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