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