The Intensity of a Moment

In the dream, there is only the sound of my stockings shuffling along the stone corridor. Dim torches flicker in recessed sconces -- shadows cast dance with darkness in the still silence. Even the beat of my heart has fallen into the cool black air, fading into the distant ocean waves. My lantern burned out hours ago. My feet, still moving forward -- eyes adjusted, fingers grazing the craggy stone wall -- remember this journey. Shadows swallow the light as I approach the door looming in the night. I reach forward, press the button and, as it creaks open, step inside.

I wrote this paragraph a few years ago after seeing a postcard with an image of a Victorian-style doorbell on it. Embedded in stone, the button was barely visible to the untrained eye. Seeing that image as I fetched the post from our box awakened a memory buried inside me, a memory I have no recollection of, nor think has ever actually happened. Yet the synaesthetic experience forced me to examine this memory and all it contained.

When I think about writing from my core, I am reminded of this paragraph, of essays written from a survivor perspective, written from a victim's experience, poems that capture the essence of a moment in just a few words. This kind of writing is so personal, so tender, it is often very difficult for me to put out in the world. And yet, I believe it is exactly the kind of writing the world needs. I would not have found the strength and courage to share these words if I have not found love and support through a community of writers and friends. Building that community is the goal of this website, and of In Her Room. I want you to discover the amazing power hiding in the words of your deep heart. And then share them with the world.

Take a moment today to sit down and conjure a memory -- one that arrived in a dream or a moment of wild waking. Write about this memory from your gut -- from the very core of your being -- both physically and emotionally. How does it feel to write from your center as opposed to, say, your heart? Your head? I'd love to hear how this experience feels for you, and what you discover in the process.