The Process
The process of this writing practice is still unfolding—But here is what’s happening so far:
* On Fridays, I select a poem, note, or quote from my past (or future?) self.
* During Shabbat, I “steep” with the piece. I meditate on its weight and absorb its meaning then and now.
* Then I journal about it–try my best to harvest my connection points and takeaways.
* There are no rules–this could all turn into something or nothing. For now, it is for me….the Round Table of Selves compilation.
Tree House Poem – (Front St. BNB, age 18)
The horizon is a hill in the distance
And its not important that you know this
Or that I paint it out in words
And I don’t necessarily need to capture this feeling
Its not good or bad or angry
It sort of just moves through me
And then leaves me feeling empty
The question has been answered
But by who? And who are they to me?
Rebellion sits heavy in the air
Putting pauses in between each breath
Running wild through my hair
The moment of truth is hard upon us
Do you still got it?
Or does it at least got you?
1/3/25—First Steep
I began steeping with this poem about 24 hours ago. Aunt Amy and I sat at the table a tealite and coffee between us. And she read me her “conversation” with this poem. She said, “Kenzie wrote this exactly half her lifetime ago…” and that jolted me. Half my life ago…I was 18, embarking on a new chapter, beginning a new life, pregnant, poised, and preposed to adventure–just like now at the age of 36. But life is now an unrecognizable flavor to the younger me who jotted this note from a treehouse window of an eccentric bnb in Fairbanks, Alaska.
The first thing I did when I began my communion with this poem was thread the 18-year old Kenzie through the needle of time and space and draw her into my/our present day.
She noted that I/we move much slower now. I agree, even compared to my past self of a year ago, my metronome has slowed–my fourth pregnancy has taken on the full vibration of the winter season, and rolled out the carpet for deep, slow breaths and states of being. My younger self twitches a bit at this depth and fullness of experience–but look, I show her, it’s powerful, magical, you can slow time and relish in its magnificence as I cook food, engage with my children, talk to my husband, and visit with Amy, details (due to the slowness) are in high definition.
She finds it wonderful that I still do yoga (something my 15-year-old self introduced) to balance and reconnect with my excited body and soothe my nervous mind.
“Who are you?” She posed sceptically as I minced up kimchi and stirred it into tuna and mayo….
Later on, I stole myself away for a proper steeping–soaking in the bath with nothing but the lines of my old poem replaying in my mind and far too many bubbles.
I thought about horizons, and windows into time, and rebellion—as I poured way too much soap into the running water.
For a moment, all thinking was arrested by my childlike delight in the fluffy, shimmery, weightless foam that swallowed my fingers and knees. The weight of focus on nothing but the light, warm, smooth feeling–putting pause in busy, bombarded life. A hush of mind chatter.
And then a brilliant, undeniable knowing—the rebellious whisper of wise guides that still sweep my face and stick their quiet wisdom, like plucked wild flowers behind my ear. Urging a brave and curious meandering through this life, this day, this moment,
“Give me pause.” — this poem whispers. Never forget the moral mastery of the “mundane.” The exquisite kiss of unanswered questions…that pull you nervous and excited into the dance of your next adventure–the strong, sure arms of your soul’s creator. You’ll always be held, you’ll always be had–you’ll always have exactly what you need.
✧ This practice was inspired by Amanda Rush and her Conversations with Poems practice. Which she taught me over winter break 2025.
Kenzie’s Desk 