Inspired by Atwood. Pt.1

 

🌿 THE DEEP THINKER'S LOUNGE

YEAR TWENTY-SIX.

OF INSPIRATION, PONDERINGS, AND LEARNING.

SPOKEN BY PEBBLE$.

Dear Readers, dear Earthlings, dear Fellow Mammals:

This piece is inspired by Margaret Atwood's The Year Of The Flood, which caught my eye because of its dust jacket. I was intrigued. It is the year twenty-six, and The Deep Thinker's Lounge invites all: those who intentionally give the mind time to wander, to ponder, to be fixated on a subject and pause, and those who are lost in the busyness of life, the chokehold of screens and AI agents & superagents, those who are afraid of boredom and endlessly distract themselves. This isn't judgment. This is both observation and reminder, an open invitation to return home or find its location.

I have a few things I want to address, readers, earthlings, mammals, so if this letter leaves you heavy-hearted or overwhelmed, it is OK to leave and return to it when you are ready. Now, let us take our seats and turn our minds to the following parts of the human condition.

Today is a day and a moment for The Deep Thinker's Lounge, a place of inspiration, ponderings, and learning. A place where pain's wisdom has words; those who are alone are not lonely; we speak freely about how foolish we have been and what we have learned; we think a little deeper than our belly's rumble, and we live beyond today. When I got past my trauma and the things that triggered survival mode, I finally saw me; I saw my pain, I could cry honestly, I learned how to let go over and over again. Like cranium to brain and ribs to heart and lungs, those innermost soft and vulnerable parts need protection; if everything that comes your way can penetrate & destroy, it means you're not standing guard over what you have been trusted with. The times you weren't soft or tender enough might haunt you, but the times you were too tender and soft will keep you up more nights than you can count. We can only hope that one of us will stand guard in that moment when the other needs rest the most. That one of us will be available to provide those few hours needed for regaining strength and wakefulness.

Stepping out of survival mode restores our ability to be a mailman or mailwoman, although some residue may remain in our approach. Here's the reality: the mailman doesn't care about you, but he cares about the package. Some days the package is for you, and other days it is for somebody else. However you may feel about being a recipient or not on the day that packages are being delivered, that responsibility ain't on the mailman. Recognize your power, go to the places you are meant to go, be in the rooms that need you, get to the other side of your trauma, and don't apologize for how long the journey took. Don't apologize for staying in rooms that you once fled, not because you were rejected, but because you grew uncomfortable too quickly and rejected yourself.

This reminds me, readers, earthlings, mammals, that the next level of discomfort and continual learning is a curse word in some parts of our neighborhoods, but don't feel alienated when the neighbors look at you strangely. Solitude. Solitude done right doesn't leave you lonely; it leaves you yearning for others who understand you without the need to explain yourself or relive what you overcame. It leaves you with an increased understanding of yourself. In the stillness, you will hear voices and words without parted lips. You will see regular features and forms, and the infrequent ones; they will be in your mind, your dreams, stillness, on the surface of water, the sound of birds, and memories. It might scare you, but remember where you are, and your heart will be calm soon enough, and your breathing will return to its regular rhythm. Remember to breathe.

Like the insight gained in solitude, we identify ways our existence may affect others, positively, negatively, or both. How foolish of us to think that we need to step on toes, crush each other beneath our feet, ensure each other's absence, and take things violently to dominate. Do we think that we are justified? Are we somehow supported by some law that forgets the value of another human? Haven't we seen enough cruelty, suffering, death, wars, poverty, and been sleep-deprived by the nightmare of our own deaths? 

The birds of the air have taught us what open skies can do; what quiet spaces can provide. The air was cleansed when we deprioritized the 'necessities' of our activity and consumption for something more meaningful. Distance taught us how crowded we had become, internally and externally. How we had stopped respecting each other's space, how much we needed each other, how precious proximity can be. When we had to turn off autopilot, when we had to sit still, when we had to sit with ourselves, when we had to see ourselves naked, bare-faced, natural - how did we cope? What did we finally see and understand? What did it leave us with to explore and examine? What seed did the famine plant within us?

I asked, what seed did the famine plant within us? When the airborne threat was killing people with slight discrimination but equal doses of fear. When your enemy needed a neighbor, you showed up; when they lost people they cared about to the airborne threat, you extended empathy. When consuming to no end was a silly thing to do; when the 'new normal' became a phrase, a potential mantra as we took the learning of isolation into the wild of opening borders, new places, a better you, a better me, a better us, and improvements across the world. Why did we burn the seeds? Why did we water the seeds and burn the flowers? Why did we burn the fruit? How does the contained safety of home turn into a battlefield, warfare, a full-blown war with resources stolen, seized, people massacred? We humans and our problems! Now the birds hide, the air has lost its crisp quality, and we've fallen into the lake of numbness and consumption once again. What hope do we have to offer each other, to offer me?

Readers, earthlings, and mammals, what hope do you have to offer?

The second page of this letter should arrive in two weeks. Do not despair before the fourteenth sunrise.

Copyright © 2026 PebblesWroteIt

The Relationship...

 The Relationship With Our Bodies

Model : unknown

This year is full of inspiration. I was reading Audre Lorde's Zami: A New Spelling Of My Name, the journey from her childhood to her mid-twenties. It made me feel & think about things in ways that encourage reflection, searching ourselves, and extending grace and compassion to others.

From the top of your head to the soles of your feet and everything in between, how do you feel about your body?

The relationship we have with our bodies are both strange and wonderful. Any good parent hopes that relationship will be formed in a way that doesn't steal our innocence from us too soon. In a way, that allows us to be young for as long as we can but informed enough to care for and protect that body. Audre spoke about bodies and anatomy in several ways throughout this book, but this piece is inspired by the moment when Audre got her first period: "It's difficult to talk about double messages without having a twin tongue." p. 61-62 

At first, we are confused by it; we may dislike it or be intrigued by it. We may compare it to the size, shape, shade, features & feel of other bodies we see. How easily we do or do not connect with other bodies during a hug, a high five, holding hands, or shoulder to shoulder. We learn, and we gain knowledge about our bodies. Are its movements delicate, rhythmic, graceful, coarse, rugged, quick, slow, intentional? Our appreciation or self-consciousness about its movement - how it fits in spaces, how it stands among others, how it looks among other bodies, its seemingly anomalous nature or presence.

How do we perceive our bodies? Are they fragile, elegant, sturdy, scary, heavy, burdensome, or complicated?

We see our bodies from a different angle than they see us. Bodies seek to be seen and handled based on how we see them, to be respected based on what they tell us. But sometimes we don't see them; rather, they look morphed by some other shape, light, or angle to us. Sometimes they throb, make a noise, or make themselves noticeable so we'll care for them the way we were supposed to, but we don't. I think bodies are complicated until we treat them as fragile, delicate, and sensitive.

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Your heart pounding in your ears. Do you remember the first time you experienced that, or maybe the last time?

How did it feel? Its intensity? How long did it last? What caused it?

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With time, we learn what our bodies can and cannot do. For some of y'all, you realize you're not good dancers 😄. But I hope we all learn that it likes movement, good food, appreciation, and respect. It wants nothing more than to be the vessel that can carry us for as long as required. I think we see each other's bodies a little better than the person who lives in the body. Maybe we could compliment each other a little more so the resident goes home from each of those interactions seeking to see their body with better focus in that lens.

Do you know what I would do if I had a body like yours? I would put it on display for the world to see. I would wear the dress; I would go to the places; beaches would be sick of my cuteness, how I rock swimwear and lie in the sand; fall would be filled with silhouettes that show I've been keeping this vessel healthy; spring would watch as my body turns into the mannequin that displays experimental outfits and colors; summer wouldn't have a body, it would have options.

If eyes are a window to the soul, then skin is a preview to the wonderland of all function and activity from your cranium to the intrinsic muscles of your feet. From every tear from your eyes, every sneeze, cough, cleared throat, rumble of your stomach, to the sound of your feet on sidewalks, do you know how much you ought to be grateful for? Do you know?

Bodies As Temples

I don't think the relationship with our bodies are sacred. I think they're personal, BUT we should remember that our bodies are sacred when we care for them, speak to them, and consider the places we take them.

The body is intricate design, portal, incubator, vessel, and home. Intricate design means you'll spend your lifetime learning its deeper knowing, being, moving, and functioning - it will teach you about life in weird and wonderful ways. The intricacy of our bodies are a reflection of our beauty - the hats we wear in the world, the gifts we have, the music of our lives, the continual growing and learning that comes with change, birthdays, decades of living, and each fear we overcome. Your body is a portal in several ways, from the senses (ears, eyes, mouth) to that deeper knowing (nervous systems and their branches, spirit, soul, discomfort, ease), and down to the individual experience. Incubator in disease and health, in creativity and exploration, in genesis and evolution, and so much more. Our bodies are as unique as we are; from our microbiomes to our fingerprints, the vessel is us, and our bodies provide a space for that uniqueness to be held and attached to. The relationship with our bodies will determine what type of home we have in them.

Where are the loosely knit relationships with your body? Where are the emotional relationships with your body? Where are the social relationships with your body? Where are the interdependent relationships with your body positioned?

Loosely knit are the parts of our bodies that make us who we are on every level; they are also the parts of ourselves we will eventually know and accept with love someday. The emotional parts tend to be the parts of our bodies we can't touch, don't understand, don't know how to heal yet, or leave us actually feeling the feelings or thinking about what we have avoided. The social relationship with our bodies are personal; it's the part we're still working through, and differs from one body to the next. The interdependent relationships with our bodies require trust; it means that I can go limp and you'll handle me gently or meet me there, wherever there is. It means my body can be affected by your body.

Aging and Aging Our Bodies

Do we place limitations on our bodies based on thoughts about our age, what we can and can't do, what we should or shouldn't do, what we shouldn't be able to do, or fears post injury, post surgery, etc.?

Pushing beyond requires effort, and activity and movement require effort. Often our bodies want to be pushed, stretched, strengthened. Our bodies were created for movement, from that first cry as babies to the last breath as we bid the planet farewell.

How we age our bodies through sedentary living, which leads to stationary being when we are stuck there long enough. The brain computes your wishes and complies, but before compliance, it remains willing to change, adapt, and support the pushing, stretching & strengthening of its vessel. How many of us have lost the beautiful relationship with our bodies because of a birth date, a shift from one decade of life to the next?

Do the lines, wrinkles, scars, spots, birthmarks, texture changes, and pigmentation changes define how you love your body or how you should treat it?

The features above (wrinkles, scars, etc.) are the events and stories within a story that tell us things about our bodies we may not have paused long enough to learn and see. Look at the wrinkles with curiosity, then look at each spot, birthmark, and scar as commas that need you to pause for a moment. Look at the lines as journeys from one point on your body to the next; the texture changes need some love, whether they can be treated or not. Pigmentation changes cover a wide range of definitions from one body to the next, so find YOUR silver lining at your own pace. Don't criticize yourself too harshly for the acceptance you haven't achieved yet when it comes to your body, its parts and features. The long or short history you have with that body and its impact on acceptance must be considered, too.

One day, I hope you stop covering your insecurities and the imperfections in your relationship with your body.

Copyright © 2026 PebblesWroteIt

Journal of the Movement.. No. 26

 

Journal of the Movement of the World No. 26

All that fighting, all that doubting and leaning into stillness won.

Inspired by Muriel Barbery's The Elegance of The Hedgehog, which asked me to ponder these lines and create my own Journal of the Movement of the World entry:

"I'm referring to the beauty that is there in the world, things that, being part of the movement of life, elevate us. The Journal of the Movement of the World will be devoted therefore to the movement of people, bodies, or even — if really there's nothing to say — things, and to finding whatever is beautiful enough to give meaning. Grace, beauty, harmony, intensity."

I don't claim to be an intellectual; I'll let those who engage with products of my creativity decide on that. As I write this, I'm outside talking to the elements, breeze, moments, and a character I really like from this book, Renée. The breeze starts gently as I sit down on this beautifully shaded bench. First, I figure out how I'd like to sit on this bench and maintain that position for a little while. After ten minutes, my ankles pleaded with me to change their position. They were comfortable, but the bench was a hard surface to be pressed against for an extended time. So, I moved my matcha to the side, placed my book on my lap, and placed my feet on the ground. One paragraph in, the breeze got stronger, so I had to re-read the pages that started this reading session. The breeze got even stronger, so I placed the book in my lap, held onto my matcha, corrected my posture, closed my eyes, and waited to see what would happen.

In those moments when I closed my eyes, I felt the breeze through the trees, on my skin, around me, through my braids, my shoulders, my arms, and it was so beautiful on that shaded bench. When I leaned into it and opened my eyes, the breeze lifted a few branches high enough for the sunlight to hit them, reflect off the green of the leaves and onto my shades. I thought this moment would help me write a story, a character, a feeling, a place, a moment, or a monologue someday, so I urged myself to lean into it because it's writer material, it's life material. It's human material, proof of living, breathing, and feeling, and that stillness that I often talk about. There's a lightness and joy that comes with deciding not to fight the movement.

The movement of your limbs, your tongue in speech, because sometimes you need to say what needs to be said in love and let a person correct you. Let them understand what you're saying, and love you back and correct you. Let them realize that you're right, and love you even more for that. Sometimes, we fight against the movement of our whole being, of words, thoughts, feelings, and moods. Sometimes we need to correct our posture, ask the breeze to be gentle, or ask for a pause in the movement. Give yourself a few minutes, then lean into the movement that feels uncomfortable, that you're trying to prevent, and figure out what it's teaching you. What you need from it and what it needs from you.

There are so many forms of movement that we fight against in this life, and sometimes it wants to teach us something, something that is much easier learned if we don't fight. Much easier learned if we lean into it. Much easier learned if we pause for a moment. Much easier learned if we don't judge ourselves, the moment, the movement in the moment, or ourselves in the movement.

It's pushing through all of the things that almost prevented you from going outside today, fighting through all of that with tears, a snotty nose, and you didn't look so cute, but you got outside. Sometimes, we don't know what to wear; we don't know if that place we want to go, that thing we want to do, or the new thing is worth it anymore. Go outside and find out there's a seat waiting for you. The breeze is moving you to the place because they are waiting to serve you, to hand you a menu and let you take as long as it takes, as long as you need to figure out what you're going to sip on, what you're going to eat.

If you're outside like me, it's watching leaves and branches sway above your head; it's so nature can welcome you and love on you by doing its thing, allow you to be an observer and admirer. To let the breeze rush past and kiss your skin, to carry the music that proves you're alive, that proves you made it outside. To be in your most beautiful form, sat under a tree with beautifully shaped leaves.

The beauty in the world that forms part of the movement of life and elevates us gives some meaning to that unknown deadline we all have, but we must lean into it. My deadline is in good health and good service to the Most High in my job as Poet, Writer, Visionary, and Host at the Deep Thinker's Lounge. I welcome you to push into the beyond. Try not to fight the movement today, whether that's the breeze, yourself, or the movement from point A to point B.

Be gentle with yourself, like the breeze blows gently on skin, surfaces, through space, and around buildings. I think I found a reason to stay alive today, and tomorrow, and the day after that. I hope you find a reason, too.

Copyright © 2026 PebblesWroteIt

Profound Thought No. 26

Model : unknown

Profound Thought No. 26

first I looked and saw 

family like leaves, trees, fruit, root

then, a bud watered

Inspired by the book The Elegance of The Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery, translated from the French. I often break the rules when it comes to creative tasks; that's why I mostly write free verse poetry as a Poet. Because who wants syllables, meters & rhyme to limit or stop creative efforts? Who needs excuses for reduced creativity and creative activity? Not I, said the poet. For Paloma, I'll follow the rules this time, although I'm writing this piece not because of a deadline I seek (I hope that isn't insensitive) but because I'm open to a journey of learning & sharing.

I have a question: What matters to you?

I thought it would take me a while to come up with my answer for this Profound Thought, but the answer came when I saw grandparents and two grandbabies. Grandma and grandpa walking with that flyness that comes with linen fits on hot Spring days as we await Summer, and I think about the next season in the distance. Then my attention comes to both grandkids, a granddaughter and a grandson looking cute and sharp as they do in the cutest kicks and sandals; cute outfits. The answer came to me. What matters to me is generations. How we share joy, how we share wisdom, how we share knowledge, how we find value, and share those seemingly insignificant things - the moments, laughter, time. What matters to me is time between generations, not how long between the birth and growth of one and the aging of the other, and the birth of another. Not the death of one and the growing and grieving of another, but time spent. Time spent alive, time spent in conversation, time spent laughing and breaking bread and walking places, and going places. It's pouring of ourselves, everything that we have for those closest to us and those connected to our paths for as long as we can, when we can, wherever we can.

What matters to me is that we all attain our form of wealth. For some people that won't be money, for some people that won't be families, for others it will be what fulfillment looks like to you. What you achieve between sunrise and sunset, how you feel from one happy new year to the next, for others it will be the significance of Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter. What we do in each season, how we use each season, how we live, how we use the time, how we use the transitions between seasons to pour into ourselves, to learn ourselves, to refine ourselves, but more importantly to help each other grow, and help each other find themselves. How we create homes in ourselves first, then create safe spaces for others. What matters to me is that we all achieve our purpose, empty ourselves into this life from one generation to the next, and in each lifetime. And then, return to the Creator, empty, efficient, free. 

Conversations between generations are important. 'Children should be seen and not heard', a problematic statement if you ask me, a request to make the young mute while adults think, feel & talk. And so, voices die with the older generations. Knowledge, experience, wisdom, lessons learned, personal philosophies are lost; they are buried with the last generation that spoke. Conversation between the generations requires that we see each other, that we call each other by name or title (e.g., mom, ma, dad, pops, aunt, uncle, unc, etc.), that we look at each other and have those various inflections in our voices that make situations or moments memorable.

Sometimes, generations are parallel.

Sometimes the ache in our hearts is not for the kids we never had, but for the kids that surround us. In our communities, in our neighborhoods that we need to rescue from hopelessness. From feeling unworthy, from pain, from the harshness of the world that may judge or exclude them based on how they look, how they think, what they do or do not believe, where they think they can or cannot go. Sometimes, the heaviest aches in our hearts are for the things they go through that we may not always be aware of, but there's a deeper knowing that our presence means more to them than we may ever realize.

Sometimes generations are about being part of the village to help to raise somebody else's baby. To let somebody else's baby know that they have access to knowledge, wisdom, love, spaces and zones that are without judgement. Knowing they have somebody to go to when those in proximity are a little scary to approach. Sometimes generations are connected by the seemingly hard-to-understand, hard-to-connect things, but we must do what we must do. For each new day and each new moment is not promised, but the present is what we will always have, so, if you must, do it scared. If you must, do it fearful that you might be intrusive; do it regardless and be corrected later.

Copyright © 2026 PebblesWroteIt