laughing Buddha
hands holding treasure
I bow in homage
on the seashore
winds of change
reaching beyond
some cosmic trance
beyond illusion
to a gift of faith and chance
laughing Oneness
lightens my limerence
smiling Buddha
coins of mystery
Buddha smiles
hands holding treasure
reaching beyond
who knows where
my heart askew
God knows me there
laughter reaching new moon
Contributions and Gifts
Your encouragement and affirmation of my work through financial gifts, prayer, spiritual support, counseling, internship offerings and technical skills are most welcome. I appreciate and invite your ideas for sharing and publicizing my creative projects and the publishing of my archival work.
Your thoughts and inquiries are welcome.
Please consider a contribution in support of my life as an artist and independent scholar. Financial contributions are not tax deductible.
You may send a contribution via Zelle online banking method.
Also, checks may be sent to me,
Sharon L. Robinson
P.O. Box 895
Port Townsend,
Washington 98368
Your encouragement and affirmation of my work through financial gifts, prayer, spiritual support, counseling, internship offerings and technical skills are most welcome. I appreciate and invite your ideas for sharing and publicizing my creative projects and the publishing of my archival work.
Your thoughts and inquiries are welcome.
Please consider a contribution in support of my life as an artist and independent scholar. Financial contributions are not tax deductible.
You may send a contribution via Zelle online banking method.
Also, checks may be sent to me,
Sharon L. Robinson
P.O. Box 895
Port Townsend,
Washington 98368
USA
thank you stones
in the healing
oneness of my darling
in the midnight
kiss of forever
thank you stones
for each time
I was alone
you gladly gave
to me your heart
each time I wandered
the empty moonlit gate
dawn of compassion
arrived to awaken
the breath of slumber
an unknown kindness
the fragrant messenger
seemed to receive me
kindness of stones
to a lonesome, moonlit bird
offering the gift of the world
A collection of my creative work is in my archive in the Schlesinger Library on Women’s History, Radcliffe College, Cambridge, Massachusetts.
I am very grateful for this archive, and that my writings have a home.
In this way, my work is remembered and people have access to it both now and after my passing.
My collection of poetry, stories, and visual art includes photographic collaborations with photographer Steven R. Johnson (see Rubenesque Landscape on this website). This collaboration, along with my other projects, documents my life to preserve a record of my journey and to inspire others.
My Creative Writings Include:
I continue the completion of my work as an artist and an independent scholar. Some examples of my creative work are available on this website, and published elsewhere as well. Hard copy papers and digital film links are in my Radcliffe Archive and accessible there and online. Please contact me with your ideas and contributions. Many thanks and blessings.
(The essay, “My Archival Journey” was first written in April, 2010 and updated on December 7, 2020).
garden stones
when I hold you
do you ever think of me
you of this earth
that gives
with a scorching scar
to finally heal us
+
stones
tonight we are
finally together again
at last after being sequestered
the hidden gift
of your internal grace
beside me once again
silence of your touch
beside me
this unexpected vibrancy
a gift of birthright
hour of unspoken awareness
in praise of a new
yet ancient language
An amazing year in many ways. Opening my heart and facing the truth of my innermost childhood meanderings, spending two years on the collection, still in progress, The Children’s Home, a book of memories and imagination, an emerging saga of my stories and poetry.
From this writing and inner work, I now have a better comprehension of myself, including an awareness, self-acceptance and an understanding of the life long effects of emotional trauma, the life choices one makes in response to the need for survival and love, and the impact of social dislocation on children.
I am grateful for my spiritual connection to Meher Baba, who is often called the Awakener, and for the children’s home experience, as I see now that the seeds of my faith and compassion were sewn in those early years at Vista Del Mar Jewish Children’s Home. With the guidance of wonderful and inspiring sources for spiritual direction, my social worker, holistic health professionals and my own research as an independent scholar, along with the angels, this exploratory and purposeful work continues.
As I move forward, I am developing another book in progress, An Unconventional Heroine, stories and poems inspired by my life and my friendships as an outsider and a non-mainstream woman. Hopeful precursor to a new foundation. Collecting, revising, weaving the strands of being and identity.
A third collection for spiritual renewal embraces my devotional poems, in reverence for nature and Creator. I am sharing these poems in liturgical and secular settings. My first book, Wayward Star Devotional Poems, which I self-published in 2017, is still available.
I pray and affirm that I may have the sustenance to continue my creative life and calling. I am reminded of the Hebrew phrase, tikkun olam, the saying for healing and renewal of oneself and the planet.
Abstract art, intuitive insights with friends, times of prayer and reflection at my local Catholic church which is open daily — a blessing just down the road, such an important resource I can walk to as a non-driver — as well as visits to the local Episcopal church, receiving help with rides to the market and post office, love and reverence for nature, a place to live, healthy food, family and friends, beautiful books and clothes, I know and see all this through Meher Baba, the devotional source of holiness, mystery and truth.
I do believe that a transformative institute, a foundation, and my ongoing legacy to preserve and to more widely share the quality and unique nature of my work is a plan for now and the future. Thanks for being part of the treasure.
Sharon Lia Robinson, Artist Poet Independent Scholar www.sharonrobinson.org
Sharon’s Altar. Photo by Jane McKann.
There may be a clue in facing a challenge, a clue that leads one on their path in life to find their purpose. The challenges that I experienced in my early years have played a significant role in my life search, identity and individuation.
My life has led me to a path of spiritual faith and self-acceptance. I have faith that my vision for an innovative center, foundation, or institute for my life and my legacy will inspire others to work with me in support of my projects, and will educate many in various ways and realms.
In my early twenties, as a student of sociology and psychology, I became aware of the work of Thomas Szasz, R. D. Laing, Rollo May, Carl Jung and Frantz Fanon. Through their writings, I was thus influenced to consider and to appreciate my creative gifts and uniqueness. There were communities at the time, led by R. D. Laing, Rollo May, and the followers of Carl Jung.
These innovative centers upheld alternative insights, understanding and compassion for a gentle unfoldment of the creative process, within the context of the meaning of a psychic break. Knowing that these places were being developed and researching their practices was an essential way for me to begin to know and to honor myself. These centers have given me courage throughout my life as I have developed as a poet, a visual artist, an independent scholar and in my research of holistic health practices.
My spiritual and creative search has led me to the teachings of Avatar Meher Baba, who is also called The Awakener.
There are many resources including films and writings by and about Meher Baba, for those who are interested in Him. Eternal Beloved is one such film that I recommend.
The spiritual connection to Meher Baba gives me a beautiful sense of oneness with all of the world’s major faith traditions.
The birthday of Avatar Meher Baba (1894-1969) is February 25.
In meetings and gatherings, including celebrations for His birthday, Meher Baba followers discuss His life and teachings. These Meher Baba meetings may include films about Him, writings, special speakers, music and devotional poems.
My poetry book, Wayward Star, Devotional Poems by Sharon Lia Robinson is available through Sheriar Books.
This collection includes poems evoking both the Catholic and Jewish traditions with my faith in Meher Baba, the Ancient One. Through Meher Baba’s love and grace I am inspired to visit my neighborhood Catholic Church for prayer, spiritual direction and friendship. This selection of poems reflects my pilgrimage.
From the Foreward by Charles Haynes, author of Meher Baba, The Awakener: “Read aloud the poems in this book, listen with the ears of the heart. Like all poems posted to what Sharon describes as ‘a cloud unknown,’ the poems in this volume can open doorways to the Silence where truth dwells deep within all living things.”
Published 2017.
Here is an excerpt from the poem “His Holy Will” on page 33 in the book.
pray work rest
dance dream
wear a scarf
because one loves God
be bold be meek
turn the other cheek
because one loves God
beg camp revamp
write a letter
get a postage stamp
write a tribute to Him
a Mass a communion hymn
because one loves God
draw the water at the well
take a drop from the wishing well
don’t be afraid
if you tire for a spell
because one loves God
kiss the wound
you found
hear the holy sound
let His glory
in your heart resound
because you love God.
(poem written March 30, 2016)
I have written several collections of stories and poems for young children, inspired by my work as a nanny, by my cats, Simon and Simone, and by my imagination. I hope that you enjoy the following excerpts. I welcome your comments and ideas.
A Day Indoors
(written March 23, 2008)
we stayed indoors
the day of the storm
we sat by the fire
we were nice and warm
she didn’t hear the wind
she didn’t hear the rain
she slept at my feet
she never heard the sleet
my little cat
Simone fast asleep.
As A Child
(written May, 2005).
at first I did not know
the names of trees
I loved the wind
the garden breeze
watched and waved
to the trains passing by
while I watered
peach and plum tree
the small child pond
the West Los Angeles sun
our home
on Ashby Lane
Meow Meow
(written February 2, 2009)
at teatime we chat
about our cats
Sam will hide
when a guest appears
who knows why
its not real clear
while Claire
will simply climb upon
any lap that comes along
Nini prances
for a song
performing solo
for one or for a throng
yet my favorite cat
is sweet Simone
because she lives with me
content at home.
I wrote Imagine That! (a collection of stories and poems for young children) during the summer of 1987, when I was a live-in nanny for two toddlers, in Amherst, Massachusetts. Here are some excerpts.
Because of You
because of you
I feel so good
when we go for a walk
in our neighborhood
or take a ride
to a sandy beach
or watch the stars
before it’s time to sleep
because of you
I love to play
inside the house
on a rainy day
because of you
I am beginning to see
that I can be happy
by simply being me.
The Owie
today I hurt my knee
when I was stung
by a bee
mommy kissed me
and she also
kissed my knee
later, she put on a band-aid
and she gave me a glass of fresh lemonade
I hope I never get stung
again by a bee
and so does my knee.
Mr. Cat
Mr. Cat is very very fat
Mr. Cat is very very furry
His fur is white and brown
In fact, he is not our cat
He belongs to our neighbor, May
Who lives across the way.
When he comes over to visit, we play
And I always wish he would stay.
The Searchlight
Dancing across the sky at night
The rays of a long white searchlight
What is it looking for?
What is it trying to see?
I can see the searchlight
Do you think that it can see me?
In this story I share my experience with a transgender friend and how I feel she was helped in knowing of Meher Baba.
“Yvonne: Your lines, your lines, your coloring book lines. What happens if I scribble, if I scribble, if I scribble, if the girl’s face is green and her eyes purple?” (From Sculpture Lessons, my experimental play, 1974).
In 1973, at the Venice, California Women’s Center, I saw a notice inviting people to a meeting of the Los Angeles Feminist Theatre. I arranged to get a ride from my Santa Monica apartment to the home of Sarah and Michael Sappington-Kuhn.
Sara had written a play, with the hope that she could present a performance at the November, 1973 opening of the Los Angeles Women’s Building, the innovative downtown cultural center for the arts. The meeting was to gather a group of people to participate in the play.
I had recently moved back to Santa Monica, California from Staten Island, New York, where I had attended Richmond College; my 1974 Bachelor of Arts degree a focus on women’s studies.
Now, in my small Santa Monica apartment, I was writing my first experimental play, Sculpture Lessons.
At the Los Angeles Feminist Theatre meeting that evening, I was drawn to a very unusual-looking person who was sitting on the living room floor.
He introduced himself to the group as being Albert Michael Weber, and then explained his appearance. He spoke in his own words, quoted from books, and also gave us printed flyers; a collage of glitter, hand-painted footnotes, drawings and typed messages.
He shared with us that he was, in anthropological terms, “the third sex, the shaman.” He said he preferred to be called Ms. Lily Sabina Fairweather, the name of the maid in Thornton Wilder’s play, The Skin of our Teeth.
That evening, “Sabina” was dressed in costume – including a beautiful black lace top, velvet blue slacks, women’s shoes and stockings. “She” wore make-up, colorful nail polish, and a large-brimmed straw Mexican hat.
“Her” appearance was intriguing to me, since I was also, for very different psychological reasons, “different.” Even in this culturally open theatre atmosphere, Sabina’s appearance was noticed.
As I became friends with Sabina, I learned more about her background. Sabina had grown up in Detroit, Michigan. Her mother was a dancer and dance teacher. From an early age, Sabina, born a physical boy, had yearned to dress as a girl. He wanted to be a she.
She had attended Wayne State University where she had studied anthropology. In her studies, she had found evidence of third sex gender roles and shamans. Somewhere along the way, Sabina had traveled to Eugene, Oregon to meet and study with biologist Dr. Raymond Peat.
Sabina’s journey was to express herself, her essence, carrying placards along the Venice, California boardwalk, making collage art and flyers, attending transsexual support groups, shopping in thrift stores and finding friends.
On her bicycle, Sabina often road into West Los Angeles, exploring the university area.
She often quoted Dr. Ray Peat, William Blake, Mircea Eliade, Carl Jung, Wilhelm Reich, Elizabeth Gould Davis, Alexandro Jodorowsky, Robert Graves and others.
In 1977, Filis Frederick from the Los Angeles Meher Baba Center showed an introductory film of Meher Baba, and answered questions in Santa Monica, at The Church in Ocean Park. The church was an open-minded place where diverse community groups could give presentations on Sunday evenings.
I recall being attracted to the picturesque scenery of India. Sabina was fascinated with counter culture films, holograms, and the vision of each person’s uniqueness.
After that initial encounter, Sabina found her way to the Meher Baba Center, which was then located in West Los Angeles. There, she was given her copy of the Discourses, written by Meher Baba.
In the Discourses and other writings from Meher Baba, she underlined and starred certain passages she liked that gave her courage, support and validation. She would read some of those passages aloud to me and other friends.
I recall that Sabina seemed to connect the mystical writings of William Blake with the teachings of Meher Baba.
The noteworthy sentence by William Blake, “Man in the Resurrection changes his Sexual Garments at will,” also gave my friend Sabina much needed courage and comfort.
However, her unconventional dress, outsider personality, and lack of a solid support system soon thereafter led to her leaving the Los Angeles area.
Eventually, I learned that Sabina had died of a brain tumor at her home in the southeast United States, surrounded by her paper collage and assemblages, wine bottles, glitter, and the lovely large size thrift store costumes and dresses.
Today, we have well-known transgender people such as Chaz Bono (formerly Chastity Bono), and more openness to gender diversity in many ways. In 1976, there was only Ms. Lily Sabina Fairweather, fledgling support groups and a distant rainbow flag.
I am grateful that when she lived, Ms. Lily Sabina Fairweather was able to know of Meher Baba, that His words gave her comfort and inspiration, and that Meher Baba was able to convey His message to her. I am grateful Sabina was able to read Meher Baba’s spiritual writings. I feel Sabina received hope and is now in a place of light and love in eternity.
(Written on February 2, 2014)
these clouds want me to be happy
especially in spring
when you call unexpectedly
at my doorstep
or at the rain-splattered window
or in the solo violin of remembrance
at my brother’s music class
and in the tambourine
as I wander these remote desert roads
clouds call to me
a rainbow direction
a confident smile
a mark of your Love
or sometimes hearing your call
even when I don’t listen
even in disruption or confusion
even in the still of the night
a new dress rehearsal
or a mysterious view in the stars
a sense of stillness
in the sandbar
April 7, 2017
Claydance sculpture by Sharon Lia Robinson
I have written a collection of four experimental plays. These theatre collages reflect the search for love, self-acceptance and wholeness. I wrote the first play, Sculpture Lessons, while I was living in Los Angeles and Santa Monica, California, 1973-1974.
This experimental play is 31 pages, including production notes and ideas for stage direction and music improvisation.
Let me know if you would like to see the entire play in hard copy or online.
Here is an excerpt.
A young woman, in conflict with mainstream versions of acceptable social life, asserts her own way of living. Includes poetry, dialogue, and a Greek chorus. The play can also include music, video, song-poems, and dance.
A celebration of finding one’s authentic self and an example of my early literary voice.
Chorus: My spirit is cleansed, my body renewed, by this union with others in which I am me. No longer threatened by gurus or thieves, I can speak out because now I can listen.
Ina: Could it be that despite the complexities, the struggles, the death knolls, we grow, we struggle, we survive? We survive to continue to suffer and to laugh and to cry and to love. To be hated for what we are. To be loved for what we are mistaken for. And forever the fortune of time: the power to heal all wounds. The blessed gate of time through which we strive for eternal salvation.
(These theatre notes for Sculpture Lessons were originally written in May 26, 2014).
in the fire of change
I find my lost colors
smoke of azul and rose
twisting into light blue
destiny of sky
where are you
if not in this fire
where are you
if not in this sun?
fragile and light
fragile yet strong
you sleep within these colors
you live within this sun
along borders of fragrant passage
you face the sun
you face the fire
the tree turns to ash
its limbs only a reminder
of the future creation
tinted in rose
painted in blue
in the fire of change
I see your light
in the final fire
a chant of repose
turning toward heaven.
San Miguel d’Allende, Spring, 1987.
Tinto means dyeing colors in Spanish. In Mexico, I wrote this poem after building a fire in an outdoor fire pit, heating a large tub of water, and then putting the colored dye and white t-shirt into the water. This poem is about transformation; an outward activity becomes a symbol of the inner journey. That is one possible interpretation.
last evening
Elijah the prophet
visited me
he arrived with
the sunset
on the early
spring wind
I poured burgundy
wine into the
turquoise clay goblet
we shared the wine
Elijah and me
we lit the candles
at my altar
when the wine
was all finished
I was ready for bed
Elijah asked me
if he could stay over
in the guest bedroom
where the cat Simone
sleeps on the high-up dresser
she jumps up there
from the bed
to see out the window
I have plenty
of extra blankets
and pillows
so Elijah was
my overnight guest
he sang me a lullabye.
A glass of wine is traditionally placed on the Passover Seder table for Elijah, and during the Seder the door is symbolically opened for him. This poem is my unconventional celebration and could take place any time; and is open to interpretation and imagination. There are many traditional and diverse ways to celebrate and to observe the holiday. In my opinion, one may add whatever is meaningful for them, to celebrate a holiday/holyday.
April 14, 2014, Passover
Helma’s Madonna, photo by Sue Cook
thank you Lord Meher Baba
for the gift of your presence
in my life
at the end of the day
when I have finished my writing
I am able to walk
to my local church
St. Mary Star of the Sea
where I may pray
in the side chapel
with a small group
or sit alone
in silence
in the sanctuary
where candles burn
before the holy altars
where I may
light a candle
in your love
oh Christ Divine
where I may find the answers
where I may get a sense of direction
immersion in your perfection
perhaps even take a note
of inspiration
to share with friends
about your healing
your gift of love
the mystery found in all places.
St. Mary Star of the Sea
February 10, 2016
from the local consignment shop
this lovely little cloth bag I just found
the clasp and the knob
appear difficult at times
to close
like your heart
the Lord tells me
this other bag
that you almost bought
has a clasp
that is easier to close
yet you were right
to wait around the shop
looking like a waif
until I gave you the clue
for this bag that is just for you
this bag with the lovely
embroidered flower design
you just bought
also has a slightly discolored place
you didn’t notice at first
and so does your heart
the stain that I have cleansed
for you
although the small consignment shop
has no name
the owner is not to blame
Lord Meher Baba
I took your name
all around town
now I am tired
and almost lame
from all the walking
saying your name
without a rosary
talking to myself
and some people see
the indifference
the Divine Game
the house that was sold
the barking dog
the new owner who smiled
and introduced his pet
the Lord smiles kindly
we are not finished yet.
September 5, 2015
“Let the love that was once a fire remain an ember.” Cole Porter, Begin the Beguine
happily letting go
of an ancient identity
that no longer serves
my heart-felt gift
the very day
I was born
a form a creed a place
time and Divine Presence
may easily erase
no longer the plan
with new sparkle
and Grace
today
I am who I am
May 9, 2015
(Clay art vase by Sharon Lia Robinson)
(A poetry preview and some notes about my rock opera, “Dream Child,” featuring in the cast, Eva Bogislav, an attractive Renoiresque poet and Aaron Hernandez, a homeless street musician.
Perhaps I will locate a musician for writing the music for the song-poems).
“Wild Child”
song poem by Sharon Lia Robinson
wild child
come in from the cold
wild child
planting flowers
only you can see
wild child
clinging to life’s tree
wild child
crying out to me
crying out to be
crying out to see
the light of love
you are meant to be.
wild child, when will you find your true song?
(The experimental play I have written, Dream Child,
opens with Dream Child, a homeless musician,
playing acoustic guitar and singing the following song).
“Living on the Street”
song poem by Sharon Lia Robinson
living on the street
sleeping on the beach
waking up to pray
in a stranger’s garden
what about the guy
on the other side of that fence
he won’t let me in
he only asks
too many questions
he doesn’t want my answers
he doesn’t like my message
I am I am I am
living on the street
for the sake of love
living in the name of love
living for the way
the way of love
he doesn’t want my message
he won’t trust the work
he can hear me calling
from the other side of whim
yes I’m living for the sake of love
on the other side of whim
divine high
divine time
divine whim
all of life
is a gift
loving our Creator
love God love.
(Many of my writings portray unconventional, outsider women who search for love and fulfillment. All of these plays and stories are now dedicated to Meher Baba, whose love and teachings help me to accept my “otherness,” giving me insights and a sense of self-acceptance.
I think that in many ways, I was seeking to portray those of us who desire love as a shelter against the coldness, the social isolation of our being different, to heal the sense of alienation.
My experimental play, Dream Child is a series of song poems and dialogue, dance and music with film possibilities. A director, a producer, or anyone who may be interested in the potential of this play – please let me know and I can send you a copy.
The woman in the play, alone, is searching for a companion, perhaps as mask for an unknown, silent spiritual yearning, an inner depth, unfathomable.
I received one very special comment during the discussion after a reading of Dream Child in summer, 2011. An actor who liked the play said I might be interested in the writing of Charles Mee. This led me to the website of Charles Mee, who likes to call his plays collages.
On his website, Chuck Mee writes, “ I like plays that are not too neat, too finished, too presentable. My plays are broken, jagged, filled with sharp edges, filled with things that take sudden turns, careen into each other, smash up, veer off in sickening turns. That feels good to me. It feels like my life. It feels like the world.
And then I like to put this—with some sense of struggle remaining—into a classical form, a Greek form, or a beautiful dance theatre piece, or some other effort at civilization.”
(Max Reif has written a poem called, “To A Visionary Whose Name I’ll Never Know.” His poem is a remembrance of an unknown woman, perhaps an angel, who smiled at him when he was feeling alone in New York City. His story prompted me to write this one).
During the years I lived in Staten Island, New York, I often traveled into Manhattan to visit my poet friend, David or to go to a play or to the library or a museum.
One day, I was lucky to find a seat, close to the front of the bus during a very busy afternoon in downtown Manhattan. As usual, I felt a profound sense of loneliness and alienation. I was from a small town, Croton-on-Hudson, New York, and I was used to being greeted by people I knew in the town. Here, no one smiled or looked at one another. I decided to break the mold.
Here was my chance to be different, to be unique, to express myself. Yet everyone looked so distant, so unfriendly. I retreated into my fantasy lover, in my imagination.
In the midst of such a mixture of reflections, a man entered the bus, stood on the aisle briefly and then soon found an available corner of a crowded seat, facing diagonally across from me.
He had a very large and bulky looking black artist’s portfolio. I don’t recall too much about him except that he had very dark hair and was perhaps also all dressed in black. He had to hold the large portfolio close to him, so that others could board the bus.
I felt sympathy for the man, because he looked so miserable and alone. I imagined he had been rejected for an art sale, or perhaps from a job as an artist. I smiled at the man. He seemed to ignore me.
I felt somewhat lost myself, yet thought again of a friend and my upcoming museum visit. Some minutes went by. From time to time, I would glance at the unhappy looking artist, smiling at him and hoping he would find a better chance in life and in art. I gave up the hope, the attachment that he might smile back at me.
Lost in thought, I was amazed when the dejected looking artist, just before I was to exit the bus, stretched out his hand, looked at me with gratitude, and simply said, in a kind way, “Thank you… thank you for your smile, for your kindness.”
Themes and Commentary
I have written a collection of stories, journals and memoir; with themes that relate to the outsider and the search for social acceptance. Being in some ways outside the margins, my work as a poet and fiction writer may focus on people outside mainstream American culture.
I believe that the commentaries I am sharing relate to emergence and transformation in my life and give the added spiritual dimension, addressing life path issues, learning from experience, karma and a historical record of one woman’s life and work.
In the 1970’s, I was a young, full-figured Jewish woman, a poet finding my way in America. I was earnestly seeking connection, meaning and authenticity for my life, and a sense of belonging. For various reasons, I did not find social acceptance (ie…dates, attractive, accessible clothing) or social approval in the realm of the mainstream milieu.
My friends and companions were often other outsiders. I was searching within and meeting other outsiders; to find my sense of self. This search was my way to creatively explore and to find a sense of wholeness.
In 1974, I became active in the fat women’s liberation movement for size acceptance. I soon began writing short stories and poems to bring to light the experience of living as a full-figured woman in America. During that time, I also began to explore the psychology of Dr. Carl Jung.
In 1986, my life began to change slowly, yet dramatically, when I became a spiritual devotee of Meher Baba. Since then, my work has focused more completely on the inner journey toward wholeness, from a more conscious spiritual perspective.
Now, I am organizing and sharing my reflections and commentary on my collection of stories and experimental plays.
My intention is to reclaim what is of value and wisdom, so that I and others may continue to learn from that earlier time frame in my life. (These notes were originally published on February 10, 2011 and later edited).
Read more about these writings: Excerpts from a Play and Three Short Stories
This is a 1979 film of my early feminist poem “whoever i am, i’m a fat womon.” This poem was written in 1976 and is in my 1978 chapbook, “fat womon/renaissance” and also in the anthology, Shadow on a Tightrope, (writings by women on fat oppression).
Please share/post this archival poetry film for others to see.
“whoever i am, i’m a fat womon” was originally filmed by Lynne Conroy in January, 1979. For the Theater Project of the Goddard-Cambridge Graduate Program in Social Change, in Cambridge, Massachusetts.
Lynne Conroy and I were theater students there.
This film is a rehearsal for the Radcliffe College Women’s Theater Festival, January 1979, in Cambridge, Massachusetts.
In 2008 I researched and arranged for technical transfer of the 1979 reel to reel 1/2 inch videotape to DVD.
In May, 2014, Reverend Ed Evans of Sequim, Washington, did the film editing for putting this poem onto youtube.
Produced by Sharon Lia Robinson, May, 2014, with screen titles and roses.
Here is another poem from the 1979 film by Lynne Conroy.
Uninvited Space
by Sharon Lia Robinson
a great fat woman
hips swaying wide
claims to be an actress
and you who see the film
might renounce old illusions
mistakes bad attractions
and you who know the score
recover your minds
to see you’ve been had
like this woman
remembering
the smile your eyes once buried
those looks which murdered her mind
like this woman
slashing contortions
shaming betrayals
shattering insults
dissolving the blindness
as she dazzles you with her life.
