Author Archives: Jessan Dunn Otis

About Jessan Dunn Otis

Founder|Owner|Strategic Writer|Published Poet|Entrepreneur|Mentor|Motivator|Advocate|Ally|Realistic Optimist|Woman-Owned Business|former Adjunct Professor ; and, a tad more mischief. Based in Rhode Island (USA).

Vibrate Love Like A Tuning Fork

Seems that living is, often, difficult these days. Lingering reverberations from COVID, upheavals and warring countries, impending elections, fractionalized society, wild and dangerous weather, snarky comments from complete strangers on social media platforms; and, so much more. Add to all this the wear and tear of daily life – illnesses, finances, deaths, and all the mundane stuff that requires our attentions and energies. It’s no wonder folks can be argumentative, short-tempered, and downright nasty sometimes.

However, here’s the thing: if what you say and/or do you lead with love, it can begin to change your point of view and, ultimately, the outcome.

For example, the other day my husband and I were in a big box store. He’d made comment to a woman that was somewhat playful and innocent. It was a brief exchange. Both smiled and moved on. A bit later he and I passed her, again. She made reference to the previous encounter and the three of us started talking about how easy, everyday conversations seemed to happen less and less as hand-held devices have become where lots of folks focus; and, not on/with each other. A fourth woman came up on our conversation and agreed with what she heard. For several minutes all four of us were engaged, sharing ideas and information, laughing and bemoaning what seemed to have become a less friendly world.

What, you might ask, has this example to do with the title of this brief piece? To be open and available to another person you must, first, acknowledge each other. To be able to acknowledge each other means that you must both, literally, see each other. That’s the first part.

The second part is that you’re at ease and open to converse with another person. It can be a simple nod of the head as you pass each other, acknowledging that, and moving on. Takes no time at all.

There’s the third part – time. We seem to be in such a rush to get somewhere that we blaze through lines, cut folks off on the road, belly ache when we have to wait longer than we want. Patience. Rather than belly aching, enjoy the few moments (more or less) to just be still, at rest as it were. Relax.

All three parts require that one person sees the other person, takes the time to share an acknowledgement and/or a word or two; and, recognizes that we’re all in this life together. Some days are good. Some days are wonder-filled (sic). Some days are heavy loads. If we vibrate love like a tuning fork, everything we do and/or say comes through those vibrations.

Will any of this change the course of human history? I don’t know. What I do know is that it might make a stranger’s life just a bit better, might briefly lift the invisible load they’re carrying that day. That counts. That counts every time.

J E T T Y

At moon high tide

I run off the end of the silvered dock

Phosphorous confounds inverted eyes

wanting to grasp something more

than air can offer

to sustain this body sinking

into black mollusk mud

and transparent jelly fish.

Jessan Dunn Otis (c) 1985

From the unpublished manuscript MIGRATIONS OF THE HEART

Happy July 4, 2023

#Rise_and_Shine Welcome to Tuesday, July 4, 2023

Yesterday, early morning swim at Conimicut Point Park, in Warwick, RI; lunch at @IggysRI, at Oakland Beach; then, join friends back at Conimicut Point Park for food and fireworks. A perfect RI day! #Happy4thofJuly #RhodeIsland #ConimicutPointPark #WarwickRI

Monday, June 5, 2023, was not my day to die.

Early (12:30 AM) Monday, June 5, 2023, I experienced a feeling in my chest that migrated down my left arm and back, and radiated from front to back and front, again. Medical professionals would call it “pain”. I describe it as a deep, specific ache. Within short minutes I knew something was very wrong and not me. “We’re going to the emergency room.” I told my husband, Al.

Longer story short – I was having a heart attack. Because of the location of the blockage, no stint or ballon. I’m being treated with medication for now. After the procedure, my cardiologist said: “You are no longer a smoker.” I replied: “That’s right.” Done and done.

As a life long swimmer I took baby steps to get back into Narragansett Bay (RI), where I had just swum the Friday before for the third time this season. Two days ago I was back in that water – slowly, attentively. It was wonderful.

Follow-up appointments with PCP and cardiologist are on the calendar. I was very fortunate. I’m feeling blessed and filled with gratitude. June 5, 2023, was not my day to die.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

NB: Because of this life-changing health event, I’ve begun researching women and heart attacks. There’s alot of information available. It’s my intention to write atleast three (3) pieces focusing on different aspects of health care, heart attacks, and women. More needs to be known. More needs to be shared. More needs to be talked about to elevate the knowledge and understanding. Women and men don’t, necessarily, experience heart attacks the same. What’s your heart attack story women? I’ve just, briefly, told you mine. Thanks, in advance.

My Sons

Stepping into this morning’s light, it’s the same as yesterday’s but not. My heart breaks open, knowing that, someday, I’ll have to go away. Tears of sorrow. Tears of joy. Who will come and comfort me? Who will come and comfort you after I go?

@JessanDunnOtis (c) #Writer

Reconfiguring

Since May 21, 1996, I’ve marketed myself as an independent, freelance writer/editor, collaborating with some amazing clients. To them, as always and again, many thanks for trusting me.

It’s true, from time to time, I did my own work. Not enough, however.

After twenty-seven (27) years it’s time to reconfigure.

Going forward I’ll be focusing more on my work that has laid dormant or ignored too long.

This is my path. Not to walk it is unconscionable.

#DanceOn…

This Place Called Home

This place called home has shifted over the decades. Growing up the first several years, home was a Cape Cod-type bungalow, built just after WWII, in a suburb of New York City – commuting distance. The large tract of land behind our home was an old orchard farm. The barn still stood, slowly falling into disrepair. But, the apple trees! Oh, those acres of Granny Smith apple trees were magnificent!

Those trees had, obviously, been tended, pruned, and nurtured. The branches were smooth, easy to climb. The apples were tart/sweet, brilliant, sap green, and always in abundance. I used to climb those trees as the Granny Smiths ripened, perfuming the air with their plump greenness. The pruning created upward, smaller branches where some of the best fruit was.

Sitting among the apples, dangling my legs over smooth branches, crunching baby teeth into sun-warmed flesh that puckered my lips – was there anything better than that those days?