Journal Prompts #17: Dancing in the Dark

A Guest Feature of Journal Prompts calling you to dream by Carly Bisogno

Today is a guest feature from a dear friend of mine, Carly Bisogno. She is a full circle doula which encompasses birth and death doula services. I almost met Carly IRL 15 years ago as I was waking up at 5am to attend a yoga class in Cardiff by the Sea in California where she had initiated a meet up. I am not a morning person so this was a big deal for me to get out of bed. And yet, there I was signing in and setting my mat out before the sun. And there she was not. I got a private yoga class from the teacher as Carly had totally slept in. Honestly, the class was really amazing. And ever more truth, I held a grudge that she didn’t show. Thank the gods I let the grip of that grudge go and Carly and I have became wonderful friends over the years navigating conversations steeped in honoring grief, astrology (we are both Aquarians) to recently ranting about Sarah J. Maas books and beyond. I am excited to share her words and journal prompts with you today as she has been leading live journal sessions for my Vulnerability Club - early in the morning at that (*wink).

Stay open and surprise yourself with your answers in your journal.
As always, so optional.

From Carly Bisogno:

"You can't start a fire

You can't start a fire without a spark
This gun's for hire
Even if we're just dancin' in the dark…"

That’s what dreaming feels like a lot, right? Dancing in the dark? I think hope feels that way, too. Whether we’re actually awake or in slumber, dreaming is a dance in the dark. A hope for things to come, the song we sing to ourselves as we journey onward, towards the next, and the next, and so on.

I am no stranger to a wild dream. As an Aquarius with a Gemini rising, I often find myself two-stepping between the ethers, flitting and fluttering from one divine vision to another, offering my prayers to the stars that I may see them come to life. And I do believe, in fact, they will. 

These days, these last years, really, I’ve been praying to see one very big dream come true: moving back to the motherland, moving back to my Italy. I grew up with an incredible balance of cultures and ways of life in my home, ranging from embracing my mother’s childhood on the farm in Missouri, to my grandmother’s English and Irish heritage, and so much more in between. But, there was one other, in which I was lucky enough to embody and embrace in the flesh. One other, that was always calling for me, just a bit louder than the rest. As an Italian, how incredibly fitting. Italy. It’s always been Italy. The way of Italian life and it’s people branded my last name and my heart, folding it’s hand (gestures, get it? Ha.) into mine, pouring it’s rich espresso into my veins, it’s ripe olives and fresh pasta into my belly. Oh, my Italy. It’s always been you. 

I was 10 years old when I first moved to Sicily with my Mom and Grams, by way of Mom’s career as an Officer in the United States Navy. When given the opportunity to live on base, my Mother simply laughed, and politely declined. “We live here! So we’re really going to live here!”, and with that, roughly 30-45 minutes away in a little town called Motta Sant'Anastasia, we did just that. We really lived. On the top floor of our building, above our favorite Pasticerria, we hung our clothes out to dry, swept the ash from our balconies from nearby Mt. Etna (which you can witness erupt daily, one of our favorite evening rituals), and learned how to tell the time by the church bells that rang from just across the cobblestone streets. We walked those same streets most mornings to the panifico, or bread shop, for sugar brioche (trust me on this one… https://www.antonella.cooking/sicilian-sugar-brioche/). Many days, we really enjoyed riposo, a midday break in which everyone heads home for lunch and a rest before resuming the days tasks. Our neighbors and local townspeople became not just our friends, but our family. They fed us, taught us their language, their history. They truly looked out for us. They called us “Our American girls", and they wept with us when it was our time to return to the States. Though, we would never be just “American girls” ever again. We always knew we would come back to this life, to our people, somehow and some way.

That particular "somehow, some way" would eventually turn from “We”, to just “Me”. 

When I was 21, my Grams returned to the heavens. Half of my heart. Eleven years later, unexpectedly, my Mom, my whole world and my other half, returned to her, too. And everything went dark. 

How I would traverse the next several years is another story for another time, but I will tell you that there was a time in that darkness when I forgot how to dream. I forgot how to dance, and flit and flutter and what pure, untamable hope was. At least, that’s how it felt.

But within the ashes, the embers remained. Within me, hope was still alive. 

"There's somethin' happenin' somewhere

Baby, I just know that there is…"

Today, I no longer just dream of moving back to Italy, I am actively taking step after step to make it my reality. In 2024, I will make my pilgrimage back to the homeland, ashes in my pocket and a spark in my heart. I’ll rise with the smell of espresso and the Mediterranean sea, the church bells loudly exclaiming “now” is the time. I’ll stroll the cobblestone streets to the local panifico, with my Gracie girl (my pup) by side. Because of course, there is always “Grace”, isn’t there? I’ll write to you from the cafe, perhaps before riposo, and I’ll dance again under the stars that shine with the light of prayers answered, dreams come true, and the hope of even more wild adventures to come.

Within this story, in this time, I am inviting you from the embers to dance and dream with me. 

️So, what is that song you sing? What is that dance you dream of? Where does your dream begin? Like Bruce says, you can’t start a fire without a spark. 

So go ahead, grab a match.
And if you’re feeling it, maybe an espresso, too.

__

Get comfortable, and close your eyes.
(suggested song: “Dancing In The Dark”, covered by Biz Colletti)

Inviting you to place one palm up and open, the other on your belly, or your heart

Taking your time with 5 deep breaths, inhale gently and deeply, holding for a moment at the top, and confidently push the exhale out through your mouth, as if you’re making a kissy-face (which we do on both cheeks, by the way, should you ever come to visit…)

Resting here for a moment, feeling the beat of your heart, allow yourself to slip into your dream state

__

Grab your journal and a pen. This time is yours (me, chiming the church bells for you), what is it you dream of? 

WRITE: Using all 5 (and 6th and 7th and 8th and…) senses, allow yourself to slip into the dream as you see, hear, smell, feel, etc. Really taste it. Example: I love using imagery I see in books, magazines, even social media. I know what it will feel like to sit in this one spot, in this one cafe, wearing saddle shoes and smart trousers and a loose linen button down. Sipping my cappuccino, a couple of books with endless scribbles in the margins, I open my laptop/journal, to write. I dream of the fresh fish market and picking my own olives. I can feel the salt healing my body and soul as I glide through the Mediterranean waters. I really do hear those bells chiming, "The time is now, the time is now”. Really put yourself in it, as clear as watching a movie. Bring it to life. 

*BONUS TIP: vision boarding with Jacki is a real fun way to do just that. If you do, I invite you to share! We all want to dream a dream with you!

Thank you for dancing a little with me, and should you ever find yourself across the seas…

Ciao, tutti. 

Love,
Carly