Filling in the blanks...

I've been trying to choose what to post for New Years. And during that process I've been feeling a bit of sadness and loneliness. I realized that New Years, for me, has traditionally been one of the more difficult times of year - especially early on. I remember the first one well - I didn't want it to turn to 2003 because that would be the first calendar year that Barry would not be with us as he was. I think I had been invited somewhere, but I just couldn't go. I think another reason for this gentle melancholy that has surfaced just now is because wherever we were, whatever we were doing Barry always found his way to me and had his arm around my shoulders - and at the stroke of midnight he always gave me a sweet little kiss. It was lovely...:) And I simply miss that.

So as I was looking through my poetry I found this little number that seems to fit. I remember writing it and how the blankness really did feel good. So much had washed away and there was room to fill with new things - and, well the poem says it best.

My wish for anyone who happens to read this is that whatever blanks there are in your life get filled however you need them to be in the New Year - and that you are able to feel goodness, benevolence and promise all along the way.

There I feel much better - thank you!

Blank

I feel blank and it feels good.
Hopeful, exciting, promising.
I’m empty, yet not.
All that has served me in the past
is still there -
right where it has always been,
but more accessible and easier to acknowledge.
This blankness, though disorienting,
is quite empowering at the very same time.
Where will I go with it?
What will I do?
Don’t know.
Don’t need to know, yet.
I just need to know that
all I have put out so
naturally and thoughtfully for others
is just as necessary
to put into me,
that the blankness will be filled
as I need it to be -
with the goodness of what was,
the benevolence of what is,
and the promise of what will be.

Sarah Carlson

January 31, 2008

Fluidity

Fluidity

Placid waters
gently lapping upon the shore.
Rhythmic – in, out, in out.
Quiet ripples of fluidity
that hold promise, hope,
deep knowing.
Morning mist softly
rises, disappearing
in the heat of the sun.
Storm surges of long ago battles
both known and unknown
still occur, though seldom.
Gently consuming,
somewhat convulsive
their power becomes benign
as the solid banks
of reclaimed self-worth
hold the reckless waters at bay
until they submit, subside
and join the flow.
Reflected light from above
dances and sparkles
upon the silvery surface
that’s only a glimpse of
what can be.
As my being becomes cleansed
and the light penetrates more deeply
I feel a freedom unlike any I’ve ever known.
The new day has dawned
and the diffused morning light
gives way to a glow
that shows the way
to what will be.
I now have the freedom
to fully learn to trust and
live MY life.

Sarah Carlson

October 7, 2007

Starting to discover my own way to dance

Well, I've stalled somewhat as I have again been having trouble deciding what to share and when. So much happened during the time of late 2007 to summer 2009. It is actually potentially overwhelming to sort through all the poetry that emerged. But today, after discussing this with my most wonderful daughter, I realized that I need to just post what feels right to and for me. So I'm going to do that, but still with the hopes that somehow, some day, some way others will read, enjoy and benefit from the way these words came to me as I worked my way through what I know I've already described as an most amazing journey of grieving and self-discovery. As I've pondered this post I realized I'm doing another 'slow dance' - see poem below...:)

The theme of dance has emerged many times in my writings, which makes sense in retrospect. Barry was quite a dancer, which I found out early on in our relationship - as I wondered what the ruckus was in the loft of a barn that was attached to a house we were renting. It turned out to be Barry tap dancing! When I asked what he was doing he just grinned and told me about the dance lessons he and his brother had taken when they were younger. He was a very graceful man and he did really dance on the tennis court and on skis. One of his very comical quirks was that he loved to swing his tennis racket and 'practice his moves' in our driveway. This affectionately became known as 'Dad doing the tennis dance in the driveway again'!

One of the first poems with a sort of dance theme came as I processed an experience I had as I walked along a field by the Sandy River - a place I go often to walk, ponder and exercise my dog. A place that many people in our town go to do to the very same thing. My 'beloved river'...

One day, in the fall of 2007 - actually on my daughter's birthday - as I walked I suddenly had a clear sense that I was not alone. I looked across the field and saw a large bird flying over the field from the river. It was a bald eagle - flying very low, straight at me! As I described earlier I've had many bird experiences since Barry died, but this was the most powerful to date. I stopped and just watched, with a momentary thought of - hmmm, should I duck? And well, the poem tells the rest.

Eagle Dance

Bald Eagle,
so many times you’ve
come and reassured me
with your strength and your power.
Usually purposeful in your soaring ways,
today you danced a beautiful dance
seemingly just for me.
My open heart, my tranquil soul
sensed your closeness.
I turned my head and there you were
flying straight at me across the gentle field.
Once you knew you had my attention
your dance, our dance, began.
A fanciful flight
up and down,
this way and that.
Carefree and joyful you
played in the thermals,
flirted with the trees,
followed the river
and teased the breeze.
You affirmed my realizations,
helped me trust that my free flowing
and my openness are real and good
and pure and right.
Thank you Eagle.
I so enjoyed
the dance.

Sarah Carlson

September 23, 2007

A year or so later I had another compelling bald eagle experience - even more amazing than the one I wrote about above. I was driving to a polarity treatment along a road I travel often. I was feeling many things and my mind was gently wandering. I was having some thoughts that were a bit unsure and uneasy and just as I rounded a bend a large bird seemingly filled up my windshield. I was driving slowly due to the bend and so pulled over to see what exactly had come over me - literally! I opened my door to see a HUGE eagle circling above me. I could feel its energy, its power, our connection. It made several slow, methodical turns and then flew with grace and strength out over the sloping field across the road. I think of that experience each time I drive or bike along that road - and I smile when I come to 'Eagle Corner'.
The poem that came a few days after that experience is one of my all time favorites. It is one that I go back to often and marvel at how it fits my life in unique ways as I travel along into the newness. Here it is:

Slow Dance

Careful circles above the fray
provide perspective and distance,
room for reflection,
a bird’s eye view with time
to twist the lens
for further acuity.
Straining with effort,
each turn of this slow dance
makes way for more to unwind
leading to relief and new insights.
Round and round -
circles intersect and cross to
become interwoven,
creating a new scaffold to hold on to
so that it is finally safe to let go
of all that no longer serves.
Each point along the way
a turning point with
opportunity to make new choices.
Settling into a new way to be,
freeing a true self,
feeling worthy of fully experiencing the
wonders of the universe.
Knowing that further circling may
be necessary,
but by trusting the connectedness,
feeling the love,
believing in the light,
it is time
to spread strong, steady wings,
join the winds of change
and soar.

Sarah Carlson

January 15, 2009

A new day dawns

A New Day Dawns

Early morning grayness,
left over rainbursts
come and go.
Winds of change
work the higher clouds
as they twist and turn,
travel to new places.
Bits of blue peek
through the swirling masses
of dissipating vapor.
A new day dawns
as sunlight bathes
the awakening world.
Aglow in the soothing lightness
one can see, feel
hope and promise
as illumination
works its way through
the darker layers
to the ground.

Sarah Carlson

Sept. 13, 2007

Drifting

I was looking back through my poetry and I found this one, which I actually wrote before Aflutter. For some reason I had decided not include it, but last night when I read it I felt the need to share it - maybe because I've been feeling a bit 'drifty' lately, but in a very tender way.
So here it is...

Drifting

I feel as though I am drifting.
Held up by air currents that,
although gentle,
keep me swaying back and forth.
Back is often good,
sometimes unsettling,
fosters more realizations.
Forth is usually energizing,
sometimes produces the need to retreat
and internalize new learnings.
Drifting,
once tossed about
by the winds of change,
now stirred by
calming breezes of inner awareness
and a more pure sense of self.
Looking for a place to settle,
but not ready quite yet.
A place I’ve glimpsed
that is both
dark and light,
honorable and challenging,
serene and dynamic,
That place within
me
That is where
I truly live.

Sarah Carlson

July 29, 2007

Aflutter

At this point I remember truly feeling the energy of recovery that I mentioned in My True Essence and in other pieces. But sometimes I wasn't quite sure I knew how to move forward with that energy. One day I saw a butterfly when I was walking by the river and I watched it for a bit. It made me smile and this piece came as soon as I got home.

I took the picture in this post at a butterfly exhibit at the Smithsonian - one that you could walk right into and literally BE with many types of butterflies. I've always been intrigued by the Blue Morpho - with its vivid colors on the topside and solid browns for camoflage on the underside.

Aflutter

I know I no longer should
allow myself to be devalued
by things I cannot control.
I know I have shed the
mantle of apprehension
that I carried for so very long.
I know I am at home
within.
I am close to understanding
that I am truly able to walk away
from the hurt and move
forward with hope in my heart.
As I look ahead with anticipation, though,
I literally quiver,
feel all aflutter,
and my path is this way and that
without clear direction.
I think of the happy path
of a butterfly,
seemingly unaware of a direct route,
yet covering great distances during its life.
A butterfly, by instinct,
knows where it is going.
Do I?

Sarah Carlson

September 9, 2007

Effervescence

As I continued to dig in and explore this unexpected life without Barry I began to know my self even better. In this poem I talk about the 'old me' and the 'newer me', but now I know it is really the same me. I just had to experience things differently, which I now understand can be seen as an opportunity. My years with Barry were truly a gift and around this time in the process I began to more clearly comprehend that the things I was discovering as I adjusted to life without him were also a gift of a unique nature.

Effervescence

I feel as though I am bubbling.
The bubbles seem to be a mixture
of old things that continue to dissipate
and new things that I’m
becoming better able to acknowledge.
As if I have clearer lenses in my eyes,
a more helpful filter in my brain,
I experience familiar
emotions and thought patterns
in a completely different way, again.
This frothy mixture of hurt and healing
produces a sense
of almost overwhelming energy
that I don’t quite know how to harness.
The old me thinks I should keep a lid
on my budding sense of self,
the somewhat sparkling
image of me that is emerging.
But the newer me wonders
just where this might lead,
what else is in there,
what are the possibilities?
Now that my heart is whole,
that I’ve come home to myself,
that I’ve learned to hold my being
in higher esteem,
it seems to make sense
that some of my inner pieces of
are demanding to be heard,
do not want to be denied.
I see that I should view
this effervescence as a
wonderful step
in the positive, more hopeful
path that lies ahead.
And so I guess
I’ll just bubble away the old,
dance with the energy
of the new,
and savor the many aspects of
this amazing effervescence.

Sarah Carlson

September 3, 2007

My true essence

At this point in the process many things were happening and sometimes it was hard to keep up with everything. I remember a student I had once who, during a reading assessment when he was trying to retell a story, said - "Hang on a second Mrs. Carlson, I just need to catch up with myself here!" Such a wonderfully accurate statement that still makes me smile.

It was a gratifying experience to revisit this poem and others that led up to it because I can see that, although I am in a very different place now, I am still finding ways to tap the well. The difference is that, although I still deeply miss Barry in many ways, the loneliness is not consuming and I am so much more comfortable deciding what I need and how to give to my self - something we all need in our lives, for sure. I am also still becoming more comfortable not always knowing the answers and am very aware of enjoying the challenge of discovery all along the way.

My True Essence

Deeper, deeper and deeper I go.
The totality of what I’ll find
I don’t yet know.
For as I travel within
I am just beginning to discover
my true essence.
For many reasons
I’ve never really known my self,
never had much confidence in me.
So comfortable in giving to others,
I never knew how to give
to myself.
Unbearably lonely
since my soul mate died,
it is only now that I am
starting to feel content
in my own company,
to see that there can
be excitement in not knowing,
and there is energy in recovery.
There is a place for me
and it’s okay that I don’t
quite know where that is yet.
In coming home to myself
I no longer have to believe
the lies that were not mine.
I simply need to choose
to find ways to
fully tap the inner well that is
my true essence.

Sarah Carlson

August 21, 2007

Inner rumblings

One day I was standing near my brook and the water was flowing in such a way that the rocks on the bed of the brook were tumbling below the surface. It was a deep noise that had a rather soft power to it. Again I had a moment where something that was confusing me became more clear out in the world of nature. I had been feeling so much better as a result of the work I was doing, but there was a deep, old rumbly voice that had a power that was still adversely affecting me. Once I recognized it, though, it began to soften and its effects were not as far reaching as before.

Inner Rumblings

Deep, dark, rumbly voice
below the surface
works at my most inner places.
The surface can be clear,
sparkling really,
but the rumbly voice
gets in the way of my flow.
Yet as I learn to open,
that sparkling surface
penetrates more deeply.
The rumbling,
once so real and true,
no longer has as much
power over me.
In understanding its source,
I divert the negativity
and change the flow.
In knowing that my gifts
are mine because I deserve them
the rumbling becomes benign.
In realizing that my light
survived despite what I lost
the voice softens.
In celebrating the fact
that I am who I am,
as I should be,
my inner flow clears
and I learn to love
my self.

Sarah Carlson

July 19, 2007

Mind weavings

The memory of the spider visitor mentioned in the previous entry helped me decide to post this poem now. And again - I will let this one speak for itself.

Mind Weavings

Healing thoughts,
words of wisdom,
pristine images
of nature speak
intermingle and form
new bonds of clarity
in the weavings of
my mind.
Childlike wonderings
still beg for attention
as the bonds form.
Ever so gently
I lift the strands
that anchor the
remnants of things
I no longer need
and set them aside.
Mind weavings of
goodness, purity,
joy and awe
flow around
and through each other
to produce a
tapestry of discoveries,
understandings,
inner truths
that I can wrap around
myself
to help provide the
security and contentment
I so deserve.

Sarah Carlson

August 5, 2007

Ashes of love

I must admit that it took me quite some time before I could do anything with Barry's ashes. There are many reasons for this and I do believe that it is important to do whatever feels right to family members at any given time in the process. For me, the right time and the right place did not come about until 5 years after his death. This was just a few days after I wrote the poem in the previous post and I think that it was, in part, a result of the opening.
I had done a great deal of journal writing in various forms by this time - and one of them was pages and pages of things I just wanted out of my head and needed to let go of in order to move forward - stream of consciousness writing. One day a trusted friend came to my house with a basic plan of going to the brook to burn some of that writing. (This may sound a bit strange, but I highly recommend it.) Anyway, I went down to my special spot before she came and made a little circle of stones, many of which were heart rocks that just kept showing themselves as I worked. As I did that it came to me that I also wanted to spread some ashes. What followed was a lovely little ceremony that just sort of revealed itself to us. I read some poetry and my journal and as we prepared to light the journal pages a spider slipped out from under the rocks of my circle of stones. I had also brought along a book about animals and their meaning in the Medicine Wheel of Native American culture. We looked up spider which, among other things, represents creativity - especially the notion of creating a new and different phase in one's life.
Since the time of this impromptu ceremony I have added other heart rocks that I find in different places. Each winter and spring some of the stones wash away as the ice shifts and melts, but I can always locate the spot and I find joy and solace in adding new stones. It has continued to be a place to access peace and connectedness.

Ashes of Love

Circle of stones near the waters of the
wise and beautiful brook.
Cloudy sky with bits of blue,
sunlight reaching through
spring green leaves.
Sitting with a trusted friend
reading poetry, talking about
progress.
Spider visitor
whose strong and purposeful presence
reminded us of creativity and success.
Crumpling pages of pain and anguish
that brought so much to light.
The warmth of the fire
as the pages gently
disappeared into ash and smoke.
Sounds of birds chirping
and the brook gurgling by.
My friend’s kind voice of encouragement,
my voice of surety and grace
as I read about my love.
Spreading his ashes,
not sure how,
then realizing there was
no judgment,
just the doing and the healing.
Some ashes in the circle
of stones,
others along the shore
and over the water.
Fascination as the
current took the pieces
and dispersed them along
the bottom,
the finer ones taking flight,
translucent, transcendent,
floating in the gentle breeze.
Ashes of anguish,
ashes of learning,
ashes of love.

Sarah Carlson

July 5, 2007

Cracking open

I had a polarity session in the spring of 2007 that is one of many that were extremely memorable. In this one I had the sensation of cracking wide open. It was a physical feeling, but as I think back I realize that it was also about opening up on a whole different level emotionally (and spiritually, though I might not have been able to express that at the time) as well. As it happened during the session it was a truly lovely experience - it was just so right even though it was like nothing I had ever felt before. It came to me as I typed this that it was actually a huge relief and was coupled with a sense of promise, as so many of the sessions were. Here's a poem that I wrote sometime along the way after that session.

Open

I have an open heart
with arteries and veins
through which my lifeblood flows,
from which love pours to those
who share my life,
and into which I better
know how to let love in.
I have an open mind -
no longer as cluttered
with fears and perceptions
formed by
the chaos and confusion
of unattended sorrow.
I have open airways and lungs,
able to breathe deeply
and bring oxygen
to my ever faithful body.
I have open arms
willing to give hugs,
and get them back.
I have an open soul
filled to the brim with goodness,
ready to take in more,
knowing I deserve to feel.
I have open ears and eyes,
with which to see and hear
the beauty, the truth
of the world around me.
I am an open book
with pages and pages
waiting to record images
yet to be formed,
stories yet to be told.
I am flowing more freely now,
traveling openly
from here to there,
with much to do along the way.

Sarah Carlson

May 16, 2007

Dark and light

I'm going to post a poem that came a year after the other 'cloudy' pieces. I think it might be important to show what a difference a year can make - both in what I had to say and how I said it. Many of the early poems were somewhat wordy. I believe that's because I had so much going on inside me and a plethora of words came tumbling out. As things progressed and I settled a bit my poetic voice changed. I think the pull to post a later piece here is, just in case there are people who are following along with me, I want to make sure to show hope. Maybe I've done that all along, not sure. I know it is in most every poem, but I just want to be sure to show it here.

Dark and Light

Intermingled
like water vapors
in a cloud that signals
a coming storm
or the dissipation
of what was.
Dark and light inhabiting
the same space
without judgment or fear,
there nestled together
within.
A peaceful and dynamic flow
of life experiences
known and unknown,
remembered and forgotten,
understood and not.
A deep realization that
without one the other
cannot truly be.
In turning and facing
the dark and all its facets,
the light that is dawning
has a quality, an essence
that rises above it all.

Sarah Carlson

May 20, 2008

Remembering to look up

So I think I just figured out that I can move pictures around - this blogger is on a rather large learning curve! I'm glad I have had this organizational breakthrough, though, because I want to put a series of three poems on this post and I'm happy to be able to put a picture at the top of each one.
Sometimes along the way I would wonder if I was repeating myself as I wrote - thinking I had already said something earlier and sort of feeling bad about not moving forward. But then I would realize that the thoughts actually went deeper and became more a part of my how my mind and my heart worked together, so to speak. As I looked back on these poems I can see how my coaching training and instincts were at work - I had help along the way, to be sure, but I became better at coaching my own self.

These three poems were written the same year, but a few months apart. They are all about experiences I had where things that were happening at this phase were again presented to me as a natural display - and with these it was all in the sky. I use the image of wisps of water vapor often, in these and in others - and I can actually remember several times when I was biking or skiing and I could feel things I no longer needed or had use for whisp away from me as I moved. It was a great feeling. I think and hope that this series of poems shows how, as one digs into a process such as this, growth and change happens in many ways - sometimes easily discernible and sometimes barely so - but something is always happening.

I would like to take a moment to thank my father, who taught me at a very young age to look up. We had many happy times studying clouds and the night sky together. Thanks, Dad.

Sky Talk

My inner darkness
has become gray and nebulous,
still strong, but diffused by the light
I have discovered without and within.
It continues to confuse me,
make me fearful,
cause me distress,
but it has changed.
I reached out today, asked for help
and the sky talked to me.
A beautiful gray cloud,
shaped like my core,
was sitting above the evening horizon,
underside lit by the setting sun.
I stood and watched,
again in awe of the natural display
that so closely matched what I felt.
The cloud was not static,
moving ever so slowly across
the tips of the trees that hug the river.
The grayness diffused as it moved
and the light of the setting sun
suddenly became the softest light
I have ever seen.
It was a comforting, ethereal scene
that soothed my still hurting core.
And I remembered an earlier realization
that it sometimes hurts to heal,
but the point is that it IS happening.
It’s when I’m the most down
that I have to remember to
look up and see
what the sky has to say
because sky talk always seems
to make sense.

Sarah Carlson

February 10, 2007

Shades of Gray

The darkness has become shades of gray
as the light diffuses the
fear, the pain, the anger.
Like a stormy sky as the clouds begin
to lighten and disperse
with shades of gray,
multi-hued from almost black
to nearly white
and everything in between.
The winds of change continue to work
as I learn to understand
and tap my inner knowing.
I can feel the effects dissipate
like wisps of water vapor
that peel away from clouds
evaporating into thin air.
My mind is clearing
and I can contemplate the
same thoughts in a completely new way,
with a sense of inner peace,
and the notion that it’s okay
to believe in me.
The darkness of storm clouds
gives way to the brilliance of the sun
and the blueness of the glorious sky.
Shades of gray will come and go,
but the light is always there.

Sarah Carlson

April 24, 2007

The Blue is Always There

Storm clouds,
multi-faceted, ominous,
threatening,
billowing with negativity,
seemingly impenetrable in places,
yet light and airy,
almost whimsical in others.
Viewed from afar are beautiful,
lose their power
when seen in the context
as a part of a whole,
because the blue is always there.

Inner storms,
caused by hopelessness that
I internalized,
by losses that were beyond
my control,
by despair that was not all mine.
Those storms are quieting,
losing their power
as I step away,
look at them as just part
of the whole that is me.
In some ways a beautiful part
because of how I turned it to good.
As the wisps of despair,
the remnants of fear
peel away and dissipate
I can see that
the blue is always there,
has always been,
Yes, the blue is always there.

Sarah Carlson

June 21, 2007

Valley of clouds

Ten months after climbing Saddleback Mountain by myself - putting one foot in front of the other to make it to the summit and have those moments with nature - I had another lovely experience on the mountain. I was there with a large group of people, none of whom I had known when Barry was alive, for a surprise birthday party. So I was at the mountain that overlooked where Barry and I had met and where we had worked together in the early years of our marriage with people who were new in my life, as I was new in theirs. The second morning, after the party that was just overflowing with love and good cheer, I went out for an early walk and then was first on the lift for some runs on my own before everyone else got going. It was an incredibly beautiful morning at the base of the mountain and above, but the valley below was socked in with low clouds. I took several runs alone and the scene before me changed dramatically during that time - and again the natural world spoke to me. By the time my friends joined me it was a sunny day, the perfect backdrop for spring skiing.

Valley of Clouds

Early morning, light dusting of snow
covers trees, roofs, road
beneath my feet.
As I walk I notice that
in the valley a bank of clouds
hides everything from sight.
Spring sun sends light from
behind the mountain
as it awakens and begins to
illuminate the surrounding hills.
Pinks and mauves sprinkle the cloud blanket,
instantly transforming the gloom.
Quick breakfast with friends
and I head up to
speed solo down any trail I choose,
my skis cutting arcs in the glistening snow.
I pause each time I reach the summit
to notice wisps of fog peel away
and reach playfully to the air currents
that take and disperse them.
The fog shifts more quickly as the morning sun
takes over the clear blue sky aloft,
uncovering the treasures in the valley below.
I smile as I see the familiar view
from my favorite mountain,
including the lakeside where I met
my true love.
My heart swells with the joy of it all
as I realize that again nature
is speaking to me.
The fog is lifting from
my valley of clouds
to reveal the treasures that
have always been within.
Thank you mountain,
thank you valley,
thank you clouds.

Sarah Carlson

March 27, 2007

Equilibrium

I've had a hard time deciding whether to include this poem. I'm not sure why, except that maybe it is because I recently thought I had reached a place of tranquility, but somehow there seem to still be things that are obstacles to smooth sailing. I thought I was at a place of deep knowing, but still there is some confusion. But then last night as I prepared this poem to post I realized that I do now deal with issues and concerns in a very different way internally. I am so honest with myself about how I feel and I don't get worried about being taken over by what we in our society often look at as 'bad' feelings. I just acknowledge them and let them be, know they are there for a reason and will eventually flow away to be replaced by other feelings and emotions. Part of what has come from this process is that confusion usually produces new insights. Another important thing that has come is the importance to putting words to my feelings when I feel it is necessary, to not hide from whatever those feelings or emotions might be. And so as I pondered this post it has helped me better see that there is a sense of balance within me and I am happy to acknowledge that.

Someone I once worked with in the area of hypnotherapy, a man named Espahbad Dodd, helped me see that emotions are transitory. That was huge for me at the time and I think it's so important, particularly for people who are grieving. I remember thinking early on in the process that if I let go, let the sadness out, it might take me over. But it didn't. I'm right here, right now typing this and working to put these thoughts and poems together - hoping that there are people out there 'listening' and benefiting from the realizations that came to me along the way.

It just occurred to me, too, that perhaps I'm hesitant about this poem because it was written in the spring as the world was coming alive and days were getting longer. But then I thought that maybe now, as we enter a time when light is in short supply and the holidays are upon us, this is a very good time for this piece. So.... here it is.

Equilibrium

Life -
transitions, cycles, patterns,
change,
motion, balance,
equilibrium.
As I have turned toward the light,
learned to let it in,
let it out,
I have made many discoveries,
had many realizations.
I now understand
that the expression of grief
is good and necessary,
that in recognizing sorrow
one can find reason
and fuel for change.
In acknowledging despair
one can discover pathways
to tranquility.
In order to have balance
there must be opposing forces
and equilibrium,
once achieved,
is tenuous by nature.
The key is to recognize an imbalance
and realize there can be
joy and fulfillment
in working toward
equilibrium.
So in the coming of spring -
season of hope, promise and rebirth -
it seems apropos to know
that it’s not about the amount
of darkness and light,
it’s having the wisdom to observe
and honor both.

Sarah Carlson

March 20, 2007

Winds of change

Again this is one that speaks for itself - and another one that felt so very good to write.

Winds of Change

Wind – movement, power, change.
Gentle breezes tickle placid waters,
produce playful ripples that interrupt the stillness,
stir grasses and leaves into a lively dance,
lift newly fallen snow into swirls that frolic and settle
in new places with fresh perspective.
Strong winds toss majestic whitecaps,
can be harnessed by sail
and the knowledge of how to steer a vessel,
bend and shake trees, spread seeds for new life,
snap weaker limbs that fall and become
fuel for new growth,
make waves of crystal flakes
leaving drifts and imprints
of the paths of change.
Updrafts, downdrafts, thermals,
air currents that ebb and flow
like my beloved river.
Dynamic -
at times peaceful,
other times powerful.
The winds of change are moving
around and through me,
taking away discontent and despair,
helping to provide
the understanding
of inner power,
the impetus for
change.

Sarah Carlson
March 7, 2007

Peaceful storm

I think I will just let this one speak for itself.

Peaceful Storm

Snow falling ever so softly through a storm-gray sky.
Tickling the trees as it floats gently to the ground,
forming an ice cold blanket that warms animals in their burrows,
making a play space for my black lab and me.
Tranquil, white frosting covering pine boughs, fallen trees,
meandering brook, beloved river.
So quiet, so peaceful in the midst of a winter storm.
Again nature matches what is happening within me.
My storm still rages,
yet now has an element of serenity that I’ve just discovered.
Perhaps it’s the recognition of the duality of healing,
or the deeper understanding of how taming the anger
I have every right to feel has the potential of turning
a negative, consuming force
into a positive, freeing power.
Like the winds of change that will come later in this blizzard,
signaling the coming cold front,
I know that my inner peace may be disturbed again
by cool breezes of doubt and fear
that accompany my profound shifts.
But nature is once more saying to enjoy the now,
because the beauty of this peaceful storm
is temporary and fleeting -
A study in the complexities,
but more importantly,
the simplicities
of life.

Sarah Carlson

February 14, 2007

My four-legged friend

Here are a couple of pieces that I want to share as a way to acknowledge what a great companion my Black Lab, Sophie has been on this journey. She was just three years old when Barry died - and they were close. She was so incredible in those early days - usually a dog who was in the limelight of our family, she stayed in the background and kept a close eye on all of us as we entered this huge transition. For several weeks she sat on the deck, staring at the driveway... hoping he would come home. Since then she has been an constant presence and often seems to know when I need a little extra love and support.

Winter Moments

Cross country skiing, my faithful Lab and me,
headed to our favorite stretch along our river.
Light, low clouds shroud the horizon,
freezing temperature turns our breath to steam.
First day out usually means she tries to bite my skis,
fearful of the speed with which I fly
down the hill that marks the entry to the trail.
I hold her gently and tell her I’m okay.
This time something in my voice lets her know it’s true.
We glide along the trail we’ve traveled so often,
with children and husband in the past,
now just the two of us.
We find a rhythm, me in the track,
she to my side with nose to the ground
taking it all in as only a dog can.
Tree lined trail opens up to show the river view.
Frozen all the way across,
clear ice in places,
cloudy ice in others.
Pockets of snow show windprints
left by dancing breezes of past days.
As I stop to take in the sight,
the sun peeks out from behind the soft clouds.
I look up to see the genial blue of the winter sky.
Blazing sun comes out fully and reflects off the ice
into my awestruck eyes.
My soul feels warmed by the intensity of the light,
a sensation that only the sun can produce.
Stand of maples across the river seem to be reaching
their fingers from ground to sky,
wanting to caress the beauty.
My busy mind, still searching for answers, wonders
what does this mean?
And I think I don’t know,
but then it comes to me.
I don’t have to know,
and perhaps the message is to simply be there.
Just be in that moment, shared only with
my four legged friend and the universe.
I gratefully move on as the
sunlight makes a show of the snow crystals,
mini prisms refracting the light
into the colors of the rainbow.
And in those winter moments
I truly am okay.

Sarah Carlson

January 27, 2007

My Dog Taught Me

My wise and wonderful
dog taught me a few things today.
We went for a snowshoe
during another peaceful storm
to the purposeful brook
and our beloved river.
Her exuberance was contagious,
her joy palpable -
off on a romp in the snow
with her human breaking trail.
The going was hard and we
had to pause a few times to rest.
at our spot where the
brook empties into the river.
My four legged friend needed some love.
She leaned her tired body against my legs
quivering with fatigue and waning excitement.
I stroked her head, her back and said, “You’re okay,”
over and over until I realized - I’m okay, too.
Yes, I’m okay, too.
I could feel her love,
her giving, her getting.
This evening I lay down for a rest
and she climbed up next to me,
put her head on my chest
to snuggle and to just be.
Contentment oozed from her
and I realized that she knows,
wants me to know,
it really is okay to trust, to be.
In fact, it is right to do so.

Sarah Carlson

February 13, 2008

An introduction to my brook

Well, I think it is time to introduce my brook. I've talked a lot about the river that I walk along - the Sandy River which flows from the mountains near Saddleback to meet up with the Kennebec River and eventually into the Atlantic Ocean near Popham Beach. But I've also had many wonderful experiences by the brook near my home. It is called Barker Brook and is just a short walk on a woods trail to a little rocky beach. My children spent many hours of their childhood at this very spot - catching crayfish and just enjoying being in the great outdoors. We have a very funny family video that features Barry walking out on a fallen tree above some whitewater. He made quite a show (the video was to send to his parents in Florida) of balancing and maneuvering his way along the branches. And then he took both children (who were then quite young) out there for an adventure to wow the grandparents. Of course, the water was only a few inches deep, but you couldn't tell that from my vantage point with the camera! So this little beach has become a real retreat for me. I tend to go down there to think, to process and just to be. Several upcoming poems were written about my times 'down back' as we call it.

The one I'm putting out to you today is about a time when I went snowshoeing along the brook and to the spot where we had dinner that evening a few days before Barry died. The brook flows along a steep bank that separates it from the river and then makes a turn to flow right into it at a sweet little sandy beach. At this spot you get the serenity of the wide open river on one side and the activity of the waters of the brook as they turn and rush over rocks and trees just before emptying into the Sandy on the other side.

Hmmm... I just had another memory, so here is an aside. When the flowers that people gave us after Barry died had withered from their hard work of trying to cheer us up, I used to take them to this spot and throw them into the brook - and then watch them join with the flow of the river and disappear. It seemed a fitting way of letting them go.

So back to this poem - you know how you hear the term every so often about the importance of connecting with your 'inner child'? I used to wonder just what that meant, even though I work with young children for a living. And, though one of my strengths as a teacher is connecting with children just as they are, it never occurred to me that I might actually have an inner child that needed my attention. But another wonderful aspect of this journey is well - that is exactly what happened...:)

Lesson From a Wintry Brook

Purposeful brook making its way
through woods and fields
around rocks and fallen trees
to the river.
The brook had something to say today
as I walked along its banks.
I watched its course as it met
the river.
Edges caked with slushy ice,
only the stronger current made it through.
As it merged with the water from the river
it curled back, swirling in indecision.
But after some time it made its way,
went with the flow.
The merged waters harbored chunks of ice
that moved easily with the current.
Just there to be carried until they melted
or were set down.

Purposeful little girl making her way
through happy times,
through desperate days
to adulthood.
Her edges frozen,
but the strong currents of her courage
and her will have made it through.
She remains unsure at times,
but the goodness of who she was
is awakening in me
in a way that I can acknowledge.
We, together,
are understanding the pieces
of the load we have been carrying.
Some we have melted,
others we have set down.

Purposeful little brook, purposeful little girl
both making their way, moving on,
flowing into the unknown.

Sarah Carlson

January 11, 2007

Reflections

One of the many meanderings was this terrible feeling that kept nipping at me when I started to feel better, lighter. That being - I was gaining somehow from Barry's death. It was such a weird, scary feeling. It became important in many ways, one of which was that I remember really getting how important it was to simply say what was going on within me to someone I trusted. I think that's one of the hardest things about becoming a widow, being alone to process things. You just get so used to bouncing things off that person who knows you so well, for however many years you are together. And then there you are, in one of the most difficult situations of your life - totally without the very person who could help you get through. I remember sharing this uneasiness and simply saying it, getting it out of my head, was a relief. This quickly led to the fact that deep down I knew that Barry would want for me to move forward, to learn and grow, and that he was there cheering me on. It has been nice to think back to the time when I first had that realization. This poem was another step in moving ahead and taking what I had with Barry with me.

Reflections

Often I look in the mirror and I’m not sure just what I see.
Who is that?
Who is that, really?
A few times it was quite unsettling, scary in fact.
For a while I couldn’t even look in my own eyes.
Upon reflection, I now understand that for so long
he was my mirror, reflecting back to me what
he saw, what he cherished, what he loved
in me.
Lately when I have looked deeply
into my own eyes I have seen glimpses of good things,
have felt the hint of self-awareness,
of personal compassion,
of the ability to cherish me for me.
And that made me uneasy,
became an insidious burden to carry.
Images were becoming clear,
but something was still very wrong.
So I reflected again,
and there it was – the answer.
I thought I was becoming a better person
BECAUSE he had died,
that I was somehow gaining from his loss.
A horrible feeling,
that, when shared with a trusted friend,
became immediately diffused into another new learning.
An understanding that what I see in my own reflection
has always been there.
And now I am learning to recognize the self that he saw,
and mirrored back for so long.
I’m learning to know me.
And, upon reflection,
I think I like what I see.

Sarah Carlson

January 10, 2007

A better understanding of the nature of the path

I think I will just restate what I said in the title of this post and leave it at that. These two poems really illustrate the non-linear nature of a path of understanding, grieving, and healing. They show how I continued to have a better understanding of the true nature of the path I was walking, that I am still on.

Meandering

I don’t know where I am, yet I am right here.
I have come so far and still I wander.
My mind, my spirit, my soul remain restless
on days when my emotions need attention.
Rainy days are these.
And like my beloved river,
rainy days make the water flow,
creating currents and rapids,
breaking the outer banks of the riverbed.
Rising water makes the river restless,
and so it makes slight changes,
finds a better way to flow.
Yet the inner banks harbor quiet water,
stirred less by the torrent.
Calmer waters of understanding, of knowing.
On my rainy days my body fidgets,
my thoughts swirl,
my mind does somersaults
as I quiver with emotion.
I feel as though I am going in circles,
looping around to places I have already been,
and no longer want to be.
But again my river teaches me
because I really don’t go back to the
exact same place.
I am just meandering,
breaking down the banks that hold me back,
protecting the ones I need.
New learnings, deeper understandings
enable me to flow more surely
with better purpose.
And like my beloved river
I am making my way
from here to there.
It’s just that I don’t quite know where I am,
yet I am right here – meandering.

Sarah Carlson

January 6, 2007

Retracing

Forward momentum –
so very critical to my process.
As I continue to put one foot in front of the other
I sometimes find myself recognizing that I am going the wrong way.
Certain things cause me to take a worn out trail
that is fraught with traps.
I don’t panic as much as I used to
when I realize that my inner compass
has regressed to faulty directions.
Old patterns, childlike misperceptions, and deep-seeded fears
are actually what pull me down the negative path.
I simply stop and ponder for a bit,
acknowledge the accompanying feelings, validate the causes,
tell the little me that all is okay.
Then I retrace my steps back to where there is a choice
of a better way to go.
This retracing is tiring,
both emotionally and physically,
but empowering and energizing at the very same time.
Although I sometimes feel depleted by the continued struggle,
I celebrate and revel in the fact
that I now know to stop, turn and go back.
My new, truer path has peaks and valleys.
Yet the peaks are not as uneasy,
the valleys not so full of despair,
Along the way are intermittent
rocks of solidity and connection,
rivers of understanding,
updrafts on which to further test my wings.
All of it is bathed in the soft, soothing, powerful light
of self-actualization,
trust in the universe,
and love.

Sarah Carlson
February 22, 2007

Moments of joy

I've had this post in the back of my mind all day. It really made me happy to have it there and to look forward to writing it. I re-read this poem this morning and was struck by how, when I wrote it, it seemed like not much of a piece. I think that may have been because there was still so much darkness and work to do that maybe it almost seemed frivolous. But now, as I delve into sorting through these works, I more clearly feel its significance.

I do remember that during one early polarity treatment Katharina asked me to go to a place in my mind where I had felt joy. And I couldn't do it, couldn't find one. It was quite profound for me to admit that because I knew I had felt happiness and contentment and joy, especially in my years with Barry. I also knew that I am truly a fun-loving person with a great sense of humor. So my inability to find a joyful place truly helped me realize how deep the pit was that I had landed in. This piece was another way I began to say hello, as in the last post, but also how I began to shift even more so that I could access and feel other emotions, including joy.

I have been wanting to keep the prose to a minimum in these posts, but the above pictures do require a little background info - and are actually a light-hearted story. They are both representations of a day in the spring of 1981 when Barry and I were up on Saddleback Mountain with our boss who had been charged with taking some still pictures of the two of us dressed up in western motif. This was all part of a new advertising campaign that the mountain was launching as they switched everything to focus on that theme. Anyway the top picture is one I love because so many shots were taken of us just standing there. I remember saying, "C'mon, let's get some action photos here!! We need to get some air!" Barry, who was a wonderfully graceful skier, didn't much like jumping. But he also was a good sport and played along. I can still remember the little yelping noise he made as we launched off the bump! The second picture is of a wall hanging that Barry's mother made of the actual photo that was used in the campaign - yup, one of us just standing there! And the other thing that makes this just such a fond memory for me, that makes it a true moment of joy, is that we had just found out that we were expecting our first child. Yeah...:)

Moments of Joy

Walking in the rain on a foggy night,
dancing chamois shirt to chamois shirt,
hiking mountains simply for the view,
horseback riding on a country road.
Flying down a ski trail,
winter wind nipping our cheeks,
reaching the bottom
only to head back up for more.
Pounding tennis balls
back and forth for hours,
discussing technique, strategy
but hardly ever the score.
Snuggling by a campfire
with no idea of the time,
being together and knowing it was right.
Our garden wedding on a beautiful June day,
eyes locked, hands held, smiles and tears.
Holding our babies,
One son, one daughter -
marveling at every stage of their growth.
Their walking, their talking
their personalities unfolding,
so many family moments
to treasure and be retold.
And yes, that last special night
by our river.
Hanging out with our friends
the geese
under the light of the full moon,
being together and feeling so very right.
These are the moments,
that in my sadness, in my grief,
I forgot to remember
as moments of joy.

Sarah Carlson

January 7, 2007

Doum - water

This poem was another step in finding Barry again. My aching, broken heart began to heal as I became more able to access the love we had and could allow the memories to come flowing back. I was starting to say hello to the love I thought I had lost.

Doum – Water

Ocean waves rolled onto beaches
as we walked hand in hand
watching the sun seem to slip into the deep.
Whitecaps crashed, yet beckoned us
onto the lake to try the wind
in our sweet little Sunfish.
Fog rose from the still surface
as we sat in the motor boat
that cradled us as you tempted the fish.
River in motion, flowing past our home.
How many times, how many ways
did we make the trip from bridge to bridge?
Lakeside campsite on our island paradise,
sunrises, sunsets, moonbeams reflected
as we marveled at the beauty of it all.
And that very last time at our spot by the river,
babbling brook providing a musical background.
our friends the geese sharing the moment.

We met by the lake nestled
at the foot of our mountain.
Adventures galore as we formed our bond.
Family outings in canoes, kayaks,
at every stage of our children’s lives.
Oceans, lakes, rivers, streams.
Doum – water always a part of
who we were, what we had.
Perhaps that’s why when the river speaks
I know to listen.

Sarah Carlson

December 28, 2006