Grateful

Meat Cove - Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia

I have revisited this picture a few times this week and, as I pedaled on my Thanksgiving bike ride, I realized why. This was taken last summer as a Freewheeling tour guide, Sada, and I headed back to Dingwall to have breakfast while a few hardy souls extended that days' ride. It was the day after an especially formidable ride over two mountains in Cape Breton Highlands National Park and I was feeling so very full and accomplished. That previous day, not only had we climbed switchback roads for mile after unrelenting mile, we also battled very strong headwinds and periods of torrential rain. Without a doubt, it was one of the most challenging days of bicycling I have ever experienced. And I loved it - every single moment of it! One of those moments will remain with me always. It was on a downhill run after the first of the two long climbs - my bike almost blew out from under me as the rain was pelting me from one side. And I laughed out loud with the realization that there was no other place that I would rather be, that I was actually right where I was supposed to be. I felt solid and strong and, though I knew I had another longer, steeper mountain to climb, I had no doubt that I could do it. Sopping wet, slightly chilled, extremely weary - I felt intrepid... and very, very grateful.

Here's a poem rooted in those sensations along with and many other wonderfully healing, enlightening and empowering experiences, both large and small, that I've had over the past several months. 

Grateful

For a heavenly body,
both separate and One.
For obstacles, eddies,
rapids and calm.
For embers, flames,
a sustaining star.
For varied breezes
and fullness of breath.
For the lightness of Love
and moments of Peace.
For chances of change,
opportunities of growth.
For expanding settledness
of inner terrain.
For courage and strength,
wisdom and wit.
For teaching and learning,
mothering and support.
For brisk bike rides
and cozy fires.
For nourishing food
and the sanctity of home.
For enjoying the company
of my very own self.
For the wonder of being -
I am
grateful.

Sarah Carlson

November 26, 2015

One Piece at a Time

Stacking wood took on a new meaning for me as I contemplated the events of Friday night. This has been a time, for me, that inner discoveries and outward connection have become increasingly clarified and solidified. Yesterday as I worked on my woodpile I felt as if my senses, my feelings were especially attuned as I allowed myself to be soothed by the repetitive motions. And this is what came:

One Piece at a Time

A chaotic jumble strewn on the ground,
one piece at a time I make order.
Blue heron soars overhead,
chainsaw whirs in the distance,
trees quake in the roaring wind
as they hold tightly to their roots.
My heart has a soft, sad ache as
I ponder the most recent act of terror.
I am grateful for my calm, cozy home
and I gently realize that all I can do is
continue to embrace the Light of Love
that flows around and through me,
send my own Love and wishes for Peace
out into the world
and keep stacking
one piece at a time.

Sarah Carlson

November 14, 2015

The Light of Love

Student's Island - Mooselookmeguntic Lake, Maine

Well, here I am more than 13 years since Barry died and I've circled around to the deep ache of missing his physical presence. The difference is that I'm okay with it. Well, for the most part anyway. It's there and I know I'm fine, but oh how I would love to have him wrap his arms around me so I could just have a cleansing cry. I've pedaled my bike, acknowledged and honored my feelings, and immersed myself in all that I know is good in my life.  But I just have been having trouble settling. I did recognize some of the energy as 'pre-writing' and so this poem has evolved over the past few days.  This is one that I know will take a little while to live my way into...

The Light of Love

He came into my life exactly
when I needed him.
And though there were many reasons not to,
 I knew enough to trust my heart and let
the Light of his Love
weave its way into my fabric.
Our lives aligned and entwined, our family grew.
Charged with the energy of Love
we encountered triumphs and trials,
joys and sorrows,
reveling in all that we shared.
No longer can he hold me or reflect my essence
with his tender, thoughtful blue eyes.
I can’t grasp his hand as
we walk, talk and ponder together.
At times I still ache for what was,
but his Love remains a part
of who I am right here, right now.
As I heal and grow,
explore and examine,
I more fully understand its omnipotence.
And in fact, the Light of Love
has been a beacon
all along my way -
before I met him and since he left.
I just needed to learn that I deserve it
as much as any other being.
I am not an outsider.
I am as in as I allow my self to be.

Sarah Carlson

November 10, 2015

Ancestral Darkness

Ancestral Darkness

I come from hardy stock,
strong, adventuresome, intelligent -
but with brokenness woven in.
Ancestral darkness was always present.
I don’t fully understand the many shards
of the despair and dysfunction
of previous generations,
and perhaps I never will.
But I always felt a nebulous, chilly energy -
an uneasiness that I couldn’t explain.
It contained palpable sadness,
family relationships that had fallen by the wayside,
and a deeply entrenched code of silence.
This ancestral darkness does not define me,
but I grew up with the confusion and instability of its effects.
All along the way the Light of Love
illuminated  my underpinnings when I needed it most,
but it was hard to relax in its warmth.
The resilience, courage, and perceptiveness
of my forbears were there, too.
So I’ve learned, adapted, expanded.
 I am grateful, optimistic, grounded.
I am growing, healing, flowing.
I can trust in my abilities to care, communicate, connect
and not worry about breaking the code.
It was theirs, not mine.
I can live in the Light,
be who I am.
It was there.
It was real.
But I don’t have to live in the shadows
of ancestral darkness
anymore.

Sarah Terry Carlson

October 25, 2015

Don't Pity Him

A very satisfied walk down the hall together
after a wonderful afternoon
Noah Carver and Sarah Carlson

Cascade Brook School

(photo by Suzanne Carver)

Last Friday - September 25, 2015 - a dream of mine came true. And it was even better than I could have ever imagined. A young friend of mine, 12 year old Noah Carver, was the guest speaker at my school. He spoke to about 60 sixth grade visitors from the Redington Community of the Mt. Blue Middle School and then to all 300 or so third, fourth and fifth graders of Cascade Brook School. His topic was the growth mindset and persistence.

I first met Noah on the slopes of Saddleback Ski Area in the spring of his second grade year when I was assigned to be his guide through Maine Adaptive Sports and Recreation. You see, Noah is blind, has been since birth. Not long after that day, as I had the privilege of getting to know Noah - his mom, Suzanne and dad, Buzz better - I knew that somehow, some way I wanted my students to meet him - my students and as many others as possible. All the stars aligned and the result was an experience that I will continue to reap benefits from as I process. I know I'm not alone in that.
One of the things that came up as we had a question and answer time was a young man who said, "I kind of feel sorry for you." Noah hesitated as he pondered what to say to that. Since I knew the student, I said quietly to Noah, "I think that was meant with kindness." And Noah responded with insight and kindness.
That evening we sat around my dining room table and had an amazing conversation, led by Noah, about the difference between pity and empathy. The following poem is a piece that came from the experiences of the day and from processing further with the Carvers.
I'm posting it with the go ahead from the Carver family.

Noah sharing his recent successful Katahdin experience                              After introducing Noah to my fourth graders

 Don’t Pity Him

His name is Noah.
He is blind,
but don’t pity him.
That would be a waste of time.
His positive energy permeates a room
and resonates with any one who
has an open, caring heart.
You can’t help but be moved
by his enthusiasm for life.

Noah is honest about the fact that
life as a blind child has its challenges,
but don’t pity him.
He doesn’t want that and, in fact,
I think it makes him feel a bit feisty.
He wants you to feel WITH him,
and it is a fantastic ride when
a person decides to
climb on board the Noah train!

So if by chance you have
the good fortune to meet Noah Carver,
please don’t pity him.
You’d miss out on the chance to
benefit from his articulate messages
of love, hope, persistence, and fun.
Take the time to empathize with him,
exploring all that is good and right
in a wonderful connection with a young man
who has so many important abilities.

And remember…
Don’t pity him.
There is no room, no need for that. 

by Sarah Carlson
written for my friend Noah Carver
as I continue to process his amazing
presentation at Cascade Brook School on
September 25, 2015

My Own Two Feet

Mt. Rainier National Park - August 2014

I just finished this piece and, as I did, I realized that I had this picture in my head from my trip last summer. 

My Own Two Feet

Taking a full, deep breath I fill my lungs with
clean, crisp air.
My experienced, yet tender feet are firmly planted
on the sweet, solid earth below.
My wide open eyes gaze upon glorious mountains
in the distance and reflective waters nearby.
Grasses sway in a gentle breeze as
wildflowers pulsate with color and happiness.
Mystical swirls of water vapor form
fair weather clouds in the radiant blue sky.
Tears begin to work their way to the surface,
representing hard work, deep exploration,
amazing shifts, residual confusion.
In this moment, though, I softly brush them  aside.
This is a time to savor, celebrate
and I can cry later.
I reach my arms out wide wanting to embrace
all that is,
all that was,
all that will be.
There’s more to do, more to know,
more to grow.
But I’m okay, we’re okay.
We’re becoming one
as we move into wholeness.
I’m standing on my own two feet,
right here,
right now,
grateful for my gifts, my life,
happy to be me.

Sarah Carlson

August 5, 2015

Have Faith

Double Rainbow - Mercer, Maine (July 2015)

Have Faith

Through life’s mountains, valleys
and mill pond moments
I know now that I’ve had faith.
Sometimes as I slogged through the muck
I do admit that I wondered.
But there has always been a
protected, pristine place within
where belief in God lay in wait.
It emerged when I needed it,
but in ways that were not always
easy to recognize due to traumas
that warped my lens, skewed my perceptions,
and twisted my spirit.

Through carefully constructed defenses
I found love, and love found me.
Messages from the sky,
woods, and flowing waters
 were delivered to me in times
of stress, despair, and loss.
I’ve battled stale learnings and vigilantly allowed
my self to set my defenses aside in order to heal.
As I tenderly look back I remember multiple times
 when I stumbled, fell or was cast aside,
but I cherish the benevolence with which
I forged ahead.
My strength, courage and compassion
have long been in play.
I  am learning to be more fully secure
in trusting my knowing.
And I know that,
both Within and Without,
I have faith.

Sarah Carlson

July 5, 2015