Elle Dooley

Lists are like spare parts of the language. Sometimes they are numbered and ordered, sometimes slapdash and hasty. In these times, they’re often found on an app in a tablet or phone. But they are still often found on scraps of paper tucked in a purse or pocket, between the pages of a book, forgotten, caught as they flutter to the floor.

I’m thinking here of the more intentional list, prompted by a word or phrase. Because I found one that I wrote in late Covid time during a writing session with two beautiful, soulful women. It is a simple list of quickly captured thoughts and I’m surprised at how much feeling it evokes for me. I share it here as an example of how a simple practice can be archival and filled with meaning that exceeds its structure.

My list may speak to you – or not. And that is not the point anyway. It is to say, make your own lists from time to time. Then, forget about them and let them get tucked away to surprise you one day as you rediscover them. I found that mine contained fleeting thoughts, aspirations, worries, a presence of place, a mood. They returned me to myself at a moment in time. How lovely.

For this list, the prompt was RISE – what rises?

The sun, the moon, the stars

Bread dough

Tides

Hemlines

Inflation

Income disparity

Political upheaval

The divine feminine in the world

My sense of courage and confidence

The winds carrying fire smoke from the Northern slopes

The national debt

The desire to make a difference

Me, in the morning, at the time the goddess wants me to

The stack of books that are unread

The sense that simply owning the books automatically transfers knowledge of the contents to my brain

The number of courses and classes I’ve subscribed to and the proportionate number of those unattended or incomplete

The number of calls I receive about my sister falling and suffering another broken bone

The number of cards in the Archetypes of Time deck

The level of bottles and jars to be recycled because Albuquerque picks up everything but glass

The lilies of the valley beneath the black locust tree

The angle of light through the windows as we move from Winter to Spring

And again, I rise

We rise

 It is a simple practice. It is just a list. But it will be yours. Go ahead – assemble a someday surprise for yourself by archiving your thoughts. To share or keep for yourself. Always your choice. xoxo