Cassie Premo Steele

How we teach children about peace

2012-02-20T05:00:00.002-05:00

This poem, too, comes from a small moment in the house. It was 2004, and the United States had been at war for four years. My daughter was 4. I realized, watching my daughter in the bathtub, that we do a better job of teaching about war than about peace. This war is still going on.

My Daughter at 4 asks about War

Cupping her two blue eyes above water,

she asks, "Mommy, why is there a bird in our yard?"

and I know what she means. "It’s a dove

on a sign for peace," I say. "We don’t want war."

"Fighting?" she asks, and I nod, wait for more.

"Some people swim like this," she says, belly flat

on the white bottom, and then suddenly pulling

her knees underneath, "and some people swim like this."

"It’s different," she concludes, and I think of the frog

green lights I saw on television a decade before,

imagine children in bathtubs stretched out beneath

mothers, or crouching, like this, just as the bombs hit

and they disappeared, like her brother did, inside me,

during that war, unplanned but still wanted, unlike

this one, so planned but unsure. What power we have

over death, I think, just because we are alive

and still living, and I want to give her something more,

more than a sign against war, more than a memory

of a brother, more than my visions of death, something

of peace she can keep, as she swims, with resolution,

free in her skin, in this water, already so rapidly

moving away, already so far from the shore.

This poem comes from my new book, The Pomegranate Papers, coming in April from the independent, woman-owned publisher, unbound CONTENT. Watch my Kickstarter project video below and click HERE to see what gifts and goodies you can get by joining in the juiciness of this pomegranate journey.

Speaking of pleasure

2012-02-19T05:00:00.003-05:00

I wrote this poem soon after my wedding. It really happened: I did roll on the towels like this. The toys I moved were my stepdaughter’s. My house, and my husband, still give me such pleasure.

House Pleasures

In the middle of the day she thinks

of him out there talking in hallways

filled with people rushing to ringing

phones, and she gathers, in quiet,

the worn towels from the wash

and takes them to the middle

of the living room, where they have

made love and she has vacuumed

and toys have been. She lays them out,

soft and skin-like, all over the floor,

and smiles, placing them large like

a big patchwork quilt—the yellow

wash cloth and the blue bath towel,

the white, the green, the brown,

another blue. Together they are all

the quilts that women have ever made,

they take up so much space,

she must move newspapers and

his shoes in order to make room.

And when it is done, she sits

on the edge like on the edge

of a new lover’s bed and looks

out across and wants to get

to the other side, wants to touch

every spot, feel its warmth and depth,

let its color cover her skin, so

she lays her body across it

at one end and puts her head down

and rolls up and down—over

the rough polyester and the thick

cotton, the worn dish towel

and the smooth kitchen cloth, and

yes, even over the ones given

to them at their wedding—

until her skin tingles and her

nose is caught with the scent

of fabric softener, and she knows

this room will never be the same

again. No, this house cannot be

the same after it has shown

the possibility of such pleasure.

This poem first appeared in The New Review.

Speaking of my mother

2012-02-18T05:00:00.002-05:00

Speaking of my mother, I wrote this poem when my daughter’s first word was “Nana,” her word for banana and my mother. We cannot predict what our children will call our mothers. The children get to name them. I look forward to the day I get my grandmother name.

Mother Tongue

In a handmade book of cream colored paper

and a cover of blue and green, I will write your words

from the beginning.

I will start with Nana, your first word for the food

you eat and my mother, where we all come from

and where we will one day be.

I will record what you love and what you see—

bear, bunny, doll and ball—what you miss and call for

in the night—

Dada, your father, Wawa, your sister, and

Wawawa, your word for music

and singing and dance.

And me, I will put down my names—Mama, Mommy,

and Mom, I will be all of these women,

let you speak of me in many ways.

I will not erase it, I will not look away, and together

our tongues will take us back to the beginning,

to the food we eat, and our mother, where we

all come from, and where we will one day be.

A woman’s first thought

2012-02-17T05:00:00.002-05:00

When my mother was in her thirties, I remember her telling my sister and me that “a woman doesn’t get her first thought until she is thirty.” She did not mean it as a put-down to younger women, just an acknowledgement that wisdom takes time.

A Woman in Her Thirties

A woman in her thirties is a book

half open. Her arms are the up-

facing pages. They say, hug me

or shut. The leaves of her life

fold under her face, layers of snake

skin she has shed. Each tells

a story of a different self-- completely

separate. She remembers who she was

as little as she knows who she will be.

Both are vague characters in her dreams.

She goes over and over the words

in front of her, looking for a clue

to duration. Sometimes she imagines

she has written this book.

Then her spine crackles with life.

Most days she admits that the author

is another, who has peeled back the covers,

inserted letters, cut out some parts with a knife.

We get gray.

2012-02-16T05:00:00.002-05:00

I wrote this poem at the writers’ workshop in Mexico I mentioned in an earlier blog post. The toddler in the poem was my stepdaughter, who entered my life when she was small. My husband wasn’t gray when I wrote this. And here we are, gray. And she is 23. And another day of our marriage moves along.

What a Wife Knows of Bones

I begin with the ridge of your foot, a fan

of sparrow feathers, so light, they sprout brown flight

while you sleep. The sky is your whole calf, the air

that rubs against me in the dark, what holds the memory

of the wooden bat cracking to make you run.

I reach your thigh, secure in its blankets of flesh,

the old woman who tells you to rest,

it's alright, after so many years, to sit down.

I caress her wavy grey hair and wander up the hip,

that shield, what you carry, what worries you

even when you dance. Turn you over, trace your spine,

the bricks of your fortress, what stands in the middle

of a travelling life. Each piece is a lattice that geraniums poke through.

And your ribs, glorious spoons scoop against me,

scrape up what is frozen like strawberry ice.

You pull back and there are wings from your neck

that spread open like a cross or the beginning of an embrace.

Your shoulders, silver goblets you dip your head into

when you hear Beethoven or the sound of your daughter's voice.

Your arms are the two pairs of drumsticks your father left you,

what he played in the basement and embedded

within you by what you remember was the rhythm of his eyes.

Your fingers, each a toddler in a blue colored schoolroom.

One squats at the knees and all the rest begin to laugh.

You wake, touch your face, that thin cover of what remains

of all of us after we are gone. The morning sun inches further

across our bed to your pillow. Another day of our marriage moves along.

This poem first appeared in Confluence.

And then she was one

2012-02-15T05:00:00.002-05:00

My daughter’s birthday takes place near Christmas, so for twelve years now we have had a Christmas tree and balloons and streamers in the house at the same time. I sometimes wish she had been born at a better time—a more convenient time. But my husband’s birthday is on New Year’s Day. So I have learned to surrender—to the weeks of celebration, the mess, the mountains of wash and wrapping paper and cake and trash. It is all a blessing. It is all a gift.

Birthday

While the world prepares for Christmas,

the birth of another woman’s son,

I notice the snow globe under our tree

is broken, the morning you turn one.

I wonder, worry—how I have worried

this year!—at the omen, then take out

the photo of our family at noon, and turn

it away from the crack, so now it is hidden,

invisible except from the back.

I have learned to do this as a mother,

find buttons that almost match,

buy shoes to replace those you’ve lost,

turn snow globes and do mountains of wash.

Nothing is as clean as you were that morning,

covered in white and glossy and wet.

I touched your temple, so light, with my finger,

rubbed the cream of your skin into my thumb,

felt such wonder at what I had done.

Today you will laugh and wave to balloons,

and tonight you will say, for the first time, “moon.”

But for now you are sleeping, an afternoon nap

to prepare for the party, and the house is quiet,

and I can pretend, breathing hard and filling my belly,

that you are still in me, a silent fish in my inner stream,

and all is still possible, and you have not left me,

and today I have nothing to do but dream.

Telling the truth about love

2012-02-14T05:00:00.002-05:00

The following poem began as a journal entry over twelve years ago-- one day when I had asked a friend to come over and take my baby on a walk in the neighborhood. As I write this blog entry now, I am in a small, independent coffee shop, and a mother with a baby just sat down at a table nearby. She props the baby in front of her and smiles. Talks. Smiles again. She cannot look away. I share this with you today with the wish that you will be able to tell the truth about love in your life.

What I cannot tell you

is how your touch arrived with loss, how, looking at you, I had to look away from your father, and myself, and how we were never the same again. How your eyes became my focus, not his, not mine for him, how we were strangers to each other, connected only by the ribbon of your skin. I cannot tell you that nothing was as important, not my writing, not my politics, not my sex. I wanted to lose myself in you, abandon everything, be where you were, and live only through you, through who you were becoming. But I cannot tell you this. I will pretend that the love between us, your father and I, is as strong as ever, that we have grown in our love for each other because of you, and that it is better, but different, all the things that people say. And I will tell you that my writing did not change, except to get better, I was more in touch with my emotions, felt a sympathy with other mothers, all the things that women writers say. And I will tell you that I grew, too, became a different person, and this part will be true. I became the kind of person who can tell you lies and do it out of love, do it because the love I feel for you has changed everything.

This poem first appeared in The Journal of the Association for Research on Mothering.

Art began in a cave

2012-02-13T05:00:00.002-05:00

Years before I got pregnant, I took a trip to Mexico to attend a writers’ workshop and visited a cave with another writer in the group. I remember being amazed at the space within the earth, and the animals and shapes that the earth and the stalagtites and stalagmites made. We all come from the immensity of this earth, this mother. We all have this much space, this much power.

What a mother does

She births. Before the earth

bursts whole and yellow,

the egg cracks, white

and tight. She knows

that life is made of spillage,

that love blooms in light.

She feeds. Changing

her flesh to food daily,

she makes the miracle

possible within herself.

She is a double fountain,

a place to lay our mouth.

She loves. Like fierce

creatures that hide away,

lion, jaguar, fox, and hawk,

she tracks down prey

to feed her young, enjoys

the chase, the kill,

the maw of every day.

She sings. In fingers,

eyelids, silent things,

a song vibrates from

her body, a hymn of remembering

all that lives, her tune

the source of all that is.

This was a dream, and it really happened

2012-02-12T05:00:00.003-05:00

This was the first poem I wrote after giving birth. The poem is based on a dream I had the first night of my daughter’s life, and it really happened. I can still feel the feel of my bare feet on the whales.

Walking on the Backs of Whales

The night you were born I dreamt

I saw whales in the ocean, large humps

of backs rising out of the sea, grey

like your hands, and lingering there,

in the air, skin full of urchins and

moss. The sight was wondrous, like

your eyes, the first time you looked

at us, into the blue of me, the hazel

of your father, your gaze a miraculous

mix of us both. And when I was done,

with the whales and your birthing,

I began to walk back to the land,

and the water was shallow, the pain

was not bad, I was still amazed

at what I had seen, and I realized

I'd been walking on the backs of whales

the whole time. What I'd taken for earth

was the wet of their bodies, hovering firm

beneath the surface of water, providing

a path over ocean, allowing me to meet you

half way, between that world and this,

taking me gently back home to the shore

where I never before had been.

This poem first appeared in Calyx.

His good father, and his good fathering

2012-02-11T05:00:00.007-05:00

I could not have become a mother without my husband. I could not have been the poet I am without him. This isn’t chic to say these days. But his good father taught him to be a good husband and father, and for this is am so grateful.

The moment of labor

You hold a white dove in your hand

as the leaves fall around you, delicate,

and your eyes, the burning hazel

in the trees, search for me, intimate,

the kind of open that comes from cracking

shells to reveal the inside flesh,

the meaty nut that must be eaten.

And I, on the other side of the window,

of the world, pretend to know the wind

that surrounds you now, in late autumn.

You wait-- for your child to be born,

for your father to die again, as he does

each year, when the night is long

and all the leaves have fallen.

You cannot see me clearly on the inside,

in the dusk. You wonder at the gourd I carry,

the great water, the strong husk. I am a pumpkin

you cannot cut. You must wait

for my burst that signals the stepping

into your father's place. To be bare

like this, it is the hardest trial for a man.

And then, a noise-- the splitting of the glass

from its frame-- and my voice-- calling--

It's time-- and you are once again

in motion, no less frightened

but at least not standing still, as you move

to meet me at the door, as your footsteps

take you back to what you almost missed.

Possibility is a state of waiting

2012-02-10T05:00:00.020-05:00

I hate to wait! I’m a firestarter, a match, the ignition, and the spark. But I have learned over the years of mothering to wait. And over the years of being a human the wisdom of waiting. And how good things come when we wait. What is it you are pushing right now? How could you learn to wait?

The Wait

In the center of daylight I dig

beneath the earth, lying low

and dark, the drip a metronome

of nature's time. Here I wait

for wet and blood, the flood that comes

from where we came. The name

of life is waiting, and the earth

knows this. She waits for seasons,

waits for rain, waits for growth

and death and shedding, waits

even when she waits in vain.

What patience we could learn:

to know that each day holds behind

it night, to know each moment

leans from itself to turn, to know

that we are never late, as we

unfurl in the green and slow of fern.

GOOD THINGS COME TO THOSE WHO WAIT!
Big news! My Kickstarter project met its goal in one week!!! I am thrilled and super excited and grateful to all my backers for supporting me. And what this means is that we've got three more weeks to see what juiciness will flow. Let's keep the momentum going... all donations will go toward funding my expenses to give poetry readings and writing workshops here in South Carolina and all over the country. This means I can reach more people-- in more diverse locations-- and give them the opportunity to attend the readings and workshops for free-- so let's keep spreading the love and creativity!

My dreams were songs

2012-02-09T05:00:00.001-05:00

It was amazing to me that I could hear the baby, on visits to my midwife, when she put the wand to my belly and I heard the gallop of the hummingbird heart. I thought, too, about how the baby could hear me. I cannot keep a tune, but I sang anyway. I dreamt of the baby and I sang.

Dreamsongs

When lying deep inside our mother's wombs

we first learned to hear voices

from beyond the skin, our tombs,

the otherworldly noises that sang

to us in foreign tongues. In the dark

we did not know when we were dreaming.

So we learned to listen to the singing

and to see what we were seeing

with other eyes-- our ears.

We danced, too, to our dreamsongs,

wiggling wet limbs and hairy faces,

and with this movement

our mothers dreamt of us as we

were dreaming of this world,

a world of sound and light

that makes us more than visible,

where dreams are more than possible,

when we sing of every living thing in us.

Get the full collection of poems from my new book, The Pomegranate Papers, and help to support my Kickstarter project to fund a book tour this spring. Click below to see what gifts and goodies you can get by joining the others on this pomegranate journey.

It begins in the body

2012-02-08T05:00:00.001-05:00

Before I became pregnant, I lived in a sort of perpetual out-of-body experience. Pregnancy, for me, was an act of agency. My body was no longer an object. It had something in it that was mine to care for and keep alive. This body within me was the beginning of unconditional love for myself and my body.

My Body

Was a measure,

a stick a bit

too short.

I claimed

and tamed

her territories.

I made her mine

to birth

or abort.

II.

She became

a subject when

you entered.

She took back

her sovereign

reign.

Reclaimed

her flag,

her name.

III.

Ever after

you will be known

as liberator.

The activist

who reignited

faith, and flame.

I burn

with whole

movements.

IV.

I am one

with spider,

rose and river.

I spill over

edges,

wild and tame.

I am

a pregnant

woman,

clear and sane.

Where we all begin

2012-02-07T05:00:00.001-05:00

Thirteen years ago at this time of year, I was desiring to become pregnant. Each month that went by felt like a little death to me. This was my first lesson in mothering: we cannot plan when it happens, or what happens, or when.

I waited four cycles. And then it was April. And it happened.

Conception

We swam back first,

between and within,

the night we made love

and welcomed you,

your first fold and swim.

It was Easter, when all things rise again.

The moon was rising,

and the seedlings in the flower bed,

and the sturdy stalks of iris outside our window.

The stars came slowly

and beckoned me outside,

after, while your father slept.

I whispered by the light

of the night that you were

welcome, and I know now

that you heard me, clear.

Welcome, dear.

Get the full collection of poems from my new book, The Pomegranate Papers, and help to support my Kickstarter project to fund a book tour this spring. Click here to see what gifts and goodies you can get by joining the others on this pomegranate journey.

Begin with Giants: 26 Days of the Possible

2012-02-06T05:50:00.000-05:00

Something amazing happened during last night's Super Bowl game-- and it wasn't just on the field.

At one point in the game, with four minutes left, the Giants' quarterback was really far back on the field. They were losing. (Here's a link if you want to see it.)

My husband said, "Look how far back he is!"

And I said, "It's not about where he is now. Anything is possible."

And boom! sports fans! That's what they call a miracle! Eli Manning passed the ball an amazing distance, and the ball was caught, and the receiver had two feet on the ground for a split second before falling out of bounds, and the play was good, and Giants went on in the next four minutes to win the game.

Now, you may be asking, Why is Cassie, an eco-poet girly girl whose only goal last night was to watch Madonna at half time, blogging about football?

Because sports fans, environmentalists, and poets know this: anything is possible.

In the next 26 days, I am going to blog every day and share one poem and one insight with you about the miracle of the possible. I'll be the quarterback and throw the ball to you. In exchange, I'd like you to catch the ball, and together we can win.

This month, I have launched a Kickstarter project to raise funds to help support the spring book tour for my new book of poetry, The Pomegranate Papers, to be published in April by unbound CONTENT, a small, independent, woman-owned press.

What? A poet is raising funds? A poet is doing a book tour? A poet is writing about football? And a poet wants my help?

Anything is possible.

Here's today's poem:

Here is the woman awakening

Here is the woman awakening

even as she dreams.

Here is the leap she is taking

where the sky becomes her beams.

She joins the stillness of creation

when she pauses at midflight.

She wins the praise and adoration

of all she had to fight.

Here is the woman waiting,

here is her future in the dark.

Here is the discovery she is making,

the dirt she tills at daybreak

where something sleeping wants to start.

And click here to learn more about my Kickstarter project:

Join me on my Pomegranate Journey!

2012-02-02T12:59:00.000-05:00

I am so excited and happy to announce that my Kickstarter project is live!!!

Watch the video below and click the link to join me on my pomegranate journey as I take a book tour in the spring for my new poetry book, The Pomegranate Papers.

By joining me, you can get goodies and gifts to help you on your journey as a creative person...

Thank you!!

Cassie Premo Steele’s Co-Creating Newsletter

2012-02-01T06:47:00.000-05:00

February is the month of…

*Peace and Love

*Kickstarting Cassie’s Book Tour

*Co-Creating with the Earth

*Write to Ignite Your Life

*THRIVE! SC Statewide Arts Conference 02.08.12

PEACE AND LOVE

Years ago, when I was teaching my very first Eco-Poetry class at the University of South Carolina’s Green Quad Learning Center for Sustainable Futures, there was a student in the class, only a few years older than the others, named Jon. He had completed five tours of duty in Iraq and was now returning to school to finish his undergraduate degree while recommitting to his life at home with his wife and young children.

As part of my commitment to transformational education (which does not simply transmit information but changes who we are), I had asked the students to write and read aloud their own eco-poem at some point in the semester. It was October when Jon stood up to read his.

Standing behind the podium in front of the class, with his green jacket and clipped hair and strong shoulders, he looked at us, paused, and said, “Writing this poem was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

And then he began to read.

October on the Tigris

Surrounded by beauty, it is easy to lose yourself here

The clear, calm water flows effortlessly

Whistling softly as it filters through the reeds

Water that brings life to millions

Water that flows from the cradle of civilization

On the horizon the sun descends slowly

Shattering the arid landscape & painting the sky in endless shades of violet & gold

Beneath the ancient sky a sea of sand flows into eternity under the rising crescent moon

Darkness, like most things here, comes quickly

Violently

On the bank a black bird drinks slowly

He acknowledges me with a single indifferent glance

The vibrant green plants and soft golden reeds disappear into the darkness as the

Crickets and water-bugs commence their nightly symphony

The sand feels alive beneath my feet

Alive, growing, aware

Lost in it all, the sights, sounds and smells of the earth

Nature is alive all around me

Only for a moment

Off in the distance, steel cracks the fragile silence

One cannot afford to be lost in the beauty here

Surely not at night

Night is a time for vigilance and resolve

I wait for what I know will come

In this place it is always darkest just before the dawn

The class was silent. Stunned. And then we erupted into applause.

In writing and reading his poem, this soldier poet taught me about peace. He and I already shared an understanding about love—the love of family, the love of learning, the love of doing what you have committed to do in this life.

He could have quit. He could have taken one look at the syllabus, saw the theme, saw me, saw the assignment to write poetry, and dropped the class. But he didn’t. And in staying and opening to what I had to teach, he taught me about peace—the peace of not judging, the peace of opening to the other side, the other person, the one we think of as the opposition or the enemy.

In his poem, he taught the beauty of this.

I do not pretend to know enough to be able to say what is right—withdrawal, victory, surge, surrender—except for this: I know that peace is to be found in unlikely places and people we think of as our enemies.

Peace is not simply being quiet and alone and in the small, silent place in your heart. If peace is to survive, we must find ways to feel it in the world outside, too.

In the soldier.

In the poet.

In the black bird.

In the reeds.

In what cracks us open into fear.

Into this moment, right here.

KICKSTART CASSIE’S BOOK TOUR!

Coming Soon!

In February, Cassie will be doing a Kickstarter project to support her spring book tour for The Pomegranate Papers, her third book of poetry and ninth book, coming in April from www.unboundCONTENT.com

She has been hard at work (and fun!) creating a video that will enable you to share in her journey of mothering & creativity. Please help spread the peace and love by watching, sharing, and supporting the project when it arrives very soon to your inbox or Twitter and Facebook feeds. Thank you!

Co-Creating with the Earth Winter Retreat

Friday, February 3^rd 6-9 PM

Now is the time for Germination: Prepare the soil. Plant your seeds. Be ready for spring. These seasonal retreats are led by Cassie Premo Steele, Ph.D., a Pushcart Prize-nominated eco-poet, creativity coach and the author of 8 books, on the land near her Co-Creating Studio in the Forest Acres area of Columbia, SC. The retreats provide opportunities for private journaling, reflection, and time in nature to help you rebalance your life with creative actions informed by the present season and the earth’s wisdom. $30. To register, get directions, or find out more, use the contact link at www.cassiepremosteele.com

WRITE TO IGNITE YOUR LIFE

with Cassie Premo Steele, Ph.D.

Tuesdays 12-1 PM

The Co-Creating Studio in Columbia, SC

New class begins February 7^th!

Learn how to use writing to gain truth and clarity about who you are, free yourself from what is holding you back from fully expressing your gifts, and take concrete steps to live a fully ignited life. Each class will provide a combination of guided creative activities, exploration in the natural world, and time for private journaling and inner reflection. Meets on February 7, 14, 21, and 28 from 12-1 PM.

$10/ first class

$30/each class after

$100/the whole month

Class size is limited and some spaces are already filled. To register and get directions or more information, use the contact link at www.cassiepremosteele.com

THRIVE! The Arts in the Future of South Carolina

SC Arts Commission Statewide Arts Conference

Wednesday, February 8^th

^{Brookland Conference Center, West Columbia, SC}

^{Register by February 3rd!}

^{Click here:}http://www.southcarolinaarts.com/statewide/index.shtml

The health and vitality of the arts are intertwined with the growth and well-being of our state. How can we ensure that the arts thrive - not just survive - in South Carolina? Join your arts colleagues Feb. 8, 2012, for a day of honing your skills and gathering the tools necessary to cultivate the arts landscape. We'll focus on the big-picture outcomes for the future of the arts and how we can work together to achieve them. Session topics include using the arts for community development, communicating through social media, advocating for arts education, diversity in programming, using data to measure economic impact, securing funding and more.

Cassie Premo Steele will be speaking about achieving sustainability in your creative career during an afternoon session on Artists as Entrepreneurs. Learn more at http://www.southcarolinaarts.com/statewide/presenters.shtml#steele

Spread the peace and love. Pass along this newsletter to a friend, or if you have received this from a friend, sign up to receive your very own Co-Creating Newsletter each month by visiting www.cassiepremosteele.com

Belly Time

2012-01-29T07:03:00.002-05:00

This past Friday, I posed for the second time for the wonderful artist, Bonnie Goldberg.

The first time was back in February when I modeled for About Face, a group that Bonnie leads regularly at the Columbia Museum of Art.

Back then, I sat up. I held still. I was nervous. I wanted to do a good job.

One year later, I had learned enough to let all that go.

I lay on my belly. I rested. I was not nervous. I felt fine.

Bonnie and I talked. We laughed. I did belly time. She sat on the floor-- this was new for her, too-- and she drew.

Our laughter could be heard next door by the lovely artist, Terri Hutto, and she came by to join us.

The portrait in between them, in red, is me, from last February. Reflective, serious me.

And this is me, on my belly.

This is me, with the white pen that a graduate student gave me years ago that I still use for every journal entry and poem and Co-Creating session with clients. This is me, with my wedding rings that I wear every day. This is me, wearing the matching ring that my best mama-writer friend and I wear on our writing hands, garnet surrounded by green. This is me, leaning on that writing hand, and my arm, and the earth, letting them hold me, as I learn to rest in the middle, take it easy, just be.

And this is what Bonnie could see and make and create with me. All art is a kind of Co-Creating. We don't have to try so hard. We can learn to work together and support each other. We don't have to hold ourselves stiff and rigid. We are not alone. It doesn't have to be so scary. We can find the beauty in everything, together.

Let's lie down on our bellies. Let's just be.

~

The Pomegranate Papers, my new book of poetry (my third!) will be published by Unbound Content on my birthday, April 13th. I will give a reading from this book on Sunday, April 15th at 3:00 PM at Gallery 80808 in the Columbia Vista as part of "Women Creating Women," a show with art by Bonnie Goldberg and Kirkland Smith. This will be the first stop on my book tour, which includes events in Lawrence, Kansas; Chicago, Illinois; and Cincinnati, Ohio-- the belly of the country. Sign up for my monthly Co-Creating Newsletter at www.cassiepremosteele.com to keep in touch!

Co-Creating with the Earth Retreat 02.03.12

2012-01-26T13:20:00.000-05:00

Things We Learned from This Morning’s News: A Wordy Wednesday Poem Co-Created by Cassie Premo Steele and Facebook Friends: with Fantastic Fractal Art!

2012-01-25T09:51:00.000-05:00

Things We Learned from This Morning’s News

The economy is either salubrious or moving toward collapse.

It depends on whether your heart is in the present or the past.

Buchanan was both a candidate and a rescued captive.

It depends on when and where in this universe you live.

Pirates can be enemies or musicals or toys.

All are kinds of playthings and camouflage for boys.

Gabby can be happy and talkative or sweet and silent.

All are ways of healing with friendship after great violence.

Irene could have been an Irish immigration song or a hurricane.

Both are long pink tunnels after which home will never be the same.

Education standards are either rigorous or tepid.

It depends on whether you meander or let justice rule your head.

Primary choices render Florida voters fascinating or dysphoric.

It depends on whether you find fatty biscuits delicious or caloric.

Traffic on I-20 near Clemson Road is either scrunchy or endurable.

All the news is a combination of our synergy and what we find believable.

Image:

beltway pure fractal flame by Cory Ench © 2006

http://www.enchgallery.com/index.htm

Align-- a Wordy Wednesday Poem Co-Created by Cassie Premo Steele and Facebook Friends

2012-01-18T11:45:00.000-05:00

Align

Somewhere there is snowflake silence.

Somewhere else there is a womb caress.

I began this poem before dawn.

Then I went to get dressed.

On one side of the world, it is sweltering.

In 556 places, people encourage the mess.

I went for a walk at dewy sunrise.

At this uplift time, the birdsong is best.

Somewhere someone is eating a clementine.

Somewhere else bravery is climbing up a spine.

Above me, a plane made a bright white line.

Then another came counter and created an X.

On one side of the world, the sun enters creation.

In 566 places, human event and meaning align.

The X formed whiskers or a polarized sign.

An inward message to simplify and be fine.

Somewhere there is a hidden desire.

Somewhere else people hesitate.

Suddenly anthropomorphic sky was suffused

with light. And I really began to run.

On one side of the world, love is eternal.

In 557 places, a girl wearing a tutu is impatient.

Today is my mother-in-law’s birthday.

When she died, my husband became a heart patient.

Somewhere there is a war going on.

Somewhere else people step out of a noose.

My lungs burned as I put my hand on the knob.

My husband was calmly eating pamplemousse.

On one side of the world, there is endless hope.

In 558 places, people try to cope without a job.

I took this picture with my heart beating.

I wanted to show it to you and make your heart throb.

Somewhere there is peace and harmony and calm.

Somewhere else people reconcile and take apart bombs.

New Poem Co-Created by Me and Facebook Friends

2012-01-12T13:34:00.000-05:00

What I Got That Year

I got an enigma. It was boxed in silence.

It had the density of stars and carried

sadness on its back. I didn’t want it.

I wasn’t satisfied. I made excuses.

I thought I was having an anxiety

attack. There was frost on the window,

but my breath came so hard against

the glass that I couldn’t see the great

expanse of snow. I was blinded by my

resolutions. I held myself accountable.

I thought about my career. I made vision

boards of the affluent. Success was in

another language, and I wasn’t fluent,

it was somewhere far away and warm,

like a pink flamingo, which I wasn’t.

And then I learned the lesson of moisture.

What looks like fog is only breath.

What cuts like ice is only water that

has learned to meditate on death.

What is cold now will be a luscious

treat upon our tongue in summer heat.

All water rises and disappears.

Rain is its rebirth. After heartbreak, the sky

clears. Rivers and creeks are mellifluous

music, the sound of tears being held

by the earth while entering our ears.

What I got that year took me years

to understand. It was the gift and the

wisdom of water. How it is in me and around

me, and now, like me, flows like victory.

This poem was Co-Created by Cassie Premo Steele and Facebook Friends as part of her weekly Wordy Wednesday fun when people give her a word in the comment box on Facebook and she creates a poem with all the words. Friend her on Facebook to join the Co-Creating fun!

Image: Photograph by Gale Rainwater,

Falling Water Creek, Richland Creek Wilderness Area, Ozark Mountains in Arkansas

http://galerainwater.com/blog/

Co-Creating Newsletter, January 2012: 3 new winter poems, Write to Ignite Your Life Class, and Co-Creating with the Earth Retreats

2012-01-04T06:26:00.001-05:00

The moon outside my window

by Cassie Premo Steele

The moon outside my window

became a rabbit in the snow.

Go white, he said. And quiet.

Your power lies deeper. In what

is often out of sight. And then

his head became an owl, looking

down. Keep your eyes open,

my friend, I heard him say.

What you seek is often right

before you on the ground.

And then a monkey came to

play. You wonder what I’m doing

up here on lunar way? he asked.

It’s to remind you not to stay

in the same jungle where you

were born. There is no limit

to your life. Human skin is

just a uniform. And then his

furry face faded away. It was

just the moon and me. Blue light

rising. A new day. Possibility.

"Dream" by Cassie Premo Steele

WRITE TO IGNITE YOUR LIFE

A new Co-Creating class taught by Cassie Premo Steele, Ph.D.

Tuesdays 12-1 PM

The Co-Creating Studio in Columbia, SC

January 10, 17, 24, 31

February 7, 14, 21, 28

March 6, 13, 20, 27

$100/month

$30/class

Each class will provide a combination of guided creative activities, exploration in the natural world, and time for private journaling and inner reflection.

Cassie’s Co-Creating classes have been described as “a massage for the intellect and spirit” and “a fun, easy way to start facing your fears and procrastinations and get going on your dreams!”

Class size is limited and spaces are already filling. To register and get directions or more information, please call or text 803-420-1400 or use the contact link at www.cassiepremosteele.com by this Friday, January 6th, 2012. Get ready to ignite!

You want to learn movement

by Cassie Premo Steele

You want to learn movement from me

so I take the cake from your hand and

tell you to lie on your belly. Your eyes

look up at me with ice and you ask,

Why? I smile and say, If you want to

swim, you have to love the water.

You move deeper into your sweater

and gaze in the distance. Your skin

is the water, I say. Love what is within.

See that grass through the window?

It is not green. It is winter. But it is

still growing. Your skin is like this

grass. You are a planet. It is winter

here, but it is summer on your other

half. Lie there. Just lie in your skin

and feel yourself spin. Spin. Spin.

The trees along the creek behind The Co-Creating Studio

Cassie’s Women Writing Naturally Workshops are now

CO-CREATING WITH THE EARTH RETREATS!

The format will be the same: private journaling in response to seasonal themes, relaxing time in nature, guided meditations, snacks, sharing, and community—but now open to all genders and more specifically dedicated to rebalancing our inner and outer lives with creative actions informed by the earth’s wisdom. $30 in advance/$35 day of event

All retreats take place on the land at The Co-Creating Studio in the Forest Acres Area of Columbia, SC. Use the contact link at www.cassiepremosteele.com for more information or to save your space.

Mark your calendar:

Winter—Germination

Friday, February 3^rd 6-9 PM

Spring—Opening

Sunday, May 13^th 1-4 PM

(May 13^th is also Mother’s Day and this retreat will be the final event for Cassie’s book tour for The Pomegranate Papers, her poetry book about mothering and creativity to be released April 13th by www.unboundcontent.com. Check out the events pages at www.cassiepremosteele.com for more book tour information or use the contact link there to request that Cassie come to your city, school, group, or book club, either in person or by Skype or phone, during the book tour.)

Summer—Transformation

Friday, August 31^st 6-9 PM

Fall—Celebration

Sunday, October 28^th 1-4 PM

Before dawn on the last day of the year

by Cassie Premo Steele

Before dawn on the last day of the year,

the North Star is still high in the sky,

behind the pines.

I am aware of the tipping of the earth—

always before, it felt like the stars

were moving around us.

As if we were the shore.

Now I know the stars are fairly fixed

and it is we who are moving—

all of us—

earth, animal, tree, people—

round and round every day.

And over the course of a year, sometimes more,

we come back around to right back here.

Where we were before.

The dream of your life is your North Star.

Sometimes it seems far.

But on a clear night on the dawn

of a new year like this,

it shines so brightly

right in front of you,

it is almost something you can hear.

It sings,

Right here. Right here.

We are all right here.

Feel free to share this newsletter with friends by using the Facebook, Twitter and other links above.

If they would like to subscribe, they can sign up at www.cassiepremosteele.com

Bright blessings of creative balance,

Cassie

Holy Christmas! Eight crazy nights! What a year this has been!

2011-12-15T07:07:00.000-05:00

Holy Christmas! Eight crazy nights! What a year this has been!

Anyone else feel like latkes fried and a bit burnt and warming in the oven?

Like this has been a twelve-month lesson in hope amidst conundrum?

Here, Dear, is a list of what we want this year: Optimism at the exact moment

when the foundation on which our lives are planted shifts and opens.

Clarity when our expectation is hit by a hurricane and all the doors

are locked and we are in a loony bin. Wonderment the minute

the buried dirt bubbles from below to release the clandestine

from those we think we know. And all we can do is burst

into laughter and cry HO HO HO! Belief. Even so. Warmth

from within when we are out of wood. Reconciliation

with all that’s good. Joy that goes beyond nostalgia into

a releasing of the doubt and guilt and should. One tingle.

One jingle. All of us, every one, learning how to intermingle.

Our renewal of faith in life and earth and love and personhood.

--This Wordy Wednesday poem was Co-Created by Cassie Premo Steele and Facebook Friends. Friend Cassie on Facebook to join in the fun on Wednesdays in the new year!--

Image: Holiday Lights from atlantaintownpaper.com

WRITE TO IGNITE YOUR LIFE

2011-12-13T20:44:00.001-05:00

WRITE TO IGNITE YOUR LIFE

A new Co-Creating class taught by Cassie Premo Steele, Ph.D.

Tuesdays 12-1 PM beginning January 2012
The Co-Creating Studio in Columbia, SC

Learn how to use writing to gain truth and clarity about who you are, free yourself from what is holding you back from fully expressing your gifts, and take concrete steps to live a fully ignited life.

January 10, 17, 24, 31
February 7, 14, 21, 28
March 6, 13, 20, 27

$100/month
$30/class

Class size is limited and spaces are already filling. To register and get directions or more information, call or text 803-420-1400 or email cassiepremosteele (at) gmail (dot) com by this Friday, December 16, 2011.

Each class will provide a combination of guided creative activities, exploration in the natural world, and time for private journaling and inner reflection. We will remain respectful of time boundaries so people can get back to their work places in a timely manner.

Cassie’s Co-Creating classes have been described as “a massage for the intellect and spirit” and “a fun, easy way to start facing your fear and procrastination and get going on your dreams!”

Cassie Premo Steele is the author of eight books of poetry, fiction and non-fiction on the themes of healing, creativity, spirituality, and living in balance with the natural world and a beloved writing and creativity coach who lives and works along a little creek in the Forest Acres Area of Columbia.

To hear more about how Cassie’s coaching led one of her clients to “Write to Ignite Your Life,” listen to an interview by Annmarie Lockhart, the publisher of Unbound Content, with Ellen Kline McLeod, who just published her first poetry book, Garden:

Listen to internet radio with Annmarie Lockhart on Blog Talk Radio

On birth, parents, pain, and healing-- this week's Wordy Wednesday poem

2011-12-08T12:51:00.000-05:00

Syncopating

Before we are born, we open in peace and love,

moving from an amorphous state above

to a world that seems, at first, precarious.

Our parents are delirious. And dutiful.

We vie for their attention by being beautiful.

They look away when we become impetuous.

We eat Sugarbabies and play in pluff mud.

Eventually we wake to a dawn that is dangerous.

Each generation has their Pearl Harbor Day.

We fear another bomb is on its way.

We no longer see the blessing or the sparkle

in an elegant white pearl or celestial blue bay.

We spend our time on tollways, driving toward

employment or escrow. We swap spirit for

snappy at trade shows and refuse to grow.

And then our nerves start demyelinating.

The process is humiliating. And painful

and slow. It is a long lesson in waiting.

One day we remember our glow.

That pearl we were. The flow.

It is then we begin syncopating.

Replacing Now with a Long Time Ago.

--This poem was Co-Created by Cassie Premo Steele and Facebooks Friends. Friend Cassie on Facebook to join the weekly collaborative fun!--

December Co-Creating Newsletter

2011-12-01T11:39:00.000-05:00

Here we are in December, which in the northern hemisphere corresponds to the coming of winter and long nights of darkness. It is also, in western cultures, the time of Christmas and Chanukah, which means lights and trees and the pressure to decorate our homes and buy and give gifts to friends, family, co-workers, and the dog.

I recently had an insight about the connection between the winter’s dark and our frantic doing during this season: it may stem from our fear of death. While we can be a destructive culture, we also turn away from death’s reality. Unlike in ancient Greece, when our soldiers die on the battlefield, the war does not pause to let comrades mourn. Unlike in Mexico, we have no Day of the Dead to remember our ancestors and honor them collectively. And when scientists tell us that violent video games change our children’s brains to make them more agitated and less able to learn, our Supreme Court ignores them in favor of the first amendment right of corporations to produce whatever will make money.*

There are many people, though, who have come to face the reality of death and live more deeply. There is an artist in my community who, after being diagnosed with cancer, shared the news with a note on Facebook that expressed her courage and—yes—gratitude. This same attitude can be witnessed in parents and teachers and caregivers of children with special needs who know the deep lessons that come from loving those who live with profound difference.

Nature at this time of year also shows us how to face the inevitable seasons of loss and darkness and death, as in this poem I wrote recently:

Do not be afraid

When a tree loses its first leaves,
it probably thinks it’s dying.

I have had seasons like this.
Letting go is terrifying.

Every pain is a kind of stretching.
Do not be afraid. The end is not coming.

Watch the falling leaves.
Learn the beauty of becoming.

Listen to the wind in bare trees.
It is the sound of wisdom humming.

This December, watch for signs of busy-ness and overconsumption and the insanity of doing. When you witness this in yourself or others, see if you can trace the compulsion back to a deeper fear. Is overbuying compensating for the coming death in a relationship? Is overdoing covering the dark fear of not being loved enough? Is the too-muchness of music and decoration and food and drink distracting us from filling a deeper emptiness?

And then there are people who find themselves feeling depressed and withdrawing at this time of year. Perhaps those people are modeling for those who do-do-do a kind of stillness and reflection that could bring our lives back into balance. And if this is a difficult time of year for you, perhaps you can find ways to honor your feelings of loss without allowing it to overshadow all other truths.

Remember that the holidays at this time of year are really about finding light in the darkness. They are not about denying the darkness altogether, pushing it back with high wattage bulbs and bright ribbons and bows, but about feeling the deep peace to be found in lighting one candle, the profound joy to be discovered in following one star.

May you find that light within you this season, and know that your life and your death are miracles because you are deeply loved.

~~~

Time for Celebration!

Today is the launch of GARDEN, the first full-length poetry collection by Ellen Kline McLeod, one of Cassie’s Co-Creating clients. Her poetry takes us through love, birth, and transformation, through days both good and bad, and brings us full circle from discovery to loss and finally to reclamation of the garden. In her own words: "Garden is a creation story."

Read more and get a copy at https://www.createspace.com/3711560

~~~

Coming next year:

WRITING TO IGNITE YOUR LIFE
with Cassie Premo Steele
Tuesdays 12-1 PM
The Co-Creating Studio in Columbia, SC

Learn how to use writing to gain truth and clarity about who you are, what is holding you back from fully expressing your gifts, and how to live a fully ignited life.

January 10, 17, 24, 31
February 7, 14, 21, 28
March 6, 13, 20, 27

$100/month
$30/class

Class size is limited. To save your space and get directions and more information, email cassiepremosteele at gmail.com
~~~

Also coming next year:

THE POMEGRANATE PAPERS
Poetry about mothering & creativity by Cassie Premo Steele
Coming from Unbound Content in April 2012
Read more: http://booksblog.unboundcontent.com/2011/11/30/coming-soon.aspx

Can’t wait till April?

Get inspiration, empowerment, and wisdom for your journey in Cassie’s book,
THIS IS HOW HONEY RUNS

in book form:
https://www.createspace.com/3476032

and audio with music by Russ Eidson:
http://www.amazon.com/This-how-honey-runs-words/dp/B0050S6330/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1322637041&sr=8-4

Cassie Premo Steele also has essays in:

Women on Poetry: 
Writing, Revising, Publishing and Teaching  
Edited by Carol Smallwood, Colleen S. Harris and Cynthia Brackett-Vincent  
Foreword by Molly Peacock
http://www.amazon.com/Women-Poetry-Revising-Publishing-Teaching/dp/0786463929/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1322406947&sr=1-1

Women Writing on Family:
Tips on Writing, Teaching and Publishing
Edited by Suzann Holland and Carol Smallwood
http://www.amazon.com/Women-Writing-Family-Teaching-Publishing/dp/1926780132/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1322406993&sr=1-1

And a short story called “A Warm Place” (Be careful! it’s hot!) at:
http://inherplace.org/stories/cassie-premo-steele/a-warm-place/

You can also read Cassie Premo Steele’s “Birthing the Mother Writer”
Column at Literary Mama
http://www.literarymama.com/columns/birthingthemotherwriter/
for insights about mothering and the writing, editing and publishing processes

~~~

Want to know more about Cassie Premo Steele’s Co-Creating
individual sessions in person and long distance
to use writing & everyday creativity to bring about
healing, balance and greater meaning in your life?

Visit www.cassiepremosteele.com
Email cassiepremosteele at gmail.com
Call or text 803-420-1400

~~~

*For more about the Supreme Court decision I mention in my essay, see http://www.nytimes.com/2011/06/28/us/28scotus.html?pagewanted=all
Cassie Premo Steele’s Co-Creating Newsletter, December 2011

THE BEST CREATIVITY ADVICE EVER!

2011-11-18T11:40:00.024-05:00

The Co-Creating Show is on hiatus for the holidays (because resting is one of the best things you can do for your creativity!), so we are happy to share these episodes from the show, which we believe include the BEST CREATIVITY ADVICE EVER! Take a break, take a rest, take your computer and a blanket, or your iPod and a sunny rock, and settle in to listen, learn, grow, and prepare to make 2012 your most creative year ever.

THE BEST CREATIVITY ADVICE EVER

Cassie Premo Steele takes questions from listeners and provides answers about overcoming creative inertia and the benefits of creative activity. A powerful episode filled with wise advice and ways to jumpstart your creative life.

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/cassiesteele/2010/08/20/cassie-premo-steeles-co-creating-show

DO WORK THAT YOU LOVE

Work, work, work you love, work you hate- in this 15-minute show, get creative inspiration, wisdom and encouragement from creativity coach, Cassie Premo Steele. Includes special guided meditation! Get ready to go within and discover your true love work!

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/cassiesteele/2010/08/06/cassie-premo-steeles-co-creating-show

THE TRUE JOYS OF SUCCESS

Cassie Premo Steele celebrated the publication of two books this week: a novel and a book of poetry. In this episode, she talks about the expectations, disappointments, joys and realizations that come with creative success.

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/cassiesteele/2010/09/17/cassie-premo-steeles-co-creating-show

CREATIVE SURRENDER AND GIVING UP

Starting with Cassie’s beloved musical poem, “Bold,” with music by Russ Eidson, this Co-Creating Show today features a discussion about the difference between creative surrender and giving up. Listen to what true surrender feels like. Learn about the courage of doing your true work. Learn how you can learn to let go and let your true creativity flow.

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/cassiesteele/2011/08/19/the-co-creating-show

Still hungry? Want more? Want to download all episodes on iTunes? Click here: http://www.blogtalkradio.com/cassiesteele

The season of your birth is the miracle of your worth.

2011-11-16T14:00:00.001-05:00

The Birth Song of Seasons

For those born in Spring,

life is a ridiculous Yes,

each day a pregnant jewel,

capacious with blessings.

Even the rain is miraculous.

Summer births in golden light,

a glow shines even in uncertainty

and emotion heals a broken heart.

Their miracle herbal cream soothes

even the rigid, turns the doubtful serene.

Autumn has a confounding partner

who sings, Yeah, Baby, whatever, don’t stress,

misguided is my middle name!

Let me turn your oedipal perineal in the rain!

We can unite, an oxymoron of the blessed!

Winter babies wrestle with the ecclesial,

and waver between prediction and grief.

When rain falls, they try to measure it.

In old age, they learn to accept it, and are

showered with blessings of snow and belief.

Photo: from the film, "Babies"

--This poem was Co-Created by Cassie Premo Steele and the Facebook Friends tagged in this Note. May all seasons' babies, big and small, find blessings in their lives this Thanksgiving and feel gratitude for it all.--

Happy 11/11/11!

2011-11-11T11:11:00.027-05:00

Today, according to many world beliefs, the earth turns away from a time of learning through suffering and into a time of learning through happiness, joy, and sharing.

In this spirit, I would like to share with you an essay from my book, Easyhard. I recently read it to a client during a Co-Creating session, and in response, she wrote the poem that follows.

“NoneEnough”

from Easyhard: Reflections on the Practice of Creativity

by Cassie Premo Steele

WordClay, 2009.

It has been raining. And this morning, the grass is damp, the ants are out drinking, and the birds are finding the ground soft for pecking. And the trees in my yard have on their prettiest autumn dresses.

None of this counts, though, in the modern economy. No one would say any of this makes a person rich, really. There is no Beauty Report between the stock market report and the weather report on the nightly news.

We have lost this kind of sense of the abundance of beauty in our world. We have squeezed the earth and stars and rain and grain through a tiny tube that delivers dollars and dollops of coins. Money has become the sole worth.

And in exchange, we buy goods that lose their worth immediately after the sale. We have houses filled with things that money bought, and still we go on buying.

We fool ourselves by giving to money the power that the entire world once held.

There is a Cree Indian saying: "Only after the last tree has been cut down, only after the last river has been poisoned, only after the last fish has been caught, only then will you find that money cannot be eaten."

I keep this saying taped to my refrigerator. It reminds me that by endowing money with the power to feed us, we live in constant fear that there isn't enough. For indeed there isn't enough money to feed the world. Money cannot feed even one person. Only the earth can do that. And until we revere the earth more than we revere coins and paper, there will be people who starve and people who stuff themselves and their houses with worthless junk until they die.

I once had a dream that I was walking along a street in Mexico and an elderly man wheeled his cart up to me. It was full of red, ripe tomatoes. It was bottomless. It overflowed with fruit.

"There is so much," I said to him.

"Yes," he said. "There is more than enough. It is just that some people have too much."

If all we have is money, there is none.

If what we embrace is the earth, there is more than enough.

Questions for Reflection:

Spend today taking stock of everything that is beautiful around you. The smile on the face of the child, waiting for her bus on the street corner. The scent of coffee as you pass a café. The green color of the wallpaper at your office, the color of eucalyptus. The softness of your pet’s fur. Tonight, before you go to bed, write in your journal about how you could honor all this beauty. What could you create as a testament to the world’s beauty and abundance?

Beauty

by Gina Moore

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, they say

More and more I see the beauty bestowed in each day

A sunrise, an ocean's call, a bird's flight, the wonder of it all

Beauty is the light within,
the radiance of God that shines through us all

The bug, the blade of grass, the wind in the trees,
the light shines and glistens in everything you see

When you see the abundant fruits of all around you,
in gratitude we sing for there is no lack,
no scarcity in not a thing

Only our minds’ illusions of lies and despair trick us
into seeing something that is really not there

For when you awaken, you will see
the beauty and abundance that surrounds you and me

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, they say

More and more I see the beauty bestowed in each day

~~~

Image 1 from wallpaperbase.com
Image 2 from theuniversalbeing.blogspot.com
Image 3 from picsfrom.com

Today's Wordy Wednesday poem is "The Journey"

2011-11-09T13:03:00.001-05:00

The Journey

There are many factors (from infection from an enterobacter

to the common cold, from severe exhaustion to lack of direction)

that can make us stop and put our lives on hold so we can start

the journey of healing from within. This is how to begin:

Start at the juxtaposition of dream and apparition

in you. The place where the Creatrix who guides the

inside you resides. She is not nice. She will defenestrate

(throw through the window) all you thought you knew.

She sucks on pomegranates and spits the pits at your lists

of things you think you should do. And when you get

melancholy, she will envelop you in stillness and call upon

your crew. “Allow me to introduce you,” she says.

“Here is your angel team. The bubble popping teenage you,

the ghostly, pessimistic you, the solid you that builds a strong

foundation, the grateful you, and the you still fraught with

indecision. Let go, let crew, there is nothing more for you

to do. It’s time for them to take over.” So you sit and

watch: the teenager plays a ukulele and you realize how

little joy you have felt lately. The pessimist lines up your ego

and desire until they are perpendicular to your creative fire,

and the solid one says, “Build from that corner.”

The grateful you says, “Bliss.” And the indecisive one

blows a soul kiss and is dismissed. A chill comes over you.

You wish you could take back all the times you

hoped for something from a place of fear. But

you can’t go back from here. Human is a temporal animal.

You must look forward and paddle your canoe

through this fluid of love. You get so much help

from above. Already they have planted seeds that will feed

you in the harvest season. You do not need to know the reason.

Just paddle that canoe. And keep heading toward the true.

Image:

“Canoe on the Ocean” by Merijn van den Ende

merijnvandenende.com

--This poem was Co-Created by Cassie Premo Steele and the Facebook Friends tagged in this note. Friend Cassie to join the fun every Wednesday!--

Ten Steps to Enlightenment

2011-11-02T11:05:00.002-04:00

Ten Steps to Enlightenment

1. Close your eyes. See the subconscious swirl within.

2. Open your eyes. Pay attention to the vivid. Ignore the dim.

3. Avoid the pedantic and cumbersome, both stranger and kin.

4. Cultivate friendship with those who are optimistic, not spiteful.

5. Have discipline. Practice being both diligent and delightful.

6. Look into your own eyes. See your soul. Be soulful.

7. Let your birthday be a retreat day.

8. Do not run away from what scares you. Be persistent.

9. Greet the salacious with patience. Especially in your own skin.

10. Know nothing is predestined. Everything happens when you begin.

This Wordy Wednesday poem was Co-Created by Cassie Premo Steele and Facebook Friends.

Learn more about Cassie's Co-Creating at www.cassiepremosteele.com

Co-Creating Newsletter November 2011

2011-10-31T13:17:00.001-04:00

*What are the healing effects of writing?
*On Entering the Cave of Healing
*Try This!
*Creative Writing Class
*Co-Creating Sessions
*

What are the healing effects of writing?

Biological effects:
~improves immune system
~lessens symptoms of chronic health problems
~reduces physiological indicators of stress

Psychological effects:
~improves mood immediately
~decreases depressive symptoms
~decreases tendency toward rumination
~decreases general anxiety

(From James W. Pennebaker, Ph.D., Writing to Heal. New Harbinger Publications, 2004.)

On Entering the Cave of Healing
by Cassie Premo Steele

I sit in a cave of sunlight daily.
I am hiding from the dark within me.
I am afraid to come out.
I sit quietly.
I hear people shout.
I mostly ignore them.
I imagine my response would bore them.
Then I think about boredom.
How we run from it and flirt with it.
How we are always moving away
and toward it.
And I sit.
And sit.
Until I become it.
The boredom is me.
The dark in me is boring me.
There are stars of light boring through me.
Until I am empty.
The darkness disappears.
And the fears.
I am sitting in sunlight.
And the cave passes away.
This takes years.
When I am old,
I am completely shining.

*

Try this! Choose one of the statements below and write for ten minutes... no stopping, no crossing out, just keep writing and see what happens.

I have always known that...

Sometimes I wish...

Deep within me, I feel...

What I really want is...

*

Creative Writing Class with Cassie Premo Steele

Tuesdays 12-1PM
November 1, 8, 15, 29
$100 for the month of classes
$30 each class

Come join a small group of people exploring writing in a safe, nurturing way. Each week will focus on lessons in poetry, essay, and fiction, teaching the fundamentals of each genre and allowing you to develop your own voice at your own pace. Former students call the course "empowering," "enlightening," and "fun!"

For more information or to get directions to The Co-Creating Studio, email cassiepremosteele@gmail.com or call 803-420-1400.

*

Are you ready to Co-Create your life?
Do you want to take your creativity deeper?
Do you have creative goals and know you need help in reaching them?

Cassie Premo Steele's Co-Creating Sessions can help you!

In individual sessions conducted in person and by phone and Skype, Cassie will lead you gently but firmly into the life of your dreams.

60-minute session $50
90-minute session $75
Cash, check, and credit cards accepted.

To find out more, email cassiepremosteele@gmail.com or call or text 803-420-1400

The Co-Creating Show's Top 5 Interviews: Plus "Corporations are People??"

2011-10-28T10:28:00.000-04:00

The Co-Creating Show is on break, so I thought it would be fun to post the top five most popular interviews from the two years of shows. These are some real gems-- artists and writers, poets, a creativity coach, an editor and publisher, and a musician.

Plus, as a bonus at the end, I've posted the show I did right after the Supreme Court's decision that "corporations are people," which is interesting to listen to now in light of the Occupy Wall Street protests happening all over the country and the globe.

Enjoy!

The Co-Creating Show’s Top 5 Interviews

#1 WOMEN ARTISTS TINA HIRSIG & LAURA GAFFKE

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/cassiesteele/2011/01/21/cassie-premo-steeles-co-creating-show

Co-Creating is about connecting in creative ways to the self, others, and the natural world to bring about balance, healing and empowerment. In this show, Cassie Premo Steele, Ph.D. will talk with artists Tina Hirsig and Laura Gaffke about their collaborations, blog, ongoing friendship and the contemporary art scene for women.

#2 EDITOR AND PUBLISHER ANNMARIE LOCKHART

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/cassiesteele/2010/02/19/cassie-premo-steeles-poetry-show

The special guest for this show is Annmarie Lockhart, a poet and the editor of Vox Poetica, a wonderful online poetry journal. In this post-Valentine's themed show about love and loss, Annmarie reads her poem, "The Muse Commands," as well as other poems from the journal, including "Asexual BFF" and "The Companion Piece." A moving & inspiring show!

Tied for #3 POET AND EDITOR MARIA SCALA

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/cassiesteele/2010/03/26/cassie-premo-steeles-poetry-show

Cassie Premo Steele welcomes special guest poet & editor, Maria Scala, who reads poetry from her chapbook, Between O and V as well as new poems about her Italian family heritage, mothering, and the importance of creative expression. Maria has been working as a Column Editor for Literary Mama since the summer of 2007 and is currently at work on her first full-length poetry manuscript. Her blog, "August Avenue" is found at mariascala.blogspot.com.

Tied for #3 WRITER GAYLE BRANDEIS

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/cassiesteele/2011/05/06/cassie-premo-steeles-co-creating-show

Today's Co-Creating Show features special guest, GAYLE BRANDEIS, the author of Fruitflesh: Seeds of Inspiration for Women Who Write (HarperOne), Dictionary Poems (Pudding House Publications), the novels The Book of Dead Birds (HarperCollins), which won Barbara Kingsolver's Bellwether Prize for Fiction in Support of a Literature of Social Change, Self Storage (Ballantine) and Delta Girls (Ballantine), and her first novel for young readers, My Life with the Lincolns (Henry Holt). She is on the national staff of CODEPINK: Women for Peace, is a founding member of the Women Creating Peace Collective, and is mother to a son in college, a daughter in high school and a one year old baby boy.

#4 CREATIVITY COACH ERIC MAISEL

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/cassiesteele/2011/04/22/cassie-premo-steeles-co-creating-show

The Co-Creating Show today features the nation's foremost creativity coach, Eric Maisel. Through his decades as a psychotherapist and creativity coach, Maisel has learned what sets successful creators apart. He shares these strategies in his new book, Mastering Creative Anxiety, including stress management, how to work despite bruised egos, day jobs, and other inevitable frustrations. Maisel coaches individuals and trains creativity coaches through workshops and keynotes nationally and internationally. He has blogs on the Huffington Post and WholeLiving.com and writes columns for ArtBistro and Art Calendar Magazine. Visit his websites, http://www.ericmaisel.com and http://www.brainstormthebook.com

#5 POET AND MUSICIAN JOY HARJO

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/cassiesteele/2011/03/11/cassie-premo-steeles-co-creating-show

Today's Co-Creating Show features the poet and musician JOY HARJO. (Note: Please be patient through a technical glitch at the beginning of the show-- sit back and enjoy Joy's "Rainbow Gratitude" song, and then brace yourself for a deep 10 minutes once the technical spirits lined up for us! ) An enrolled member of the Muscogee Tribe, Joy Harjo is the author of several award-winning books of poetry and received the Lifetime Achievement Award from the Native Writer's Circle of the Americas.

BONUS: CORPORATIONS ARE PEOPLE????

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/cassiesteele/2010/01/22/cassie-premo-steeles-poetry-show

"America, My Mother, Why is it so hard to be a family?" So begins Cassie Premo Steele's show for today, two days after the first anniversary of Obama's Inauguration and one day after the Supreme Court's Citizens United decision about what corporations and unions can do to elect the candidates they want. Cassie Premo Steele's Poetry Show today focuses on politics, poverty, race, memory, and what we can do to get well as a nation.