A couple of weeks ago, Meredith over at the ~ spirit ~ of ~ the ~ river tagged me to write a six-word memoir. Then she pointed out that I (inadvertently) coined one when I quoted Tilopa: “Let go of what may come.”
But those words were his, not mine, so one night in Vieques I brainstormed a big list of possibilities. Thought I’d share them here. Just mining for gold, mining for memoirs…
Let go of what may come.
There’s no there, there. Now what?
Heart of the world wide open.
All about being. What to do?
Sisters, daughters, aunts, mothers, girlfriends, women.
I’m striving to stop striving: wtf?!
Busy mind, small boobs, big hair.
Separate, connected: travel back and forth.
Those cheeks! That smile! Those curls!
Wasted talent, missed opportunities, flailed about.
From ambitious to ambling, slow walker.
Daughter number three: knew my place.
Brought joy, crescent eyes, beautiful daughters.
What, I’m Jewish? My life story.
Passed hors d’oeuvres at the bat mitzvah.
Poets, yogis: These are my people.
Rocked by birthing, lived to death.
Even on vacation, habits of mind.
Her mother’s daughter, her father’s daughter.
Never a rabbi, always a Jena.
Makes good coffee, not big money.
Craving luxury, heart breaks at suffering.
Hey, Walt, Emily – let’s do lunch!
Big Tent, Red Tent: I’m there.
Steady up the mountain, little goat.
Smoked, quit, smoked, quit, smoked, quit.
Humility, reverence. What the hell? Skinnydip!
My life is fleeting. Yours, too.
And two bonus lines. Why not?
Spitzer: Ethics champion goes for gold.
Ego drives local woman off bridge.