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

Uneasy peaks

When I started to feel lightness and had a sense of finding my way through the sorrow, I thought, "Okay, I'm doing it. I've gone from there to here and that's done." The linear mind again kicking in. But grieving is not a straight path, as I've said. Once I began to understand that I was able to hmmmm.... well, to start to be more at ease in the process, I guess. This next poem is one of several that was my way of expressing that.

Uneasy Peaks

From a valley of despair I have journeyed.
Emerging emotions, torrential tears, whitewater words
pouring from a well of deep inner turmoil
have been the impetus, the vehicle of my movement.
Traveling on a path that has at times been
a gentle slope with obstacles to be faced,
but more often so steep that I am breathless,
not sure that I can keep moving,
yet I do.
Some days I walk along a precipice that
tenses my body and makes my spirit so weary.
Other days I have a spring in my step and
take time to drink in the view,
feel the breezes of contentment and peace,
hear the gentle whispers of encouragement and hope.
I have fallen many times,
fallen so hard that old hurts return to haunt
a newly evolving me.
Fallen so hard that the buzzing bug
that pesters my brain becomes loud and annoying.
The bug of doubt, of worry, of fear.
But each time I have picked myself up,
acknowledged the pain for what it is,
and moved forward.
I have reached beautiful peaks,
where I feel aware, and solid, and sure,
where I discover things in myself that I
never knew were there,
where I just feel right.
Yet those peaks make me uneasy,
make me think I should turn back -
back to what was because, although it was dark,
it was at least familiar.
But I don’t.
I only slide a bit and find ways
to brush the bug away,
then strive for another peak.
For I now understand
that those uneasy peaks are part of a fresh horizon,
that my uneasiness dissolves into learnings about me,
that my inner boundaries have changed.
I have wandered far and wondered deeply,
and soon I will settle into
the me that is right.
A me that is at ease reaching for new heights
and comfortable when I get there.

Sarah Carlson

January 5, 2007

Saying hello to my big brother

I just returned home from doing a presentation at a Hospice training for new volunteers on the topic of rituals and good byes. As I prepared to present I realized that yes, saying good bye is very important, but it really is also about saying hello to a new way to be, a different way to have a person in your life even though he or she is gone. I will have much more to say about that regarding my process of adjusting to life since my husband's death. But part of this process, for me, has also been about grieving for my big brother, Geof, who was killed in a bicycling accident in 1987. Well, really it has been about finding him again - and saying hello. I did say good bye as best I could when he died, but I had some things I needed to attend to before I could more fully process his death. I wrote the poem Big Brother as I entered that phase. And then, six months after that, I found a wonderful way to reconnect with him.

Geof had ridden in the Trek Across Maine, a 180 mile bike ride from the mountains of Maine to the coast that takes place each June over a 3 day period. He rode in the very first year of the Trek, in 1985, and again the next year. I drove him to the start of the first day in 1985 and have a delightful, very clear memory of him riding the beginning phase in torrential rain with a huge grin on his face. I remember wondering, "How could he actually be enjoying that!?" 25 years later I found out the answer to that question when, on that anniversary ride (my third Trek) , the weather the first day was exactly the same and I had a glorious time with my team forging through the wind and rain and thinking about my big brother. I have ridden for the past 4 years and each year, in some way or another, I feel his presence, his support, and his love.

The poem Trek Across Maine is one I wrote after my first Trek experience. The picture above is of the bike storage on one of the stopovers. The years that Geof rode there were 100 or so riders - now there are about 1800 each year. Just an explanation as to why a rider chose to hang his/her bike in a tree!

Big Brother

Big brother, where did you go?
I never got the chance to know you.
I wanted to, but I never really did.
We shared the same house, the same parents,
yet we were so different.
I knew you loved me, knew you cared.
But we didn’t talk much.
We did what we needed to do to move forward
each in our own way.
I remember the Mother’s Day when we
shared a moment in the garden of our childhood home
as happily married young parents.
Children playing with our spouses in the front yard,
we sat together and began to discover each other.
I said, “We did pretty well, didn’t we?”
You asked what I meant.
I pointed to the front yard and smiled.
You got it, you understood and
in that moment I felt connected to you in a different way.
New ways to be together, the future bright, good times ahead.
It felt so solid and sure that day, just sitting together
my big brother and me.
Then you drove away with your family,
contented smile on your face.
A face that spoke volumes without words.
Ten days later Dad called to tearfully
tell me you were dead.
Time has passed and I have grown older,
much older than you ever had the chance to be.
Yet you are still my big brother
and now our children are
amazing young adults finding their
way in a world that has been too long without you.
I miss you, your laugh, your quiet confidence.
They miss you, too.
We have all gone on, but your absence looms large.
I miss you, big brother.
Where did you go? Where did you go?

Sarah Carlson
December 26, 2006

Trek Across Maine
(Through the Eyes, Ears, and Heart of a Neophyte)

Heart pumping, stomach churning, gasping for breath –
and I hadn’t even started yet.
Soaking in the moment knowing I was embarking on the ride
with the quiet support of my son, the companionship of my daughter
and the memories of my husband and my big brother in my heart.
Off we went, my awesome friends and I,
off to join the river of bikers ebbing, flowing, coursing
from the mountains to the sea.
An incredible journey unfolded as we melded into the current
powered by the human spirit, the stretching of personal limits.
Giving and receiving support to and from people we knew,
and people we had yet to meet.
Pedaling past a multitude of scenes
that represented Maine at its finest.
Rolling fields, green hills, distant mountains,
sparkling rivers and streams
weaving their way around the solidity of the rocky earth.
Serenaded by chirping birds, croaking frogs,
and the cheers of green shirted volunteers.
Blue skies overhead interrupted only occasionally
by friendly clouds that wafted by.
Up and down hills, feeling the contentment of reaching a peak and
the exhilaration of cruising down the other side.
Early mornings, flat tires, broken spokes, aching muscles,
more miles than we had ever ridden.
We did it all and I finished hand in hand with my daughter and
a sense of accomplishment
unmatched by anything I had ever done before.
Personal, multi-faceted victories for us all.
A memorable Trek that I hope is the first of many more to come

Sarah Carlson

June 19, 2007

Lightening up

As I prepared this poem to post it really brought up some emotion for me. This was a huge turning point and now, almost 4 years after I wrote it, I realize how much I enjoy feeling the lightness I have discovered as a result of all the work I have done. Right now in my life I am working through a somewhat difficult, confusing situation, but I am doing so in a healthy, productive way that honors me - my feelings, my heart, my light.

Personal Solstice

Darkness, what is it?
The absence of light.
I thought that, felt that for so long.
When I fell to the depth of my personal darkness
I thought that I could not keep the light,
that it was for everyone else but me,
that the inner blackness was just too strong.
Some part of me knew the light was there
even in the darkest of times.
Always a keyhole of light
that let some warmth into
the cold reaches of my soul.
But I just didn’t feel I could keep my grip
on the shreds of light that presented themselves,
taunting me with glimpses of what could be.
That was my perception, my reality.
But over these past months I have found words,
have let my tears flow, have learned to trust,
have started to understand the pieces that are me.
Some of those pieces form my darkness,
but that darkness need not threaten me,
It is just a thing to be conceptualized and contemplated,
to learn and grow and teach from.
But it does not have to control or define me.
And, although it is big and dark and real,
it is backlit like a cloud with a silver lining.
And so what is darkness?
The promise of light.
For without it how would we know
the true beauty of shooting stars,
of a gibbous moon on a summer night,
of a campfire on a remote island,
of a flickering candle on a winter’s eve?
The colors of a sunset mean that darkness is near
but are also the colors of light.
And that setting sun
shows us the promise of a new day.
I believe my personal solstice has come.
I have faced my darkness,
understand its multiple facets
and now know that there is a light in me
that can shine through and light the way
to a future of possibilities.

Sarah Carlson

December 21, 2006

One foot in front of the other

This poem was written about an experience I had on the fourth anniversary of Barry's death. I went for a hike alone that day and, though it was a huge effort to make it to the summit, I felt a deep sense of reconnection as I sat and soaked it all in.

One Foot in Front of the Other

May 29, 2006 – 4 years

I needed to move, but it was so hard.
I wanted to be somewhere, but I didn’t know if I could.
So I made my way to the base of a special mountain
and I put one foot in front of the other.
There was every reason not to -
deep fatigue, spent emotions, sore muscles,
aching heart, excessive heat, dark clouds.
But to the summit I went in spite of it all.
There I was looking down at a place
on the other side of the lake
where I had met the man who helped me be whole,
helped me believe in me,
became my mirror, my anchor, my saviour.
There I was sitting in that beautiful spot
on the very day when, four years earlier,
my life had changed again -
the day when he left and never came back.
As I looked over the valley,
messages from nature were spread before me.
The sky had become blue in many places,
but there was a haze on the horizon.
The blue - the clarity I craved,
the haze – the confusion I felt so lost in.
There they were sharing the same sky.
The clouds made beautiful shadows
on the spring green valley below.
Greens that sparkled where the sun made it through,
hopefulness and sorrow sharing the same space.
Here and there in the valley were the lakes,
dark blue basins full of currents and movement.
I felt him so clearly with me that day,
remembering the bond that was forged
on the mountain, in the valley, by the lakes.
As I sat listening to the whispering of the wind
and the songs of the birds,
I felt a sense of hope, a sense of peace,
a sense of knowing that there would be other mountains to climb
and I would continue to find ways to
keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Sarah Carlson
December 17, 2006

Inner prism

At some point during this phase I started to really notice the sky in new and insightful ways. I remember being in a kayak on a nearby lake and looking straight up into a cloud that was full of motion and energy. Dark and light layers with whisps of vapor curling away. I can still see it in my mind's eye. Another memory is one of biking home along a field and looking out over a beautiful fall sunset sky with so many vivid colors hugging the hills. Then there was an evening snowshoe outing with new friends under a sky just bursting with stars and moonlight bathing the snowscape. Those experiences, combined with continued inner energy work led to the writing of this piece.

Inner Prism

Dense, jagged, penetrating blackness of fear
once consumed my core, pierced my aching heart,
took over an integral part of my being,
made me feel unsure, worthless, the reason
for all the loss and sorrow in my life.
A black whole that was so powerful, so strong -
still visits, perhaps as a reminder to make
the choice to turn toward the light, toward the marvelous
hues of healing, of goodness, of peace, of joy.
I’ve seen them, felt them, though they often dance along a
boundary long ago defined by things I could not control.
A gray, viscous boundary being challenged by the
ebbing and flowing of my searching soul, my wondering spirit.
Inner spirit that sees through eyes newly aware of
what is really there in the beauty of the natural world.
Eyes that look up to see puffy white clouds
with centers of gray swirling water vapor -
natural cinematic vision of the process of healing.
Darkness and light intermingled and entwined,
surrounded by the blue of a peaceful sky,
edges illuminated by the ever-faithful sun,
always there to provide for the silver lining.
Eyes that notice that sun set and provide a rainbow of colors,
reds, oranges, yellows, pinks that fill the sky,
spill over onto a myriad of green in the hills.
Colors of happiness, contentment, fulfillment, hope.
Kaleidoscope of color from without to within.
Eyes that see the majestic moon in a starlit sky,
and pause to look for patterns in the stars
in blackness that isn’t always quite black,
that can be soft and reassuring
when experienced in the company of good friends.
Eyes like prisms that refract and harness
those colors from without
to help overtake the inner blackness.
From without to within to conquer my fears.
darkness beaten back by the colors of light.

Sarah Carlson

December 15, 2006

My beloved river

Well, I was going to call it a night, but this next poem is just begging to be put out there, so to speak. I can actually hear it saying, "Hey, don't forget about me!" Seriously, though, this was a wonderful poem to write. I remember feeling so good after I put these words on the page. And... I'll let the poem speak for itself.

My Beloved River

My beloved river continues to speak,
teaching my being, calming my mind,
alleviating my fears, soothing my soul.
Together we unfroze, my river and I,
as the spring sun spread its light
on shimmering, solid ice that concealed the
liquid flowing beneath.
Always moving, never stopping,
finding a way through.
Great chunks of ice showed themselves
as the floodgates opened.
Chunks that harbored debris,
sticks and stones of past pain and hurt
carried away by the torrent of emotion.
Rapid currents that altered the banks,
changed the boundaries, then settled.
Warmer air turned the ice to slush,
which spoke with a quiet sureness.
Soft sounds of the hope of peace,
quiet whispers of understanding,
of moving toward a better way to be.
Yes – the river never stops.
Water in endless motion,
ebbing and flowing
like my newly freed spirit,
my still searching soul.
The river is my guide,
showing obstacles to flow around,
times of whitewater anguish,
quiet pools in which to rest,
surface sparkling in the sun
reflecting the light, the warmth.
My beloved river does speak
and reminds me to keep moving,
that there is a way through.

Sarah Carlson

December 11, 2006

Within and without

This post will include three very different poems. The first one is a piece that rhymes, which has been unusual in my poetic voice. It seems to happen when, even though the topic might be deep, there was a light-heartedness that was emerging at the same time.

One of my students gave a heart shaped rock (pictured above) to me just a few days before Barry died. I found it several weeks later in my classroom and it became something to cherish, as well as leading to my being more aware of heart rocks as I walked and processed. I have found many beautiful examples and have shared them with others over the years.

The bird connection actually began with an experience with Barry along the river, again just a few days before he died. We were there one evening with our son and two Canadian geese flew in and landed in the moonlight right near the bank where we were cooking dinner over an open fire. We had a nice talk later about what a spiritual happening that was. Since he died I have had many, many experiences seeing varied birds when I most need it - beginning with an owl that went from tree to tree as I walked along a dirt road very soon after Barry's death.

Nature Speaks

Birds and heart rocks - one up and one down.
In nature, my temple, they truly abound.
What do they tell me? Why do they appear?
If I just listen, they can lessen my fear.
Two geese on the river, moonlight all around
told us of the purity of what we had found.
They reflected our passion and helped us feel peace,
but four days later his presence did cease.
And since his passing more winged ones have shown,
making it easier to forge into the unknown.
An owl in a treetop looking down to see
if all was okay, if I knew how to be.
Bald eagles and herons on foot and in flight
urging me onward in my personal fight.
Hummingbirds, wood ducks all there to say,
keep trying, keep going, you will be okay.
And heart rocks showing themselves on a beach,
just when I feel that healing is out of my reach.
A piece of the earth made out of stone,
Yet showing that in nature one is never alone.
And so my journey continues, with more to pursue.
If I remember to keep listening I’ll know what to do.

Sarah Carlson

October 1, 2006

The next two poems are a result of truly beginning to feel my feelings. I tried so hard for so long to stuff them into a place where I could manage, but that just didn't work anymore. Through polarity, drumming, talking, writing, experiencing nature my inner world continued to change.
I think by finally allowing myself to be in 'neutral', that opened the door for the 'shift' to happen. The poem The Shift is about an experience I had when one night when I just felt so very much happening. I went to the tennis court where Barry died, felt drawn there really. And the rest is in the poem....

Neutral

Pain – I felt it and know it’s valid,
understand its causes – and its effects
on my inner being,
on my thought processes,
know that it caused
rage – I felt it and know it’s real,
understand that it is there,
that it is okay to acknowledge its presence.
It makes me restless,
but I have felt its power
and know it can fuel me.
Except right now I feel like I’m in neutral.
The engine is running, the fuel is there,
but I can’t quite get it in gear.
I am so very tired, yet energized.
I feel so uneasy, yet so sure.
Still swinging, wanting to let go, to get a new grip.
I know I am solid, yet my core is still molten.
I don’t know where I am, yet I am right here.
I don’t feel like moving, just want to rest.
Perhaps it is time to idle, to be where I am.
Let myself stay in neutral until I can harness
the energy that I once thought would do me in,
but now know can help me move solidly into me.

Sarah Carlson

November 26, 2006

The Shift

What happened?
Something did.
Something good and real and deep.
I felt unbearable pain and agonizing rage
pulsating through by body, through my being.
So I walked and I thought and I questioned.
But this time I asked productive questions as I looked into me.
What to do, where to go, how to release what has been torturing me?
And then I knew, just deeply knew.
I followed an inner wisdom that I never knew I had,
went to an unlikely place to find answers, to find peace.
I laid down, my back connected to the earth that last held my soul mate’s body.
I looked up to a starlit sky and could feel my soul ebbing, flowing,
searching for a way through, like the frozen water of my beloved river.
Felt the chill night air, yet was warmed by the molten core of my rage, my pain.
And something shifted as I tried to pray, but wasn’t sure I knew how.
Something happened as I chanted the drum strokes,
Kah-Earth, Doum-Water, Tak-Fire, Cha-Air.
Something was released as I looked to without
and asked for help to ease my torment.
My being was nurtured by the natural world around me.
My burden was lightened as I somehow let go.
My soul was caressed by the love of Barry,
of our children, of my friends and family,
of myself, of the universe.
I felt the power – within and without.
A power filled with goodness, promise, hope.
A power that does fuel me as I continue to heal.
Still struggling, but sometimes filled with peace,
still affected by fear, but sometimes moving with a solid sureness.
Yes, something did happen -
a deep shift because of a connection
within and without.

Sarah Carlson

December 3, 2006