The Vast Reaches of You

 The Vast Reaches of You

Engage in healing.
Lean into the truth
that surrounds,
permeates,
radiates.
Suspend in an expansive,
lively sea of love
as you disengage from the effects
of times and spaces
that were devoid of light.
Disempower them.
Let their tensions
loosen and release.
Rest in quiet currents
that support you gently
as you mend.
Allow your pieces
to rearrange as they will.
Let go the need
to direct.
Feel the fullness of your vigor,
the gleaming nature of you –
no longer dimmed
by impositions
that were not,
are not,
never should have been
yours.
Honor all you have learned
from that which was dark
and the related shades of gray.
Look to the sky as
you feel your Health widen
more and more and more.
Stretch surely and steadily
 into the vast reaches of you.

Sarah Carlson
December 24, 2020

Solstice in the Wings

 Solstice in the Wings

I feel the presence of your love,
though your absence
can be very large still.
Perhaps it’s the many
challenges and changes
I’ve had to process
in the past several months
that has me missing you anew.
I walk to our river,
fill with memories
of the four of us
frolicking there
in every season.
A gentle combination
of sadness and hope
swirls and settles
as I realize
they have been
consistent companions
since your death,
hope usually the stronger
of the two.
As I return home,
I raise my eyes
 to a crescent moon
cradled by branches
of a tree we planted together
when we first moved in.
Waxing and setting in the gloaming
with the Solstice in the wings.
Well, there it is…
Hope, Love,
and the promise of Light
 win the day,
even in the uncertainty and isolation
of a global pandemic.

Sarah Carlson
December 18, 2020

Slow Motion

 Slow Motion

Fissures, formed long ago,
crack more deeply
by forces of nature and
perhaps a
concussive blow.
Jagged pieces break loose,
tumble downward,
drop into streaming waters
that rise and fall
again and again.
The undeniable energy
of whitewater wildness
provides movement
and transformation.
Gentle waters allow for respite
and recovery
with varied escapades
along the way.
This trajectory is both universal
and unique
as wounding, weathering,
wellness flow.
And,
like sand on a sunny beach,
sometimes you just need
to sit for a bit,
allow for light to
             surround,
                        reflect,
                                        emanate.
Feel inherent Divinity
in the stillness,
let motion come
as it may.

Sarah Carlson
December 14, 2020

In the Waning

 In the Waning

I awaken.
A soft blue sky
beckons
and I step out
 into the clear, crisp air.
I breathe,
feel my self realign
and rebalance yet again.
There is an emptiness,
but it’s not fully hollow.
In fact,
there’s promise there.
I gaze to the horizon,
 then higher.
The waning moon,
on its way to set,
is tickled by
bare branches
of sleepy treetops
bathed in the widening
morning light.
Ah, there it is…
in the waning,
there is widening
with plenty of light present
 and in phases to come.
They will be as they are
and I can be
as I am.
Thank you Moon.
Thank you Sun.
I understand.

Sarah Carlson
December 4, 2020

Short Reading from In the Currents of Quiet

 Looking for new ways to promote my newest book, In the Currents of Quiet.

Available at the following bookstores:

Twice Sold Tales and

Devaney Doak and Garrett Booksellers in Farmington, ME

Oliver and Friends in Belgrade, ME

Gulf of Maine Books in Brunswick, ME

Sherman's Maine Coast Book Shops in Freeport, Bar Harbor, Damariscotta, Portland, and Boothbay Harbor, ME

Books, Lines and Thinkers in Rangeley, ME

White Birch Books in North Conway, NH

 

For online orders click the book to the right.

Years and Years of Tears

 

Years and Years of Tears

And so they come
from deep down in my depths.
I know it’s healthy
to allow them to flow,
though some of them
have powerful currents
of anger
and I feel a bit afraid
of their fierceness.
I’m home alone,
though I believe
that the Divine is here
and there
and everywhere.
Trusting in the
pure benevolence
of that connection
 is still fairly new,
especially in moments
of releasing indignation.
But the time is right,
 conditions oddly favorable,
for years and years of tears
to overflow my tender heart.
And so I will do my best
to allow them without fear.
Anticipating the cleansing,
even now I look
for the light that I know
will eventually show.
I can feel my healing,
but this is hard …
and right now
 it hurts.

Sarah Carlson
November 25, 2020

 

Upheld

Adding the photo that inspired the poem

 

This poem surfaced several days ago. I've been sitting with it and the more I do, the more I feel its many meanings, its power and love. It was inspired by one thing, but taps so very much. 

I usually post my poems with the picture that inspires them or that I later realize is connected to their meaning. But this one just has so many connections. And, this morning I realized I needed it to be out in my home space. So, here's a pic of the one I wrote for me.

I'm so grateful to have had a loving husband and to have raised two amazing children with him. I'm grateful for how I somehow found his death a catalyst to explore my inner workings.   

And so this Thanksgiving day I share this piece along with some of the many things I am thankful for - my being, my healing, my family and friends, my students, my home, my gifts and the courage to share. 

Here it is... with love.

Upheld

Your wholesome body curls
against my chest,
warms my heart with memories
of nurturing and loving and
mothering.
This time of holding,
beginning to know you,
is fresh, clear,
has no tangles.
It contains a pleasant,
fizzy energy of
            transition,
                    connection,
                                unbridled love.
As if your heart and mine
meld together,
though our uniqueness is
distinct and true.
You, so tiny and pristine.
Me, more weathered
 with freshness of my own.
This mingled newness
liberates feelings that are
 almost beyond words.
I am upheld
                as I uphold.
And it’s beautiful.

Sarah Carlson
November 17, 2020

Even a Little Bit of Light

 Even a Little Bit of Light

Some of us have a hefty share
of trying times.
For the most part,
there’s no real
 rhyme or reason
to that.
It just is as it is.
Loss and times of grief
are simply part of being human.
And, when you live and love deeply,
there are just so very many feels
betwixt and between.
As I’ve worked my way in
and around and through the
effects of my own dark times,
I can recognize
that I have this amazing way
of finding the good,
orienting to hope,
 eventually finding
even a little bit of light
no matter how dark
it may be.
I feel so very grateful
that I know this
about me.
It’s an essential
part of my inner embers
that I need to kindle
right now.
I can do that for me.

Sarah Carlson
November 23, 2020

Widen

Widen

She looks closely,
so closely,
trying to find her way in,
                                            out,
                                    around,
                        and through.
When she loses her bearings,
feels adrift,
she knows the importance
of remembering
to raise her gaze
to the horizon,
let her vision
 be less and less
skewed by the lenses
of those who would
 not fully see.
Eventually her eyes refocus,
currents shift,
heart opens even more.
The buzzing energy
of imposed tension
dwindles
 as the fuzzy warmth
of boundless love
widens.
Her shoulders straighten,
breath comes easily,
gaze drifts ever higher.
Eyes to the sky,
she smiles and
widens, too.

Sarah Carlson
November 21, 2020

The Adventure of Being Human

 The Adventure of Being Human

Mountains, though ever changing,
stand strong in the distance –
their peaks and slopes
repositories for cherished memories
 and the promise of future escapades.
A soft evening sky
reflects in seemingly quiet waters,
causes us to, as well.
Peaceful beauty
simply
there for us to behold
together,
though well we know
the movement of fathoms,
each with our own deeps
that can stir and swirl.
Moments such as these
along the shore of a silver lake
help us once again understand
the validity and substance
of the spectrum
from sorrow to joy,
despair to love,
grief to faith
in shared Divinity.
All of these and the
 in betweens,
integral elements
in the adventure
of being human.

Sarah Carlson

November 11, 2020

My Brother's Stone

 My Brother’s Stone

In this place where
five generations rest,
our parents’ newly set stones
 right by yours more weathered,
I sit and sigh and cry.
They are mine,
these tears,
though I cry for them,
 for you,
for what just could not be.
As time goes by, though,
they alter and lighten,
as though compassion
overflows my heart,
wraps me in
my own tenderness.
I raise my gaze
to the leaves of autumn
that sparkle
against a brilliant blue sky.
My shoulders relax,
heart settles,
spirit widens once again.
I rise from this perch
on my brother’s stone,
move forward into my life,
carrying with me the love
we share
with less and less
 despair.

Sarah Carlson
October 15, 2020

Peace in the Pieces

 

Peace in the Pieces

Healing takes time
    patience,
        courage,
            support,
                 trust.
It is both easy and difficult,
pleasurable and painful,
simple and complex,
quick and slow.
Most importantly,
healing is truly revealing.

Like a multi-layered blossom
that has been ready and waiting
for a moment that is right,
when petals can open, stretch,
reach for the sun
without constraint.
Each one beautiful on its own,
even those with blemishes
or damage of any kind.
They all bond together
to create a truly miraculous whole.
This sense of opening leads to
appreciation for one’s own bedrock
though fissures and detritus
 are present.
Rooted,
like that blossom,
one can open, stretch,
breathe,
 gaze to reflective waters
rippled by soft winds in the
waning colors of dusk
and smile at the discovery
of peace
in the pieces…
each and every one of them
that make a body whole.

Sarah Carlson
October 9, 2020

Deep Simplicity

Deep Simplicity

All the way in,
you are there,
have always been.
I join you along the shores
of our serene lake.
We sit together as one,
realigning in full and novel ways
as ravels release once again.
I settle into our
comfortable connection,
feel the sturdiness of my craft.
 That which once held fast,
gripped hard,
            pulled tightly
                                tenderly ripples away
                                        in currents of quiet.
I breathe
                 and stretch
                    and fill.
    I drift
                         without care
                                or concern.
I feel a happy glow
                 as I recognize the
                            deep simplicity of
                                         resting in the love
                                            that is you,
                                                            that is me.

Sarah Carlson

September 23, 2020

Spread Your Light

 

Spread Your Light


You are amazing.
You stand
splendid and strong,
rooted and reliable,
majestic and magical.
You weather so much,
shed layers when necessary,
let debris tumble or slide away
and land where it may.
Sometimes storms ravage,
other times rains gently cleanse.
You are simply in
whatever is.
Best of all,
you quietly allow light
to enfold your nooks and crannies,
embrace every part of your
uniqueness.
At the very same time,
you spread your light,
the beauty of you,
 to all who take time
 to behold
and reflect.
A stately, steady reminder
 to allow the light in,
let the light out,
enjoy moments when
 the circuit
is complete.

Sarah Carlson

September 11, 2020

A Subtle Shift

 Though I don't know what it's like to be in a pandemic with someone at my side, I think it's important to recognize how tiring and stressful it can be to do it mostly alone. For me, it's the recognition of moments like the ones below that make a difference in being able to continue to find my way through this odd time. Thank you to anyone who finds their way here for a look and a listen. And - if you know people who do live alone, don't hesitate to just give a call and hang out for a bit...:)

A Subtle Shift

With deep, clear breaths
there’s the potential to slide into
a slightly different tempo.
A subtle shift
that can feel so very good.
Like pedaling up a steep incline,
reaching a tableland,
slipping into that just-right gear
for cruising with easy freedom.
Or walking on a sunny beach
accompanied by ocean rhythms,
salty breezes,
playful shadow,
whole body smile
on board.
Or playing with words on a page
as a means to reflect,
transmute
wounds to wellness
concussive jolts to life lessons,
trauma to benefit.
Deep breaths
again and again and again
whenever, wherever there is a need.
Reminders to appreciate
the pauses that present,
gratefully gather
the pleasure of such moments that,
even in the tension
of experiencing a pandemic
largely solo,
are there for one
to behold.
 

Sarah Carlson

August 28, 2020

Ocean Dance

Ocean Dance

Feet sink into soft sand
 partnered with a sense of solidity.
Slowly she scans the ocean,
allows her body to suspend
in its salty embrace.
Every part of her held,
  awareness wide,
she is at once
 here, there,
 everywhere.
She surveys the surface
more closely,
watches the interplay
 of wind and waves and light,
gently adjusts
to the cadence of immersion.
At times she ducks her head,
dives into the cresting whiteness.
At others she turns her back,
braces for impact,
embodies her innate strength and wisdom.
During the in-betweens
she relaxes ever more deeply into grace,
enjoys the absence of fear.
Soaking in the Divinity of it all,
she turns herself over to
the healing power
of this salty dance,
frolics with a fresh, vibrant
awareness of inclusion.
 

Sarah Carlson

August 26, 2020

Thank You ...

Thank You…

Hummingbird hovers by my kitchen window
as I attend to multi-faceted details
of my mother’s estate.
I smile, unease settles
with remembering how she loved to
feed the birds in Waterville, at Sugarloaf,
 by the lake.
Thank you, Mom.
Dragonfly lands next to my hand
as I rest by a rock
 during a morning swim,
Memories stir of learning to row, sail,
navigate Great Pond
from my father,
dragonflies our welcome companions.
Thank you, Dad.
Morning breeze wafts through a window,
caresses my face
in moments of healing.
The same room where I noticed the breeze
and listened to the contented breath
of my soulmate
that last morning so long ago.
Thank you, Barry.
Sureness strengthens as I walk away
from my childhood home
without any need to look back.
I can hear my brother’s words,
“It’s not yours to carry, Sarah.
It’s okay.
 Let go.”
Thank you, Geof.
Serendipitous winged one
visits near my deck.
I’m distracted, but Hawk makes sure
that I look up,
appreciate such moments
as I more and more let go fears
that were not, are not mine.
It is safe and good and right
to feel the fullness of me,
the divine nature of breath.
Thank you, Hawk.
Thank you…

Sarah Carlson

August 21, 2020

The Closing, The Opening

 

This is a gift from a kindhearted, sensitive, deep thinking student of a few years back. It's one that I cherish and that helped me in processing what I write about below. I again write with deep empathy for all who are in the field of education right now and with gratitude that I could step out, take a pause.

 

The Closing, The Opening

The best teachers teach from the heart.
I know that to be true and now,
as I adjust to retirement,
I can more clearly
honor that within myself.
Not only did I teach from there,
I live from there, too.
Most teachers I know do.
We are not just bodies in a room,
though it seems, especially now,
that can be how we are treated, thought of.
Yesterday I closed on the sale
of my childhood home.
After the closing I went to order
a headstone for my mom
that will match the Veteran’s stone
that my dad wanted for his grave.
The love of a daughter,
of this human,
was front and center all day long.
And that love, included me.
When I returned to my own home,
my place of refuge,
I was greeted with
what felt like a coldhearted letter
from the school district
where I have worked for over 30 years.
It informed me that my retirement letter,
written with care several weeks ago,
had been received,
with reminders to make sure
I turn in any school property
(which I already had),
and that my school email
will be deactivated so I should
‘plan accordingly’.
I will admit that I had
 fleeting moments of sadness,
which were gently replaced by
 gratitude for my ability to teach,
recognition of my giving and receiving,
peace with my decision.
The closing of a home,
the closing of a career,
the opening of possibilities,
to places and spaces where I will not be
just a body in a room.
Thank you, Sarah,
for teaching from your heart.
 

Sarah Carlson

August 15, 2020

 

Pause

 

I feel so grateful to be in a place, at a time in my life where I can choose to step back and away from the world of education. But, it's not at all an easy thing to do for one who truly loves to teach. One of the things that has crystallized for me is how very empathetic I am by nature. I'm feeling so much for all those I do know, all those I don't, who are struggling with what is happening in and about schools right now. 

For me, experiencing remote learning largely solo was tough... and exciting. It was a time when it seemed like education could change. A time when we could have reevaluated, re-imagined, reworked. Through those difficult days ran threads of hope and promise. Amazing things happened that could have been celebrated and woven into how to move ahead. And, perhaps that will still happen. I tend to be one who hangs on to hope. But, it feels to me as if it's more that educators are being asked to revert to all that was and try to make this totally new and extremely challenging situation fit into the structures that were. It is so very troubling that opportunities are being lost due to that having to try and fit. This is not meant to cast blame. I just feel the need to put voice to what it has been like to be in the trenches from one who just climbed out.

A month or so into it all, my mother died. My story is just one among many of educators who dealt with personal challenges while finding new and creative ways to stay connected or reconnect with our students. That should be celebrated, too.

I wish the world of education could have reaped the benefits of the powerful pause that was thrust upon us. And right now, I just needed to write this as a reminder... to allow comfort with the pause that I chose for my self.

 

Pause 

 

Smooth waters slide
softly along her body
as a morning swim
revitalizes her being.
Genial clouds roll across familiar hills,
reflect in the pristine lake
that holds her body afloat.
She welcomes the enlivening
brought about by
physical momentum
in such a beautiful place.
At the very same time
she notices an underlying fatigue
that wends its way in

without clear patterns.
A sort of fuzziness
within which she can’t seem
to find clarity.
She takes a breath,
settles in once again
to the in-between.
Ah, there it is –
the suspension,
the pause.
Right there, right then
she gets it.
She doesn’t have to know
why or when or how or what.
She can miss their presence,

  feel whatever goes along with that.
She can honor her own courage
and tenacity and accomplishment.
She can allow guilt
 and wrongness and doubt
to let go.
She can and should simply,
at least for now,
 let the pause be.

Sarah Carlson

August 11, 2020

In the Depths of You

I took this picture on July 1, 2020. I remember that because it was the day after what would have been my 41st wedding anniversary. It was also the day after my childhood home was listed for sale.

Taken during a morning swim when the sky opened up, I remember that I got the giggles because the up-drops tickled my nose. I also felt a sense of connection, which I often get when I'm near or in water. Delight, peace, oneness, and gratitude all at once.

Later that day I crashed on that slippery bridge while mountain biking and, though definitely improving, I'm still recovering. I think back to that day often as it contained so much and, truly, the time on the bridge and all I've learned from it has been life changing... including making the very difficult decision to retire from teaching.

I heard two important ideas this week as part of my healing. One came from my osteopath and the other from my spiritual director. They are the idea of inherent Divinity and the fact that some of my early childhood experiences, especially in church, were like concussions to my soul. And, my recent concussion is teaching me that it truly does take time to heal and that rest is important. I'm so used to forging ahead. Though I'm still adjusting, it does feel good to have the time to rest.

This piece is from me to me. Good ol' Coach Carlson kicking in. But, maybe readers will find their own coaching within the message.

In the Depths of You

You’re no stranger to grief.
Widowed at 45,
you’ve slowly adjusted to that shock
 with both grit and grace.
Maybe you wish you’d done a few things differently
after he died,
but that’s because you now have the wisdom
that comes with being 63
and from exploring your inner landscape,
courage, vigor, hope
ever present.
You thought you had mourned the loss
of your only brother so very long ago
and your father after that.
You understand the reasons
why there’s more to do
because now you’ve lost
your intrepid, complex mother, too.
And you’ve cleaned out the house
where so very much happened,
found evidence of joys and sorrows,
confusion and clarity,
separateness and connection
from each phase of your childhood.
And then, of course,
there’s the fact that you reluctantly
retired from a vocation that you love,
one that kept you grounded
through so very much.
So when they come,
those tears that burble and trickle,
or rush and gush,
or take your breath away
 just before they erupt
from your depths,
it’s okay.
Sit with them,
learn from them,
let them soothe and soften
as body and soul revive.
There’s nothing wrong
in admitting to fatigue.
Allow yourself to rest, renew, mend.
You will keep finding what fits your now
as you continue to twist the lens,

recognize and embrace
the Divinity that also resides
in the depths of you.

Sarah Carlson

August 2, 2020

Celestial Energy

Celestial Energy

She lays back,

feels the warmth of the sun

on her aching body.

She notices a healing energy

making its way all around

and through,

particularly in her hips

and core.

She absorbs, connects,

feels her fluidity rearrange.

At the very same time she wonders

how it can be true,

this sense of openness

and freedom from suffering,

even as discomfort is present.

Slowly she realizes that this

is yet another twist of the lens.

Just because one has been wounded,

witnessed and felt suffering,

learned to take on the distress of others

does not mean that is how it must be.

Her profound

sense of unity with the sun

is true and real.

As the pain from injuries sustained

in her tumble on the bridge

once again gains footing,

 she understands that,

though it is valid,

she doesn't have to allow

perceptions anchored in her past

to be in play.

In fact,

she can use this experience

to continue to dilute their strength

more and more and more.

She smiles with a knowing that

all vessels below have opportunities

to connect with,

reflect on

celestial energy from above.

It's right there all the time.

She feels so grateful

for another lesson learned

along her way.

Sarah Carlson

July 30, 2020

Novel Ways to Shine

Sunrise over Lower Shin Pond, Maine - July 20, 2020

Novel Ways to Shine

Evening waves lap onto shore
as loon calls echo.
Bullfrogs engage in deep debate
as I slowly settle
into night’s slumber.

Morning light seeps ever so quietly
over the now-still pond,
rocky sentinel peeks
from behind and above

 flowy clouds.
My eyes open,
heart soon follows,
mind drifts
to the decision of yesterday.
Only a day,
and I awaken to such newness.
I walk to the dock,
sit, watch the changing scene unfold.
I breathe… deeply,
allow it all in,
all out.
I feel the truth of me expand,
with a knowing that I did the right thing,
difficult though it was.
My own light will not diminish
because I had to let go –
for me.
In fact, I do believe that,
just as the sun makes is way
into each uniquely new day
and morning light widens,
 I will find
novel ways to shine.

Sarah Carlson

July 20, 2020

The Familiar is Gone

The poem above was a gift from one of my amazing students the year before last. It's been hanging in my home since then. Yesterday, as I was contemplating what I've been hearing and reading about my profession, it begged my attention. I'm pretty sure that moment happened as I watched a press conference about moving toward in person instruction that was being held virtually.
You see, I've been slowly and reluctantly moving toward sending in my retirement letter. This wonderful child's words helped me see why, in part, that has been so very difficult.
I'm not really ready to stop teaching. I love what I do and, as I read this, I realized a large part of my hesitancy is that I don't want that spark to diminish. The fact that she noticed and reflected it back to me is/was such a gift. It warmed my heart in so many ways. And she knew that. That's the beauty of teaching from the heart. The connections, the time shared, the lives touched - including your own.
Reading this also helped me see that there are other ways that I can connect. I have boxes and boxes of my second book that need a home. My spark is in them, too. And, I think my own radiance will find other ways to shine through. I'm going to have to trust in that.
I wrote the following words yesterday as a Facebook post and am including them here because they have resonated with many people in my beloved profession. My heart is with them and all teachers who are faced with decisions being made right now that deeply affect their well being.

I keep hearing about how well the state of Maine is doing (which is wonderful) and how we must stay the course, so to speak. How important it is that we are using masks, maintaining distance. How there are wildfires burning in so many other states and how those fires can infiltrate our state within a matter of days. At the same time I, a veteran teacher, hear about how important it is that we get back to in person instruction. That part of that will be a need to check the metrics every so often. 'So often' being undefined at this point. And then I wonder these things:

Do the people making the decisions about in person teaching realize how many teachers are out here wondering how in the world that can even be being considered - because of those wildfires? Teachers who care and would love to be with kids, but, really... with the fires???

Do they know how incredibly stressful teaching had become - before COVID-19? I say that as a fact, not a complaint. I actually love finding ways to help and connect with amazing beings I work with each year. But things have changed a lot... and now...

Have the policy makers really stopped to think about the implications of layering the stress of the many uncertainties that COVID-19 brings on top of the aforementioned stressors?

Are they fully aware that everyone in education - students, teachers, and absolutely everyone else - suffered varied levels of trauma last spring? That some of us have dealt with our trauma, while others have not had the time or the support or the chance?

Do they understand that for some of us the last time we were touched by another human being might have been a hug from a student as the day ended on Friday, March 13th?

That we've been maintaining physical distance since then?

And now you want us to be immersed in people? With wildfires burning all around?

Can you really imagine being in say, a fourth grade classroom, with any number of students who may have fearfully ridden a bus to school and then will be meeting someone who is behind a mask and can't come near them? Though teachers will do all we can to make students feel welcome and safe - how can that truly happen with those wildfires a part of our lives right now? I value truth with my students - from me to them and from them to me. How can I truly make them feel safe when no one really knows if it will be?

How is it that we are in the middle of July and we have no clear direction? I know there are lots of unknowns, but seriously why do we keep hearing such mixed messages...

We're doing great.

It's still dangerous.

Keep your distance, stay home.

We'll keep meeting virtually, but we need you to be in school ASAP.

Why haven't we looked at other alternatives like being outdoors, talking about what really did work during remote teaching, how we could connect with our new students in a staggered schedule outside to get to know each other at a distance and then go remote until we know what really is the truth about safety?

Why are we constantly inundated with the message that schools need to OPEN when we really didn't close? I know that I was more wide open than I have ever been. Once I felt safe at home, after the week or so of knowing that change was coming, something bad was happening - I, like so many teachers, opened up to brand new ways of doing the job I thought I already knew how to do, but had to reinvent. I didn't miss a beat. Well, maybe one or two. But it didn't take long to get creative and dive into making things work. I just don't know how I could make in person work just now. And I (again like most teachers I know) am pretty darn good at making things work. But.. the fires are burning and probably will be for some time.

The familiar is gone. It cannot, will not be the way it was. Why is that truth being overlooked?

Why?

Above

View from Casco Bay Trail, Wolfe Neck Woods State Park, Maine

Those moments on the bridge (see In Between) continue to teach.

Above

When I fell on that bridge
and could not go on,
it was life changing.
Like that bridge,
I’ve borne a load without question.

That day, those moments
on the bridge with my friend
opened me up
ever more deeply to me.

I’m realizing now
 that my span is magical, too.
In pain, dizzy, breathless, unsure –
 somehow I had a sense
 of being above.
I knew there was more to it
than just the fall.
Both in the midst and
above the fray once again.
My body let me know
 that I simply had to sit, wait,
let the in between be.
I needed that lesson.
As the pain of my injuries slowly subsides,
I realize once more
 the things that matter
are not that complicated,
 come naturally if we let them.
Love, Health, Connection,
Empathy, Trust, Peace.
All part of our make-up,
marvels of engineering that we are.
More evidence that in stopping
there is movement.
Like soft summer clouds
above gentle ocean waves,
accompanied by the whisper of a breeze
in evergreen trees,
there is a freshening
to being neither here nor there,
to allowing time for suspension.

Sarah Carlson

July 17, 2020

4 Roberts Avenue

Drawing of 4 Roberts Avenue by me - 1967

I remember drawing this picture of my childhood home. It was for an art project in 5th grade. I'm pretty sure I had put if off and by the time I got down to business I had to hurry because of incoming rain. I can actually remember the drops starting to fall and running for the breezeway. I don't think I even had time to put my beloved black bike into the garage before the downpour came.
My parents loved this and it hung in the house from the time I brought it back home from school until I took it down a few months ago as I cleaned out the house.
Today this piece came as I process the sale of the home that my parents bought just before I was born.

4 Roberts Avenue

My address from birth to 18.
The key was ‘hidden’ on the second shelf
of a corner cupboard in the breezeway.
On the left was the door
to the funky garage that housed
Merry Meeting Black Jack’s kennel
and my brother’s darkroom,
but never, ever had room for a car.
Breezeway and funky garage
no longer exist,
except in my memories,
replaced by a large entryway,
heated garage,
and not-quite-finished addition.
On the right was the door to the kitchen,
once a sort of disjointed affair,
but redone, made more open in 1971.
The wonderful screened-in back porch
became a lovely sunroom in 1986,
but the rest of the home didn’t
change much over the years,
at least not its solid structure.
I’m saying good-bye to that house
and I feel content with new people
making its spaces their own.
It most definitely is time for that.
But I miss my family, all three.
Geof, whose bedroom and mine shared a wall,
who was diligent in his studies and his fitness,
who made sure that all his Senior friends
helped out his Freshman sister
at Waterville High the same year
as the kitchen remodel.
Dad, who tucked me in every night
in my little green bedroom,
listening to tales of my day.
Mom, who took such joy 
in the house being ours, hers,
and intrepidly maintained it as home
until she could no longer.
Once the four of us, now only me.
I just miss them.
4 Roberts Avenue,
I’ll miss you a bit, too.

Sarah Carlson

July 12, 2020

In Between

I recently had quite a crash on my mountain bike. A slippery bridge after some rain, a branch that caused a slight weight change as I ducked - and down I went. Hard. Into the rails with my arm, ribs, and head. I was with a good friend who came back and sat with me as I worked to get my bearings. I tried getting up and realized I needed some more time to just sit on that bridge. With my friend. Eventually we made it out of the woods, but not before we had a wonderful talk about some changes we were both going through in our lives.
It's been a week or so now and sparkling moments of that conversation keep coming back to me. This piece is a compilation of some of the gems that came from sitting on a bridge after a tumble.

In Between

A bridge goes from one side
to another.
From here to there.
Yet, when you get there,
it’s actually a new here
and onward you go.
I’ve been thinking lately
that the spans of bridges actually
 have something to teach.
Marvels of engineering,
it is those spans where
the true magic resides
as they miraculously
bear the load.
I think it wise to
pause on a bridge
every so often,
take a look at what’s going on
below, within, above.
Whether a bridge
crosses some muck
on a woodsy trail,
carries you across
flowing waters,
 takes you over a path
that leads somewhere else,
there’s something soothing about
 suspending in the moments
of in between
and being
right where you are.

Sarah Carlson

July 10, 2020

It's Time for Truth

Artwork by a fourth grader who made this poster to help welcome my new class a few years ago

I am taking a bit of a departure and writing in prose. Though I do it with caution, and mindfully, I really needed to put this out into the world just now. Thank you in advance to those who choose to sit with these words.

It's Time for Truth

    It’s time for teachers to share our stories, to speak our truths. Like most educators I tend to quietly weave the intricacies of teaching together to provide a fabric of safety and love for my students. That continued in the shocking change that happened on March 15, 2020 - the day we found out that we were to teach from home starting the very next day.
    We had two days to get materials together for take-home packets and then a few days to begin to figure out what things would look like from there. I live alone and so had plenty of time  to attend the amazing webinars and content specialist meetings that the Maine Department of Education provided. I taught myself how to use Google Classroom and had help from some cohort-mates from an online mindfulness class in learning how to use YouTube. I used that to provide math lessons, moments of mindfulness, and read-alouds that led to nature journaling. And on it all went. I, like so many teachers all over the world, changed the way I approached teaching in a very short time. We really did turn on a dime. I took the words of  Pender Makin, the Commissioner of Education in Maine, to heart. I dove in and ‘fearlessly educated’ my students.
    Though I missed face to face interactions with my students, there was much I did like about remote teaching/learning. I felt safe and free to use my innate creativity to find my way back to interacting with them. Most climbed aboard with the help of their wonderful, supportive families. The ways they did that varied depending upon circumstances, but I welcomed them in whatever those ways needed to be. It wasn’t totally smooth sailing, to be sure. But, with all things considered, it wasn’t a total loss as many people seem to think. We were most definitely not a sinking ship.
    During the time of remote teaching I achieved the goal of independently publishing my second book of poetry and photography. Now, like many authors, I have boxes and boxes of books with limited opportunities to get them into the world. In addition to that I was also trying to find ways to support from afar my intrepid, elderly, visually impaired mother who lived alone in a neighboring town. 5 weeks into remote teaching she passed away. And so began the work of adjusting to that, taking care of a house full of memories, and the many other aspects of dealing with a loss. I did not take any bereavement time because I didn’t want to leave my students adrift. The way our contract stipulated that time had to be taken just didn’t fit the circumstances. So I just kept on going. As the school year ended I was in the beginning stages of planning a way to lay both my parents to rest in the midst of a pandemic. Again, on it all went.
    I share all this because it’s a glimpse into the world of this human being who happens to be a teacher. Looking back I honestly don’t know how I made it though. But now, here we are at the beginning of July with a new school year looming. We’re hearing all kinds of scenarios and possibilities, with many, many opinions about what should happen next. So many of those opinions clearly come from perceptions that are not at all grounded in the realities of the public school setting. And time is in very short supply.
    What’s really true is that we just don’t know what will happen if kids return to school. What’s clear is that our country has not handled this pandemic in such a way that we can feel safe to gather together. What’s painfully obvious to those of us who work in school buildings is that the logistics of physical distancing and the other CDC guidelines are mind-boggling.
    I can honestly say that, as an educator with 30 years of experience, I don’t know that I can ‘fearlessly educate’ in person in my school building. I’ll go further into honesty to say that I don’t know that I even want to try. It may be that I will need to do something that I, along with most educators, rarely do. That being, put myself first. Though I do not feel ready to end my teaching career, it may be that will be the best choice for me. I have to put away feeling selfish or entitled and sit with what’s true. I have selflessly given my support, my guidance, my heart to hundreds of students and families over the years. It may be that I need to offer that to my self at a time and in a society when the feelings and needs of educators are often overlooked. I say that with love. But, it’s true. My hope is in writing this is that others may find a way and a time to share their stories, too. Because it really is time for truth.

Sarah Carlson
July 7, 2020
Farmington, ME

My Mother's Garden

My Mother’s Garden

She devised a seemingly beautiful space
 inside our home.
But, it was outside
where the real beauty took hold.
An open field
that gradually became
a meandering garden
with trees for shade
and places to rest.
She created it over time,
a place for her respite and delight.
I tried to join her there,
but we were usually going
in conflicting directions.
At least that’s how it felt.
Occasionally,
our paths would merge,
but it was brief
and I couldn’t seem to match her step,
 perhaps wasn’t meant to.
I knew to follow love,
even came back to be married there.
The last time I talked with my brother
was right there, too.
The disjointed, confusing
 energy of the place
has been present throughout.
But now as I prepare
to fully walk away,
I can more freely reap the benefits
of other seeds that were sown.
Athleticism, strength, courage,
ability to find hope, no matter what.
I have those with me, too.
I can recognize and allow the blossoms
of my mother’s garden.
I can be me right where I am.
I don’t have to be
there anymore.

Sarah Carlson

July 3, 2020

A World Askew Quiets

A World Askew Quiets

Stepping into clear waters,
 she disrupts the surface,
makes it ripple a bit.
Unsettled sunbeams
wiggle and dance
as her toes sink slightly
into soft sand.
Gratefully, she fills her lungs,
 smiles with simple delight,
starts her gentle morning swim
as cavorting light continues.
Her mind drifts with wonder
at how chaos and calm
can occupy
the very same space,
 images of those interweaving beams
amplifying her awareness.
Buoyant body relaxes,
energy aligns,
spirit enlivens.
The buzzing energy of
a world askew quiets
and she settles ever more deeply
into her lively, loving home.

Sarah Carlson

June 26, 2020

Allow the Clouds

Allow the Clouds

We all know that clouds
come and go.
Sometimes when they
have settled low on the horizon,
they have the potential
to be a bit smothering,
though the waters below
are no less silky.
Their denseness may temporarily
overpower the ease and warmth
of lightness within,
so it is important
to remember that eventually,
no matter what,
they do drift away
with changing winds.
With these understandings aboard
it becomes easier to
allow the clouds
to be whatever, however
they are.
There is always light
above them, behind them.
Whether it be the twinkling stars
and glowing moon of night,
or the gleaming sun of day,
the truth of Light
is undeniable.

 If we do
allow the clouds,
we discover
they, too,
have a necessary
validity

and there is ease 

to embracing it all.

Sarah Carlson

June 23, 2020

On a Clear Day

On a Clear Day

Sliding once again into 

restorative, silky waters

she lays back,

allows natural buoyancy to 

hold her steady and balanced.

So many beautiful 

words have flowed through her 

and into the world. 

She knows they represent

the truth of healing.

With a profound realization
 that she had to fully trust
 her own memories
 of the wound

in order to deeply embody
  those truths,

she again feels something

novel and familiar.

She feels herself.

All the way in,

all the way out.

No need to apologize

or try so very hard.

That's what's happening now -

unlearning the constant sense

that there must be effort 

in order to earn

the right

 to be who she is. 

Letting go the habit of

 waiting with bated breath

to see if she made a mistake

or failed.

Trusting the clarity that's present

on a clear day,

while knowing clouds

will come and go,

but that she didn't cause the clouds.

They are simply there

and will pass.

She can and will continue
to settle more and more
 into the comfort and safety
of being

 at home
in herself.
On those clear days,
any day really,
it's okay to simply be.

Sarah Carlson

June 18, 2020

Let You Be at Peace

Let You Be at Peace

You left so much
for me to sort through.
It's been a challenge,
but more importantly,
 a gift.
It helped me see
that what I remember is true.

The tug of the house
and all it contained was strong,
but the pull of love
has more vigor, warmth,
and radiance.
I knew to follow it,
have done so with
courage and tenacity
that also comes from you.

And so, Mom and Dad,

now it's time for me

 to let you be at peace.

Rest together 

as the struggles
 really are over.

Know that I love you,

always have, always will.

I know you love me, too.
You have my gratitude
and my hope that you
settle into Grace,

be with Love,

rest in Peace.

Love, Sarah

June 25, 2020

This Poetic Me

This Poetic Me

Familiar scenes experienced 

through an ever-changing lens.

Opportunities to explore

that which happened long ago

from the perspective of health.

The unwinding

 of a very complex ravel

without having to analyze

every part of the weave. 

A sense of gratitude 

for things kept hidden away,

though for reasons not fully known,

to be found by a daughter

lovingly sorting through it all.

 Correspondence between

a brother and a sister,

dated September 1964,

hinting at the brokenness

between them.

Journals written by a mother

 infused with deep despair,

detailed descriptions of disquiet.

Letters brimming 

with wisdom and love,

 from an 18, 19, 20 year old me.

All revealing the validity 

of my memories, sensations, 

 bygone distress.  

Sweetly sinking into

 a gentle realigning, 

a truly novel 

sense of balance,

mingled with a recognition

that reflections 

don't have to be fully clear

to allow for the 

peace of understanding

 and the safety of self.

This deep dive into what was

verifies the reasons 

for my careful explorations,

 upholds the exquisite grace

of the images and insights 

that emerge from

this poetic me.

Sarah Carlson

June 13, 2020

 

 

Let Go the Disquiet

Let Go the Disquiet

Her nose wrinkles,

head aches,

chest tightens,

and then something shadowy

that does not have,

or need,

clear definition

goes.

Though wispy and nebulous,

it has a pungent mustiness,

a stale sense of

foreboding.

It curls away in a smoky haze,

taking with it that 

which never really did belong

to her. 

So much harbored in its layers 

wounded her,

and she needs reassurance that

it cannot, will not

hurt anyone else

ever. 

Her wonder-filled wild child 

needs to know

and she's learned to ask

or name or speak

instead of holding on,

holding in,

particularly in this time

of grief and upheaval

 within her being

and in the wider world.

She feels a deep sense of promise

as her beautiful body balances

and she slowly, gently

lets go the disquiet,

hands it over to the Divine,

once again breathes in the

 fresh, clean breezes

 of release, renewal,

and rejuvenation.

Sarah Carlson

June 3, 2020