This won’t likely be cathartic. (I’m not supposed to open with that. I’m supposed to hook you within three seconds, by showing you this bit of writing will be different.) Writing is the artful arrangement of words. Maybe I’ll have a slightly different spin that feeds your soul just so? Starting with a blank page, … Continue reading Inventorying Your Shit & a New Use for the Bouquet Emoji
I don’t care if you use grammar properly or if you spell every word correctly. I do my best and I make these same mistakes. I don’t care what you drop onto your plate. How tiring to police the food of others. Please don’t judge yourself against me, and I promise to do the same. … Continue reading Effervescence
I also share my writing on Medium, at https://medium.com/@tanyabeard. Once in a while, I accidentally put something there that’s not included in my body of work here at The Heart Opens. Here is a pdf of that piece, in case you missed it. Feel free to print it and spread it around like anti-racism confetti. Thanks for … Continue reading A piece on White Privilege
Make a statement of clarity by listening first. Be kind and you will never be lost. You can jump to conclusions and reactions, but you can also jump to the heart of a matter. You have to listen first. You have to make a clearing of kindness–a space that feels safe and just. Clear it … Continue reading Clear
My left trapezius appears to be made of driftwood today. The pain is remarkable, and it’s up into my neck and down into my back. My self care has been interrupted by grief again, that process by which obscene, crushing sadness is simmered and nurtured into something useful. I think. We’re a family in vigil … Continue reading There’s a Point
I’m going analog for a tick. Family in town, fishing to do, and there will be some laying in the sun with nothing on my mind at all. In the meantime, it will be the Fourth of July in a couple days. Some people have no reason to feel patriotic this year. Let me share … Continue reading It’s Time to Rebrand Patriotism.
He might have been thirteen. I saw him chasing the newly-feathered Starling in the street, hunched over with his hands cupped and outstretched. He caught it, and it perched happily on his finger, half fluff and half feathers. I was walking with my children. He was out of breath, clearly shaken and red-faced. A nearby … Continue reading Dead Baby Birds; A Lesson on Mortality