by meghanleborious | Mar 4, 2026 | Participant Writing
Flowing
How can I start with myself? I can easily focus on someone else. I could write about my Papa being a writer. How many books? How many best sellers? How do I focus on myself? Muse. Creator. Open to Creator. Open to Nature. Open to flow. Breath. I have so many thoughts. So many ideas. So much to say. So much to share. My voice. Open to Creator. I can write. I write. I speak. Open my throat. Breath. Speak. Record. Speak up. Speak out. Voice. Throat chakra. Gargle with salt water. Loosen the blocks. Breath. Speak. Speak first. No need to hesitate. It can be a mess. I know how to clean up a mess. And maybe I don’t need to clean it up. Someone else can figure it out. Make mistakes. Freedom. Not perfection. Learn. Dance. Fire. Water. Earth. Air. Nature. Sun. Ocean. Ground. Wind. I have everything I need. I just need to notice. Receive. Open. I trust Creator. I trust Nature. She has never let me down. I can relax. Breath. Let her take the wheel. Let go. Breath. Relax.
Staccato
I am strong. I have proof. I can be direct. I’m learning to be direct. Directness is also kindness. No room for questions. Structure. Foundation. Aim. Direction. Clarity. Go for it. No doubt. Dive in. Trust. I trust myself. I trust Creator. What I want matters. I can make it happen. I’ve made so many things happen. I know what I want. I’ve known what I want. I know what I believe in. I know what I value. I value this body that I have been given by Creator. This experience to this body and everything this body can experience. I don’t take that for granted. So much joy. So much pain. So much anger. So much. There’s space for it all. Space for the shadows. Shadows. I will face the shadows. There is something to experience in the shadows. Something to learn in the shadows.
Chaos
Chaos. Chaos has my back. Fierce energy. Intense. Movement. Anywhere. All the wheres. Wild. Out of control. No apologies. Unrelenting. Unstoppable. I can’t be stopped. I won’t be stopped. No one can stop me. I don’t need to be stopped. Uncontained. No thought. No care. Force. Strength. Breath. No fear. Go. Go. Go.
Lyrical
Deep and not so deep. I can be light. I can release. Let go. Breath. Move. Kiss the earth with every footstep. Lightness. Play. Playful. Fun. Smile. No expectations. Release. As you are. As I am. Love. Allow. Not much to say. Not much to think. Not much to do. Relax. Play. Laugh. Breath. Grateful. Creator, there’s space, come through. Experience leads here. Open to experience. Open to new experience. Open to encouragement. Open to support. There’s support here. I feel supported. Experiment. I can experiment. I can take risks. Lightness. I can fall because I am light. I can fall because I am strong. I can fall because I am supported. I can fall because maybe I can fly. Lightness. Fly. Fly. Fly.
Stillness
Trust. I can trust. I trust. I trust Creator. I trust Nature. I trust myself. I trust my supports because I have many. If one fails, there are others. I can be flowing. I can be staccato. I can be chaos. I can be lyrical. I can be still. I am flexible. I have everything I need. Just do it. Peace. Trust the process. Trust that I know what to do. Go forth. Dance. Write. Let Creator through. Breath. Seize the day. I can do it. I believe in myself. Notice. Only I will notice what I will notice. The floor is black. There are many streaks that shine the light. A painting on the floor created by many. Many dancers. Perhaps also by whomever cleaned the floor. Many strokes. There is no other creation like this one. Like a snowflake. Unique. Every movement is unique. Every dance is unique. Ephemeral. In the moment. Can’t be captured. Always free. Once in a lifetime. Breath. Let go. Enjoy the moment. There was never a moment like this. There will never be a moment like this. I can accept. I accept. Breath.
Author: Vivian Y. Ohtake-Urizar, WritingWaves, February 2026
by meghanleborious | Mar 1, 2026 | Participant Writing
FLOWING
Am I flowing or fleeing?
Flitting like a butterfly, taking only what I need and giving the rest away
So others can grow, thrive, feel nurtured
I seek grounding, connection
But I fly away and freeze
Dissociation is the anchor that disrupts my flow
Closes doors, disguised as safety…
I long to root like a flower, eager to grow
To be beautiful and free, flowing with the wind
Yet I resist
Finding security in the work of the butterfly
Escaping – or is it truly free, grounded in its own rhythm
Nurturing itself while empowering others
I desire to flow in my own freedom, grounded in my own strength
My body freezes, my thoughts fly
I try not to fight, I attempt to breathe
Seeking solace in music, in love, in safety
That I know surrounds me if I allow myself to trust
My steps are solid They circle, taking me where I need to go
They ground me
I’ve spent a lifetime attuning to others
Now I attune to myself, moving the way I once rocked babies
The way I still help to calm and connect, to cultivate…
There’s grief in my hips, memories in my shoulders, compassion in my hands
The music reminds me to listen, to breathe, that I am supported
Tears suddenly fall – grieving and celebrating
Flowing freely, unveiling my inner truth
STACCATO
Testing the limits I had set for myself
Expanding the boundaries, inviting more in
Taking risks that nurture my soul without judgement
Seeking my truth, yet I resist – or do I?
Opening the gate, I welcome it as I step forward
My direction is clear
The music gives me permission to take up space
To express my strength
To dance with the raindrops and to splash in the puddles
I find balance as I navigate through my own presence
I trust my choices – those I sat with and those that escaped before I could think
I’ve spent years finding my voice in the world—naming, holding, guiding
My body remembers old habits of restraint but here, I let them loosen
Anger surfaces, clean and contained, with no need for justification
It steadies me
I neither forgive nor forget
My feet remember, and guide me in the right direction
I declare myself
Lines and angles dance in synchrony
CHAOS
I yearn to let go though I resist
My tears release me
While my fears hold me still
Do I fear the feeling, or what I might encounter?
I resist desires, avoid pleasures, hesitate…
I crave the release I see in others; perhaps I’m meant to witness first
Before I step into the unknown
Suddenly my body moves faster than thought, shaking loose grief, fear,
Old loyalties that no longer fit
It’s not madness—it’s liberation, transformation
I struggle with physical pain and feel the tug of emotions I’m not certain I understand
But I don’t stop
I am undone and alive at the same time
When I finally slow, I’m surprised to find myself standing
I didn’t fall apart; I survived letting go
LYRICAL
I feel light, almost playful, like my body is remembering a language it used to speak fluently
I spin without dizziness; my arms open without effort
I carry deep joy and playfulness in my heart
In my breath
I have carried deep pain and darkness that has held hostage
My light, my pleasures
As I move to the beat, as the melody carries me I am reminded of the intrinsic joy of childhood
My own child delighting in my happy tears, exclaiming ‘laugh until you cry!’
My movements grow expansive but not careless
There’s pleasure here, and gratitude
I think of the many roles I play and how I rarely move without obligation
Here, I move because I choose to
The rhythm lifts me, the movement becomes a conversation
I smile, feeling generous, welcoming joy
Accepting this gift of expression as laughter fills my breath
STILLNESS
Tears of joy, desire, release, relief
Deeply moved by the music
Unencumbered
My mind is content, gently reflective
Each step is deliberate, each pause is full
I feel the ache in my joints, and I don’t fight it
I feel the wisdom in my bones, and I trust it
I stand in my breath, in my age, in the life I have lived, in my life as it is—
In the one still unfolding, not as it once was or might have been
I feel the residue of everything that came before—softness, anger, surrender, joy—
Now settled into something quieter
The music is quiet as though it is listening
Curiosity inspires me to move, remaining present, grounded
Ready to carry this journey with me
As I breathe myself home
Author: Lora Heller, WritingWaves, February 2026
by meghanleborious | Mar 1, 2026 | Participant Writing
I feel the music, I move to the rhythm
I float away on the gentle melody
I feel the music, I feel the music in me
It has carried me away
To a place beyond, to a place beyond this day
I open up my heart, my mind, my wings are spread
I’m flying – I’m soaring… I am free
I feel the music, I feel the music in me
I feel the music, I dance to the rhythm
My feet are floating in circles all around
I feel the music, I feel the music in me
There’s a story in my dance
As I turn and breathe, as I breathe and turn again
I hear the beating of my heart, my steps, the drummer’s groove
I am grounded, it’s clear and true… I am free
I feel the music, I feel the music in me
*Not sure where I’m going, I just follow the beat
The curving of my body and my dancing feet
My breath opens the space to let me bend and rise
I’m arriving, I’m here, and I’m alive*
I feel the music, I’m held by the rhythm
I sense the pain, and I celebrate the joy
I feel the music, I feel the music in me
There’s a story in my dance
That ebbs and flows, an adventure yet untold
I feel the burning in my eyes, my voice, the tears just fall
I am wailing, and harmonizing too… I am free
I feel the music, I feel the music in me
I feel the music, I move to the rhythm
I float away on the gentle melody
I feel the music, I feel the music in me
It has carried me away
To a place beyond, to a place beyond this day
I open up my heart, my mind, my wings are spread I’m flying – I’m soaring… I am free
I feel the music, I feel the music in me
I feel the music, I feel the music in me
Author: Lora Heller, WritingWaves, February 2026
by meghanleborious | Feb 28, 2026 | Participant Writing
They have found their spot. A pair of pigeons. In the cold that slows.
We dance.
Pigeons on the windowsill. Playfully pressed against one another. The chemical salt air in gusts that lift their feathers, they nestle tightly. The warmth of two bodies. Shielded from the whipping salt wind in a frigid toxic pull that cannot knock them down. They have each other. They are warm.
We are one.
The soft embrace – no pecking order here. The birds are love against the cold. Icy steel bars they slipped through here beyond the wind, huddled in the window’s corner on cold concrete. One climbs on top of the other, then the other. The other climbs on top. The other pushes and lifts the other from behind. They adjust and search for comfort. The two feathered friends who have each other. They know each other. They are each other.
Just like that they are gone.
One moment to the next. Rise and fall. From the feet to the head. They come. They go. They come back again.
We dance.
The pigeons reappear in the window a jumbled mass of feathers in a heap. They are two yet one, nestled in the quiet space between the bars behind the world where the cold does not reach as furiously. It’s a little softer here in stillness. Together in the warmth of good intention and in our bodies stretching to the sun – the cold at our feet, we can leave the cold behind. Thoughts that warm us. Together connected in life and love, birds of a feather that flock together seeking out the sunshine of the soul.
Our dancing bodies warm then cool then warm again. Heat that rises from the inside out – swirling in passion forward from the belly of love. There is a magic that burns inside that my heart can touch and my lips can tell. Words symbols of what my body speaks. In a look, a glance, a nod and knowingness, a shared language in a space where we take refuge together. Soul searchers in togetherness moving to the now.
Dancing again. The pigeons are still here.
They’ve shifted position on the windowsill – a little to the center now. Wings that lift and loosen and settle. This quiet moment of stillness different than the one that whispered just before it. Another moment awakens to another.
Steam will again rise from sticky asphalt streets beyond this same window. The mugginess will settle on our skin in a warm sheen again. The pigeons will again flap their wings in stagnant puddles and city fountains.
We keep dancing in sunny awareness beyond the cold.
Author: Roxanna Sherwood, WritingWaves, February 2026
by meghanleborious | Feb 28, 2026 | Participant Writing
Against the floor
I am letting my body go in its tiredness
Just here, yawning and stretching my arms, my legs
For sure I didn’t know
Until against the floor
How much was there to go
I let my body roll, there on the floor, eyes closed
And very slow, I feel my breath catching the flow,
bringing new blood to all my cells
The music enters through all my senses.
I start to see with my feet. They receive the tingling of the lashes.
These newly open eyes guide me and the movement comes
I am now standing on my new eyes-flow feeling and seeing the beat
Just what it is, forgotten the I know, my feet go, my feet feel the flow, they see as they
touch, they move and caress, I have now four hands and new ears for the music rocking
my body from bottom up, from inside out and in again I have a new anatomy and a
language at my toes: feel – feed – forget – form – forgive – flourish – flow the waves
flow and the sand rolls the renewal rhythm called eternity.
Author: Maria-Luisa Ruiz, WritingWaves, February 2026
by meghanleborious | Feb 28, 2026 | Participant Writing
It inhabited their carefully curated house,
for 52 years.
And now it’s mine.
I seized it from the “to sell” pile
from eager downsizers and estate salesmen
during my dad’s transition to senior living.
It took work and money to get it home.
A man with a van–
Loud, beefy, adept.
Expensive.
Slinging it over his shoulder,
like it was nothing.
Leaving it for me to manhandle.
This carpet goes so well with my things–
my grandmother’s mahogany chest,
the Danish-design desk from an ex-lover,
Boho end tables from a closing sale.
Deep red and turquoise accent walls.
Somehow, it works,
but it feels wrong.
I am unsettled by this carpet,
How did I not notice it before?
a discolored patch, from wear and tear
perhaps from me traipsing across it
during my weekly visits,
in the sad years.
I traversed this carpet countless times,
From the front door to his lounge chair,
where he sat,
slouched over, mouth agape,
fighting sleep for me,
mustering a greeting.
Thank you for coming.
I imagine him now in his new place,
plopped down in a leatherette recliner,
parked on a speckled linoleum floor.
I wonder if he ever dreams of his old house,
full of real plants and soft lights,
and his Persian carpet,
now lying, displaced, in my home.
Author: Ida Dupont, WritingWaves, February 2026
