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Mary Ann Moore is a freelance writer in Nanaimo, B.C. where she also teaches creative writing courses at Vancouver Island University. She has published Your Own Teahouse Practice as well as self-guiding materials called Mapping Your Spiritual Journey. Mary Ann’s poetry has been produced on CD, When My Heart is Open, published in chapbooks edited by Patrick Lane, and in a variety of anthologies, periodicals and literary journals. Her personal essays, fiction, columns and book reviews have appeared in Prairie Fire, Vitality Magazine, Ascent Magazine, Monday Magazine, The Vancouver Sun, Synergy, More Living and others.
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I see the part of me that writes
as a recorder of everything I do,
an asker of questions,
a truster in the voices of guides that come through my pen,
a faith healer in the sense that I am healed
by faith in the ever flowing words,
their reassurance in the moment,
the very act of moving pen across paper.
I see my writer self as a teacher.
A lover of children.
An observer.
A clown.
A creative mystic minstrel.
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My home is perched on the side of a stony hill in Nanaimo, on the east coast of Vancouver Island in British Columbia. Sitting at my writing table in front of the window, I can see terraced gardens, ponds and giant Douglas fir trees. A few of the trees are arbutus, an evergreen without needles. The arbutus twists and turns to adapt to its habitat whether on a cliff at the ocean’s edge with very little soil or right here in the back garden. To get to the ocean’s edge, is a five-minute drive away. There I can see the mountains of the mainland across the Georgia Strait. As for seeing more of those trees, further up the island is a magnificent old-growth forest called Cathedral Grove. Everywhere I turn, there is an awesome sight to behold.
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Cathedral Grove, Home of Giant Douglas Fir
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Mary Ann's Zen Garden
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Neck Point in Nanaimo
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WRITING EXCERPTS FROM ONE SWEET RIDE
Along the trodden path between the pale yellow flowers of the cucumbers and the zucchini patch, she can see the horizon. A path right out to nowhere. Her body encased in an earth-stained sheet, Lily rests, like a giant pupa, in the sun. - From: “Lily Does the Laundry”
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