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| Burnt Island - June 29, 2017 |
Six years ago I took a class at the Burnt Island Education Center. I returned there for the first time since then this past week. I didn't anticipate the amount of emotion I would feel, but as I arrived I remembered that my father had been in the last stages of his life when I was there the first time. There are other things happening in my family right now that involve the process of healing. I will leave it at that, but I had an experience on my last day that evolved into this poem. We were doing a mindfulness activity at the top of the island that was centered around the topic of listening and being available to others. The presenter played a song that really touched my heart. I paid attention to my own needs, knowing I needed to step away and be by myself. I walked down a rocky path to a spot that I love just below the lighthouse. I let my thoughts and emotions ebb and flow, cried some wonderfully cleansing tears, allowed the ocean breezes to dry them from my face. As I walked back I saw this flower in the garden. I wasn't sure why, but knew I needed a picture.
Today, on what would have been my 38th wedding anniversary, I put the finishing touches on this:
Free
It wasn’t my fault that he died.
At first I thought that since our love was so deep
I somehow should have known,
should have been able to do something.
That dissipated, but the sense
that at least I could have protected
our children from the pain of losing him hung on.
For fifteen years I thought I had failed -
him and them.
But I didn’t.
I’m not that powerful.
However, the love we shared is.
I still have that and so do they,
at least for their foundation.
That’s all I can do -
love and cherish them, hope for their healing.
And I do, so very much.
But their hurts are theirs, not mine.
I have plenty of my own.
As I continue to recognize
and embrace my true self
I learn more and more the importance
of letting go, letting be.
No more will I feel responsible for the
brokenness of others
It wasn’t my fault that he died.
At first I thought that since our love was so deep
I somehow should have known,
should have been able to do something.
That dissipated, but the sense
that at least I could have protected
our children from the pain of losing him hung on.
For fifteen years I thought I had failed -
him and them.
But I didn’t.
I’m not that powerful.
However, the love we shared is.
I still have that and so do they,
at least for their foundation.
That’s all I can do -
love and cherish them, hope for their healing.
And I do, so very much.
But their hurts are theirs, not mine.
I have plenty of my own.
As I continue to recognize
and embrace my true self
I learn more and more the importance
of letting go, letting be.
No more will I feel responsible for the
brokenness of others
or believe that my needs come last.
The rest of the fabric of lies
that were woven into my childhood
that were woven into my childhood
will no longer have a place in my life.
I release their grip, my grip
and feel the softer,
more pliable and reliable protection
of Mother Love and Father Love
around and through me.
I welcome the promise of
further opening, blossoming,
stretching into my being.
I feel safe and right,
I feel worthy of love.
I feel free.
I release their grip, my grip
and feel the softer,
more pliable and reliable protection
of Mother Love and Father Love
around and through me.
I welcome the promise of
further opening, blossoming,
stretching into my being.
I feel safe and right,
I feel worthy of love.
I feel free.
Sarah Carlson
June 30, 2017
