Home Again, Home Again.

I'm back from a three day writing retreat in Whitefish, Montana, led by super-cool Laura Munson, she of This Is Not The Story You Think It Is.

Laura's work changing the Suffering Artist paradigm into Empowered Artist is going to reshape the world. If she has to do it one writer at a time, she will.

The Retreat was held at Walking Lightly Ranch, a project of good-hearted souls who walk lightly on the earth and teach others by example. The food served there is vegan, prepared by two sweet vegan chefs.

The first night during the general instructions part of the welcome, there was a whole section about recycling and garbage and food processing. I started hearing voices in my head.

One part of me was saying,

Listen sister, when I was your age, real men had long hair, women didn't wear bras and everybody was an environmentalist. I went to the FIRST Earth Day for Christ's sake, so do not lecture me, honey.

We'll call that part, Ms Snark.

And another part of me whispered,

 If you'd come down off that cross for a minute, you might learn something new.

 We'll call her, Miss Know Better.

Ms Snark was just about to slap the snot out of Miss Know Better when the sweet looking woman sitting next to me leaned over and whispered, "Maybe we should join hands and sing Kumbaya."

That's when I knew, this weekend, with these women, I wouldn't have to live in my head.

The view out our classroom window.

Every morning, Laura led us with writing prompts and safe baring of our hearts.

Each afternoon we were freed to engage in aligned empowering activities, personal writing time or whatever we could think up to get into on our own. In between, we were served and surprised by vegan meals. In the evening happy hour, we drank wine and told stories.

Although, I kept saying I was going to make a break for McDonalds, I never did.

Over the course of the weekend, somehow, I don't know how, let's just call it magic, somehow, we connected, reconnected or discovered our empowered writer selves.

By the third day, we were separating our recyclables and over-sharing about intestinal disturbances.

FYI: If you're going vegan, cold turkey, so to speak, expect some intestinal surprises. But on the plus side, when is a fart joke not funny?

I don't like good-byes, because they're aren't any, really, are there? They're not good. They're never good. They may be sweet, or melancholy, too short or too long, but they are never good.

I don't like good-byes, so I usually just leave.

But this time I couldn't. Ms. Snark and Miss Know Better both agreed, that would just be rude.

So, I had one more breakfast with the Vegan 9 + 1. One more full heart sharing with laughter and love, best wishes and lofty potentials within reach.

Later that afternoon when I arrived home, my husband said I looked different. I don't think it's because I lost two pounds and my poop turned green.

So, I won't say goodbye, au revoir or even, until next time.

Rock on, ladies.

Rock on.

Click the link. Go ahead. You want to. I know you do.