Blossoming

Blossoming

Tiny one lays on her back,
wide open to the newness
of the world around her.
All she really needs is sustenance,
tenderness, the security
of a sense of place.
She exudes the joy of living
just by being herself.
But every so often
something is off,
not quite right.
Her beautiful being tenses
as she cries out,
looks toward the one
who might offer solace.
But it’s not there
and so she begins to master
the tucking away of suffering.
Now,
so many years later,
she can still feel
the deep, stale discomfort of
the missing
and the hiding.
But she also again recognizes
opportunity to unlearn and relearn,
orient to a source of love
that is boundless,
trustworthy,
and true.
She closes her eyes,
carefully lays open once again
as, bit by bit,
 that antiquated source of fear and pain
fades into the distance,
softening as it goes.
Her focus shifts to
the grace and haven of
blossoming.

Sarah Carlson

October 23, 2018

Autumn Afternoon

View from Fairbanks Bridge, Farmington, ME

In late September I did a presentation of my poetry at the Rangeley Public Library. This was a special spot for me because Barry and I met in Rangeley in 1975. After my reading I went out to dinner at a restaurant called Forks in the Air (a name Barry would have loved). I was feeling many things - excitement, accomplishment, relief, gratitude, and so on. I decided to have a libation and perused the choices. And... there it was, right there on the menu - Rogue Dead Guy (a malty ale from the Rogue Brewery in Oregon). I thoroughly enjoyed it - the taste, the serendipity, the dry humor that Barry would also have loved. In this case I think of 'rogue' as a person full of mischief, one who breaks away from norms and does things his/her own way. It was perfect. I knew a poem would eventually come. It started on Tuesday after an osteopathic treatment (and after Coming Undone) and came to fullness after I took this picture and played with the abecedarius form.

Autumn Afternoon

(abecedarius)

Autumn afternoon pedaling on my trusty
bike. Blustery winds blow some rain in, but I don’t
care. I’m in the rhythm of riding as varied thoughts
dance through my mind.
Eventually you enter and, as always, I’m grateful that you
find your way in. It has become a 
gentle sense of joining as I work to
harness the shifting energies of healing, the
intricate undertones and sometimes bewildering
juxtaposition of openness and boundaries. The
kinesthetic nature of pedaling
leads to connections of heart and
mind. As my gears hum I
notice my health and feel grateful, not
only for when we were us in the flesh, but also for sensations of your
presence now. I pause on the bridge near our home, smile with knowing that my
quirky
rogue dead guy continues to show up, sometimes murky and other times clear,
sensations of love shared always present. I’ve had some
trying times lately, have had to strive to
understand. It’s been a bit painful, really, but with
visceral relief distinctly present. I have more
work to do, but it’s actually
exhilarating to be here right now, in me. I continue to honor
your love as I let my
zeal out into the light of day and decide what reflections I want to let in.

Sarah Carlson

October 13, 2018

Coming Undone

Coming Undone

It’s coming undone
and I’m so glad.
The tether that kept me bound
to a multi-layered,
completely false sense of responsibility
is frayed and tattered,
only has a few tired strands left.
I’m somewhat in awe
at how well I’ve navigated
all this time with that faulty anchor
impeding my currents.
What a heavy load,
fastened before I knew any better.
At times it is crystal clear
when someone wrongly tries to process
their own stuff through me.
In some ways I seem to be
a bit of a magnet for that.
But, I no longer accept that position
and I’m getting better
 at kindly and gently
fending it off.
It’s the subtle times,
when others almost seem devious
in their attempts to pass the buck,
that still drag me down.
I don’t always catch it
as deep sediments get stirred and
that which reflects back 
seems murky and muddled,
doesn’t match what I know to be true.
Eventually, though, I figure it out,
acknowledge another opportunity to mend.
These last strands,
the inner weave of the tether,
may take more time to let go.
Or, not.
Either way is fine.
I’m just profoundly grateful that it’s
coming undone.

Sarah Carlson

October 9, 2018