Go There

Go There

Don’t go there -
worst advice ever.
At least it was for me.
In truth,
it became vital to go into
that which was causing my dis-ease.
You can wrap it up,
store it away,
deny its existence.
But there IS there,
will continue to be.
It’s not easy to take the leap,
plunge on in.
It can’t really be done alone,
so you’ll have to ask for help.
You’ll need support and love,
but when the time is right,
when you hear the call or
feel the tug,
go there.
You’ll learn and grow,
gather what is necessary,
enabling you to take
what there has to teach
and utilize it for good.
Over time you will discover
slivers of understanding,
shards of insight,
specks of wisdom
that, together,
provide illumination and peace.
There has virtues all its own
that will mingle and mesh with
here and now
revealing the beauty
of a familiar landscape
anew.
So go there -
wander and wonder,
explore and examine,
and in time,
restore and recover.

Sarah Carlson

April 24, 2018

Heartened

This is a re-worked version of a poem that I wrote 11 years ago. When I put the book together it didn't make the cut, though I liked how I played with the word. The memory of it came up for me after a recent osteopathic treatment and I realized that so much of my work has been to move away from that sense of threat. I don't think I was comfortable with sharing the poem because that sense was still in play. I'm deeply grateful to feel that fundamentally incorrect notion slipping and sliding away... for good.

Heartened
(Take Away the T and move the R)

Threatened.
That’s what I felt for much
of my life.
Not just fear, but threat –
here, there, everywhere,
ready to pounce at any opportunity.
It had long been lurking,
creeping around the deep recesses of me,
keeping some parts of me captive.
In my healing I have gleaned some
understanding of the varied reasons
as to why and how that happened.
I know those multiple causes
were anchored to diverse stanchions.
As my mind has opened to
novel ways of thinking,
my heart to new ways of feeling,
my spirit to unique ways of expanding,
I can see and feel that,
in truth,
I should be heartened
by what I have accomplished,
how I have lived.
I can safely honor
my generosity, wit, and resilience.
So I think I’ll just
take away the t and move the r,
change feeling threatened
to being heartened
in the multi-hued,
softened moments of the
here and now.

Sarah Carlson

April 11, 2018

Right to Doubt

I went to a writing workshop this past weekend that was put on by the Maine Writing Project. The guest speaker was Gary Lawless, poet and owner of Gulf of Maine Books. Near the end of his amazing talk he asked us to write to the prompt of - what does 'pilgrimage' mean to you? 

This is what came for me as I pondered that topic:

 

Right to Doubt

Imposing man in long white robes
compels somber people
to kneel, stand, speak, sing,
be quiet.
No apparent rhyme or reason
to the messages,
as they all seem based in threat.
Every so often he comes out
from behind what keeps him separate
and swings a smoky, smelly canister.
Rosy-cheeked girl
holds a hymnal in her gloved hand,
swings her Mary Jane clad feet
as she looks, listens, smells,
 strains to understand.
Despite her efforts,
she only fully takes in fear.
“Why?” she wonders.
“Don’t they see, hear,
feel the truth?”
Her little stomach churns
as she squirms in the pew.
Years pass
and still she wonders, fears.
But she instinctively also
knows to embrace the good and,
 as a young adult,
she finds unconditional love.
Together they thrive,
through thick and thin.
And then, one day he is gone.
Broken-hearted, she carries on –
eventually heeds the tug,
embarks on a journey within.
Her trek is long and arduous,
though much is discovered along the way.
She’s grateful she knew to take the plunge
as she finds places of flowing,
of growing and knowing
on which she is continually
learning to rely.
She cuddles her little one,
who had every right to doubt
the missives of that scary place.
As time goes on she is
better able to rest easy,
digest the awareness that
it’s right to release,
right to trust,
right to commune,
right to
not feel wrong.

Sarah Carlson

April 7, 2018

Godwink

Godwink

Softly, subtly,
sometimes sidled with
stale achiness,
pieces rearrange, find newness
within her sweet, solid structure.
Now and then mild confusion
accompanies this realignment.
She simply notices,
acknowledges,
turns to faith.
She’s ready and willing
to allow and accept as
she knows her existence
is true.
Profound moments of
sublime serendipity
present themselves along the way.
She knows to immerse,
let them soak into her being,
cleanse and aid in healing.
Pensive, tender face of a young boy
as he shares a deep sorrow and his
own moments of healing.
Joyful energy of adult offspring
swooping down the slopes
of a beloved mountain.
Depth of sensitivity as a blind friend
raises his voice in song, adding to
the beauty of an Easter sunrise
on that same mountain.
 Perfect punctuation of that celebration
as a contrail gleams in the rising sun,
dark clouds parting.
Not-so-random conversation
with a genial couple celebrating
an anniversary,
speaking of love and connection,
children now grown,
teaching and learning,
and the birth of a book.
“We’re all supposed to be here
right now,” says the woman.
“This is a Godwink.”
This poet quietly smiles
and agrees.

Sarah Carlson

April 3, 2018