Paper world

On creating, again

“It’s a week to create,” all the astrologers have been saying. I followed suit, and finished a poem I started a year ago.

The inner child calls to me. Perhaps because my niece, a mini version of me, brings her out. When she clings her small legs and body to me, I feel my inner child there, her little heart still bursting.

Children are capable of so much more than we give them credit for. I believe they feel all the feelings we feel: love, angst, confusion, jealousy, rage, loneliness… though they may not yet have the words or the understanding. To me, this means they deserve the most compassion, while they are learning, by our example, how to say what they need to say. Until then, it’s a lesson to be with them, as they feel everything. And to be with ourselves.

What would your life look like, now, if, as a small human, you had been given compassion, validation, and generosity every time you needed it?

What if you gave those things to yourself, now?

My writing, as always, is an offering to the world, of sensitivity. Hopefully, it offers a way for you to connect to something bigger, or smaller, than yourself today.

Paper world

Since

childhood

I’ve been interested in

how things

make a space — 

doodling flowers onto bedding,

folding pleats into lampshades,

cutting fringes into paper rugs

the most absorbing part

of my days.


It wasn’t as much about the dolls,

as it was about the world around them — 

what colors they might choose,

to sit or lie down on.


My best friend and I

spent our Saturdays

papering worlds

cutting to size

the shapes

that would fill a small room

on a rug

by the window.


Some children gave their dolls names.

Outfits.

I gave them curtains,

corners to soften into,

windows facing east.


It was always more

about the house

than the dolls — 

the shade of lavender on the walls

mattering more

than the pictures on them.


In a paper world,

you decide

what fits.


I continue to try 

to make spaces

people can breathe in.

I still rearrange rooms

as though grief

could be moved.

Bits & pieces

Another special moment this week was taking a mosaic making class by Sharra Frank. A friend invited me, and it seemed too good to be true. It exceeded my expectations, in fact.

Getting the chance to play with colors, textures, shapes, and composition, the possibilities felt endless.

Each piece of glass tells a story in itself; each arrangement of them, another narrative. The layering involved in this type of art astounded me: choosing the mold, choosing the colors and shapes, cutting them to size, and then beginning to see the bigger picture made up of all the small pieces fitting together, one after the other, all the while knowing there’s a limited amount of time before the apoxie dries.

Also, what joy there is in the different kinds of beauty each of us came up with in the choosing and arranging.

A reflection on play, for your inner child, this week:

• How did you enjoy play, as a child?

• What echoes are there of this kind of play in your life, now?

• What kind of play do you crave?

• If you asked your younger self what they needed, what would they say? Can you give it to them, now?

• How did you decorate your room as a child?

• What echoes of those preferences or tendencies are in your home, now?

What have you been creating? Let me know in the comments.

P.S.: This Substack is a combo and overlapping of my work & play ventures. Are you interested in more poetry, more organizing, more transformation, or some combination of the three?

All my love,

Brittany