The Power of Quiet

The Power of Quiet

There’s a quiet to being a widow
that is like no other.
At times it involves a deep craving
to share life experiences with
the one who knew you best.
I believe in continued connection
and I treasure those times when
his love shines through.
Whether a sighting in nature,
words that wend through my mind and onto paper,
or simply a sensation beyond explanation,
I do know he’s still there.
Through my writing I talk and process and heal.
I didn’t mean for this to happen.
It just did.
Recently I realized that without the aspect of stillness
poems such as this would not have come to be.
This understanding is so important for my process
because usually there is very little talking back.
I put some of my musings out into the world
and, for the most part,
don’t really know where they go
or what effect they have.
I found that confusing for a time,
but now I can view it as similar
to stopping in my tracks
during a ski on a frozen lake
to breathe and be.
I was alone, but not.
All was still, but not.
There was silence, but not.
Friends skied ahead or rested in cabins.
Clouds drifted overhead, water moved beneath my feet.
My steady breath and the constant breeze 
synchronized into a symphony.
Though responses are always welcome,
yearnings and loneliness will still visit,
I can honestly say that I’m grateful
for the power of quiet.

Sarah Carlson

February 27, 2019

Onward We Flow

Onward We Flow

As things open and a new flow ensues
there can be a gentle discomfort,
a feeling of tender vulnerability.
It’s about a shift away from susceptibility
to that which used to cause hurt.
Emergence and conclusion happening,
sometimes separately,
but more often at once.
A sense of disturbance
may be present,
but is accompanied by
a flourishing appreciation of self
and a differentiation from difficulties.
You realize that problems are not of you,
do not define you,
and there’s a lovely freedom to
choose how and when to react.
This notion is deeply empowering and,
 for one who is used to being hurt,
takes some time for adjustment.
Deeper and stronger, though,
is a continually expanding sense
of no longer being victimized,
of trusting in who you are
in any given moment.
Unease, insight, and freedom
often travel together,
especially when you
welcome them aboard.
So, like burbling water
 in the depth of winter,
onward we flow
together.

Sarah Carlson

February 26, 2019

Reminder From a Winter Sky

Cabin 8 at Gorman Chairback AMC Lodge

Reminder From a Winter Sky

Octagonal cabin sits by
quiet, frozen waters.
Sun slips behind a tranquil horizon
as friends gather together
in a temporary home.
Conversations ebb and flow,
like the ongoing movement beneath the ice.
Laughter, connection, depth and delight
course in and around the lively group
as life stories merge and mingle.
Stars and moon
saturate the darkening sky,
weary skiers rejuvenate and rest.
Night dwindles, morning expands.
Waning moon slowly recedes
as sunlight bathes the opposite shore.
Humans awaken to a brand new day,
ready for another ski adventure
with ample opportunities
to breathe the forest air,
soak in the warmth of the sun,
stretch physical limits.

This skier ponders the way the moon
waxes and wanes
as her energy does the same
on the ski out.
Without one there would not be the other
and there is beauty in all the phases.
She knows to simply allow fatigue
and be thankful for hardiness within.
With that comes a sense of accomplishment,
a freshening of spirit,
 and her stride strengthens once again.
Such a lovely reminder from a winter sky –
just as night gives way to morning,
so does waning lead to
novelty, growth, and fullness.

Sarah Carlson

February 24, 2019

Love You Still

Love You Still

Dear sweet Sarah T.,
I’m here and I
love you still.
I am in awe of all you have done
since I died,
though I’m not surprised in the least.
Your courage and grit,
combined with such gentle compassion,
are part of what drew me to you
along the shores of Saddleback Lake
during that magical summer of 1975.
I saw it, felt it in the

 twinkle of your eyes,
 set of your chin,
 warmth of your smile,
 rhythm of your words.
It was in the way you
pounded tennis balls,
carved a turn,
mothered our children,
loved them and me.
We had a good run
you and I,
but because I left when I did,
how I did,
you’ve had to work hard to recover.
You barely had time to grieve
as so many challenges
and changes happened at once.
I know it’s part of you to be a giver.
But, now you know
it’s also good and right to receive.
So yes, sweet Sarah, go on and
breathe deep the gathering bloom.
Do that not once,
but over and over and over again.
Do what you need to do
in any way that you choose.
It really is okay.
Feel what you feel –
little you, big you,
every space and place within.
Thaw, flow, rest, and recoup.
Honor your graceful gems, allow them
to glisten and gleam in the light of day.
Feel the joys of being you and
always, always remember that I
love you still,
Barry Q. Carlson

Sarah Carlson

February 20, 2019

My Best Life Without You

 

My Best Life Without You

How is it that sometimes I miss you
more than ever before?
A deep missing that involves my
newly breached underpinnings.
Is it because you knew,
you saw those places?
Or maybe it’s because I’m older now,
 not sure just where
I’m going next.
I don’t know if staying in this house
you so loved is good for me.
It’s showing its age and needs some repair.
Maybe that’s part of the missing, too.
I’m not sure what to do,
how to make the foundation strong again
and deal with the other issues it presents.
I can’t seem to keep it warm enough
 this winter, either.
Perhaps being cold makes me
feel more alone.
I even wonder if it’s because the
world now is just so different,
more troubling.
At times things are so clear and
I feel like I just know.
You died,
I’m still here.
I have intrepidly explored, adjusted,
grown stronger and wiser even.
Then there are those ambiguous times
where I feel murky and unsure.
The juxtaposition of the two
 makes me feel tired all the way
down to the depths of my soul.
I don’t experience it as good or bad,
just challenging and true,
part of the whole picture –
both close to home
and in the wider world.
I miss the sense of being in tandem
as we dealt with what came our way.
Soulmates we were, are.
So, that must be it.
I can finally be at peace
with missing you with my entire being.
I imagine in doing that
I can more heartily live
my best life without you.

Sarah Carlson

February 19, 2019

Ethereal Moments

Ethereal Moments

Winter storm lays a blanket of
  fluffy, puffy snow
on the sparkling ground.
Three women meet at a trailhead,
two ending their ski,
one just beginning.
A gentle conversation emerges
as they gaze above,
in awe of the way
 velvety clouds
stretch and drift,
 muted colors gently pulsating
in the layers of droplets.
They talk of love and loss,
grace and gain,
chance and change.
So often it’s hard to make sense
of that which happens to us,
around us.
We can get cluttered by
worry and wonder,
care and concern.
And then there are those moments
when you know you are
in the right place,
at the right time.
You can look to the trees
and clouds and waters,
into the eyes of the humans
who share
and let the meaning be
whatever you want it to be.
Ethereal moments of
natural connection
when you can simply
 sigh,
 settle,
and savor.

Sarah Carlson

February 14, 2019

Dear Me,

Dear Me,

It’s okay.
Feel what you feel,
right here, right now.
It’s not wrong, ever.
You’ve carried the pain of others
long enough.
So long that it was
lodged deep within,
had to be excavated
and explored.
That’s why it’s been so much work
and the sensations are stale
 when it surfaces and loosens.
Why you feel such a mixture of
 frozen and flowy,
confused and clear,
powerless and powerful.
You’ve done it,
exposed the roots of that
which was imposed.
It’s not your pain,
never should have been.
and it’s okay to
cry it away,
breathe deep the beauty
of who you are,
let yourself fully unfurl.
You are not hurting anyone,
need not feel beholden,
in allowing this to happen.
It’s safe and right
and richly deserved
for you to be free
from that particular suffering.
I know it can be scary
and you are still wary of being wrong
when these truths shine through.
That’s a tendril of the trauma, though.
You know that now.
It’s part of your blossoming to
let it go,
let it flow
away.
Love doesn’t hurt,
so let go the pain.
Cry your cleansing tears,
smile your lovely smile,
and be you.

With love,

Sarah Carlson

February 12, 2019