Taking the helm

(Photo by Emma Carlson)

In the summer of 2009 I was wide open, having worked very hard to go right straight through that core of darkness that I've described before - the grief, the sorrow, the hurt. I was all the way in and was quite vulnerable. In looking back I remember knowing I had made it in and that I didn't want to stay very long. I knew it was right to have done the work, but it was somewhat difficult to go through this particular phase. So I have been reluctant to share these poems, but at the same time I think they are important. I think it's time to share them because I clearly know that I am not there anymore and the difficulties that I experienced do not fully define me, they are just a part of my life and I did the very best I could all along the way. I didn't do anything wrong, I just did the best I could - and I do believe now that my best was, for the most part, pretty darn good.
So... big gulp... here are two that show how disorienting some of this all was, but again how each and every time I wrote hope somehow wove it's way into my words.

Inner Compass

The disrobing happened,
the shroud dispersed
in soft folds near my feet.
I’m here in my skin,
heart peacefully beating.
but now I am exposed.
I’ve tested the waters of
newness before,
even set sail for a bit,
yet I’ve never been quite
able to trust my inner compass
to truly show me the way.
Now the person that he saw all along,
is becoming visible to me
as I twist the lens on my self.
I feel his knowing
in my growing,
in my own deep recognition of me.
My inner compass has served me
well in many ways,
but there are further adjustments needed
that only I can make.
The sense of having traveled far,
of coming home again,
is very present.
I’m slightly disoriented,
and will still need some help,
but I know I will get my bearings
as I wrap myself in the
light and airy
tapestry of discovery and realization
and take the helm
of this vessel that is me.

Sarah Carlson

August 7, 2009

Dead in the Water

Okay, so I’ve taken the helm,
but I can’t seem to actually steer.
I hear the wind blowing,
see the sun in the
omnipresent blue sky.
Yet, today I’m dead in the water,
becalmed
once again by grief and loneliness.
I have a destination in mind,
but I can’t seem to move in that direction.
The tears are flowing,
my very own tears,
because I want to share with someone.
Is that wrong?
I don’t know, I really don’t know.
I paddle, pedal, eat, walk, contemplate
so often by myself.
I know I am able,
but I’m tired of being alone,
of wondering if my phone
might ring so I can hear
a human voice and interact
with someone who cares
about me.
I have worked hard to
understand that I fit in me as I am,
but I still feel vulnerable,
dead in the water,
though I have taken the helm.
I can’t help but wonder,
Now what?
Where do I go now?
Why, at times, do I still feel so alone?

Sarah Carlson

August 8, 2009