I knew you 

How I had been looking for a friend for a long time 

How I had been looking for myself 

I remember seeing you run across the field at Shorehaven 

So free and happy 

From my spot, unseen 

I envied your life

So close, yet in another realm entirely 

I remember seeing you and Tim at Bailey’s party 

I could not tell you when

But I remember watching you both 

As if looking at some distant galaxy 

Mesmerized by both of your light 

Unenthralled by everything else around me 

You were my first inkling of another way of being 

Before I knew you

I knew I needed to 

You stirred something in my sleeping soul 

Thank you for bringing me to outer space 

And leading me back home 

Would you believe it if I said I got caught up in a spell?
It’s OK

I go through the motions

Wiping away the fog and condensation from the mirror
Where are you?

My capability of battling this spell with my power gets easily lost

Time after time
I’m OK

The mind is a revolving door

The decisions I feel I must make are stuck in the same rotation

With the consequences of my actions

Unable to break free of the spell

It is coming to blows with my power
It’s OK

The glass is revolving quickly around and around

I watch as life passes by

What makes you think we have time?

Breakout

Get out

I’m OK

Would you believe it if I said I got caught up in a spell?

It’s OK

I’d change my words
But I wouldn’t change my actions

I’d change my patience
But I wouldn’t change my timeline

I’d change how I guided you
But I wouldn’t change my expectations

I’d change how often I gave to you
But I wouldn’t change how much you needed me

I’d change all the tears I have shed
But I wouldn’t change my passion

I’d change myself
But I would never change you

I could spend all day

Searching for validation in places I shouldn't be looking

And with just one glance

I feel seen -- not only by you

But from somewhere inside myself

And I could spend all night

Tossing and turning 

Just yearning for the dreams I wish would come

And with just one touch

I feel softened

To a place I feel I'm from

And I could spend my whole life waiting

For a sign that says I'm fine

And with just one word

I feel assured

That what I've found in you

I've found in myself

Home

In a busy room, my eyes found yours as I laid my glass down on the counter. I did not know that the love I have for you now began in that sliver of time. Walking home that warm January night, I knew that my heart connected to yours. We connected in a way that neither of us could have predicted or controlled. Our attraction towards each other quickly grew and blossomed into something I was so hesitant and fearful to make permanent. I admired your confidence and how scared I made you feel.  I loved your stories - stories of adventure and risk. I had so many questions:

Who did you love before me?

Why did you desire me?

How old are your hands?

What brought you to this nostalgic beach town we both adore?

We live our lives hoping to obtain the selfless passionate insensible love that maybe one of our family members shared amongst each other. For me, it was my maternal grandparents. A Cajun, charismatic, orphan gentleman and a Southern progressive, reserved lady could not live their lives without each other. I remember the moment I shared with you the purity of my grandparent's love. We were at my dining table after swimming on Santa Cruz cove. The questions were present then and now. Will that love come to each of us? Did we have the seed for that type of love to grow within each of us for each other? I carry these questions with me. I harbor the uncertainty and forget to be grateful for the answers.

I know that the sun shines brighter when I am near you. I know that the love I have for you overwhelms logic and common sense. I know that regardless of time and space, you will always live in my heart.

Creativity sparks within me

Like fire the words catch

Brighter, brighter, brighter

Flowing through my fingers like embers fleeing the flames

Flowing up toward the sky

Burning, burning, burning

The embers burst into light gray ash

Dancing freely into the night air

Free from constraints

The ashes dance away

Rising, rising, rising

Falling, falling, falling

Rising up and down; up and down

Feather-like in their fleeting glory

They tickle the ground as they land gently

Hugging the earth and spreading their wings on the cold damp soil

The cool earth is welcoming

A foundation to rest their light and tired wings

The ashes fade into the earth

Slowly, slowly, slowly

Their remnants whisper themselves into a peaceful sleep

Until the spark ignites again

Restlessness fills me to the brim

But I keep my brain just above its surface so I can breathe

There are harsh awakenings

My contentment flung into uncertainty

Moments I’ve thought about

Moments I wanted

Attention diverted

My focus like static on a blaring radio

Stimulation is my only resolve

Constant movement, constant motion

Like leaves whipping in the wind 

I hover above the sidewalk falling to the ground

Only to be swept up again shivering in uncertainty

She is the golden light waiting at the end of the tunnel

As I arrive with words to share about others

She lives inside the stories I tell strangers

About the magic we’ve uncovered when we find something we’ve both discovered

She’s tucked away in the grey dusty books on my shelves

Hiding in between the lines we’ve shared

On the days it felt like there was something in the air

She is the whisper in my ear when I hear the music play

You can find us both dancing inside the melodies of our songs on any given day

She and I are forever sisters of the sky, moon & sun

And together

We are one

Mourning dove

I’ve been listening to your song my whole life

With deaf ears

As you’ve tried to lead me to the waters of new life

To fertile ground

To feast upon the seeds of promise

Your call at dawn and dusk is heard by ancestors of past and future

Whose healing you seek with feathers

Left in my stead, overstepped

Until this very moment

I’m ready now to receive 

The magic of the medicine of your wings 

Thank you, mother dove

For the gentle beat of your loving heart

Your ever-presence in the waning summer sky

At the crux of autumn

Your call, carried by the breeze

A peaceful, melancholy symphony

Constant and comforting

Like a mother’s coos to her infant child

Reminding me I am safe and held

To mourn what has passed

And awaken to the promise of the future

What if everything was easy?

What if everything stayed the same?

What if the love that once was, were to remain, forever the same?

What if things didn’t morph and change?

What if all this confusion and torment is just part of the game?

What if we are onto something

Even when things feel strange?

Or it feels like we’ve lost our way?

What if we’ve had it all along?  

Because I can’t go that wrong

With a friend like you

Driving with me

Into the endless dawn

Lost. Loss. Longing.  

Lying deep beneath my skin

Deep beneath the earth

Deep inside my heart

She’s everywhere

She’s nowhere

She’s gone

She’s the air I breathe

She’s the blood pumping through me down to my toes

As I step out alone onto the shore

Back up to my heart until it explodes

She’s the all-consuming thoughts

As I lie awake at night

She’s a fleeting memory

A whisper in the wind

I can’t recall

She’s a crystal clear image

Projecting behind my mind’s eyes

She’s a hazy black and white slide

In a dusty attic that no one sees

She’s a sob bursting up through my throat

Out my mouth

Into the dark stillness

No one hears

She's the dull ache in my chest

The truest sorrow I've ever known

Lost. Loss. Longing

Lying deep beneath my skin

Deep beneath the earth

Deep inside my heart