Opa's Love

Photo by Emma Carlson

Opa’s Love

I wish your Opa
could hold you close,
read and tell you stories,
go on adventures,
do all the things
we get to do together.
When you hear stories about him
I can tell you listen deeply
and that you are getting to know him.
Mama told me that yesterday
you spent some time
looking at the photo collage of him.
And that after a while you said,
“Opa is my friend, I love Opa.”
That made us both, Mama and me,
so happy.
Today I’ve been thinking a lot about
Opa’s love.
It was, and still is,
calm and cozy,
soft and  strong,
real and right.
I also keep thinking back to the solar eclipse,
when the first glimmers of sunlight
peeked out from behind the darkened moon.
How bright those beams were,
how we were all in awe,
how they made everything so clear.
Opa’s body died,
sort of went dark,
but those bright, clear, awesome
 beams of his love
are there for us all,
always.
You’re right, Otto.
Opa is your friend.
And he surely loves you, too.

Oma
April 14, 2024

Totality

Photo by Emma Carlson - Umbagog Lake, NH - April 8, 2024

Photo by Katherine Carlson - Sugarloaf Mountain, ME - April 8, 2024

 

Totality

Under a bluebird sky we settle in,
wait, watch, commune.
Atop mountains,
in valleys below,
on wilderness lakes
and birding trails
we raise our eyes together.
Same direction, same time, same reason.
Slowly, slowly
the moon’s silhouette
slides across a brilliant sun.
Curious shadows begin to spread,
then winds stir,
temperature drops,
birds and humans
quiet.
The sky holds both
twilight and night
as the pearly glow
of the sun’s corona
and spiky pink prominences
take over the show.
Humans below smile, gasp, giggle, hug,
let some tears flow.
Then - a glimmer of light returns
with a glow both soft and strong.
Like a stage spotlight
centered on absolutely everything
all at once
with gentleness.
We know we
saw what we saw,
though it was
as close to unbelievable
as you can get,
and still believe.
And, in truth,
the moon and sun
did not change -
our perspective did.
Gradually,
we all make our way back
to ourselves,
 our lives,
our homes
with a bit more hope and love.
 awe and awareness
billowing about within.

Sarah Carlson
April 12, 2024

Inside Out

 Inside Out

I breathe, feel, reach
into my depths.
I both listen
and let my attention wander
to wherever it needs to go.
No code to crack,
no need for vigilance,
no place for shame,
no reason to fear.
My body settles,
cells open,
inner embers gently glow.
I feel surrounded and suffused
with soft hues of yellow,
lavender,
azure,
and snowy white.
Tranquil, soothing, inner delight.
There’s a bit of a tangle,
brambles and briars that,
though they stir,
no longer have roots.
I know they will go
when the time is right
for me.
With each deep breath now,
I feel a tender massage
of places that need nurture
and Love within.
Though I miss him still,
I recognize

my light in here, 

his light out there
really are all one
and the same.

Inside out,

outside in -
what a wonderful glow
to share.

Sarah Carlson
March 29, 2024

Welcome, Joyful Transformation

 Welcome, Joyful Transformation

Such a lovely flow within
the depths of me.
I believe this now,
have known it in many ways
all along.
The delicate softening
of places that need attention
has set free so many truths.
Some I already knew,
but didn’t quite trust.
Others slowly unfreeze,
gently join the flow
 with a splendor of their own.
And, sometimes there’s a breakthrough
that is profoundly liberating.
Like a realization of how
shame gets in the way.
For me,
it had an awkward grip
 from way, way back,
though I have done quite well
despite its hold.
Much of it came from
a cranky energy
that was persistent and nebulous.
I think it likely has
ancestral roots.
Good people gone awry
by not attending to their sorrows
and so tightness and unease
gets passed along.
This little one
absorbed so much as her fault
so eventually some critical
 feelings and needs
became bound up and tucked away.
Now she knows,
because I know,
there is no place for
the imposition of shame
in the wholeness of Health.
I hold her,
as I hold my grandson
 and held my children,
with all the care, compassion,
and love
she so richly deserves.
What a welcome, joyful
transformation within.

Sarah Carlson
March 24, 2024

Outside In

Outside In

I’ve always loved movement
in the outdoors,
a healthy aspect of my youth
to be sure.
How well I remember the joy
of running free as a child.
Kids from all over our neighborhood
 gathered to play.
Hide and Seek, Kick the Can,
kickball games right in the middle
of our quiet street.
Going inside was often hard.
 I didn’t quite fit,
couldn’t fully breathe,
was stymied by a harsh code
that, though I tried,
I never did crack.
When I met Barry,
our bond formed as we
biked, hiked, swam, rode horses.
I could breathe, smile, giggle.
The freedom to be me was present,
there was no code to crack.
How fortunate that he was there
and I was, too.
How courageous I was to follow my heart
into his patient arms.
How deeply sad I am that he died so young,
that our family has had to deal with such sorrow.
How grateful I am that I am healing.
 How connected I feel
as I hear birdsong along a bike trail.
I stop, breathe deep, look to the sky, and grin.
Outside in,
inside out,
all
One
 and the same.

Sarah Carlson
March 15, 2024

Oh, Nanny

Photo taken by my father in June of 1965

 Oh, Nanny

I remember how happy Geof and I were
when you pulled up
in your blue Studebaker,
your head barely showing
above the steering wheel.
How we loved going to A&W,
or Rummels,
or for a drive around Waterville
so you could tell us stories of old.
And, how proud I was when I was able
to drive you,
just as Geof had,
when you could drive no longer.
I remember how safe I felt with you.
First in your apartment
that looked out toward
the Waterville Public Library,
then later
on the seventh floor of Elm Towers,
a haven of comfort and love.
Saltines and lemonade,
homemade TV dinners,
the absolute best whoopie pies ever.
Playing cribbage,
learning to sew,
 feeling the bond of
 of a wide-eyed child
and a wise and wonderful grandparent
blossom along with me.
And now,
as Oma to dear Otto,
that comfort and love
rekindles within me
in such a way
as to more deeply know
 my self. 

Sarah Carlson
March 4-12, 2024

I'm Home

 I’m Home

Last summer I had a rush of emotion that came forth as,
“I don’t want to live here anymore.”
I thought I meant this house that we shared as a family
and where I have lived alone for quite some time.
Now I understand that there was a deeper meaning, too

As I settle and soften into
this place that is mine -
I’m at home
baking muffins in my kitchen,
reading in my favorite chair,
typing this poem by my wood stove.
I’m at home
enjoying grandson
cuddles, conversations, and escapades
wherever we may be.
I’m at home
as I see my children and their spouses
thrive and love and share adventures.
I’m at home
as I access healing in whatever way I need.
Though I really don’t know
where I should live just yet,
I do know that
I’m at home
by the brook that meanders through my woods,
on the mountain I so love beneath my feet,
and in the freezy, breezy wilds that surround.
Wherever I am,
I’m here,
I’m home.
I’ll figure out the rest as I go.

Sarah Carlson
March 8, 2024

Once Again

 Once Again

I’ve been so used to observing closely
that I sometimes forget to look wide,
especially when I’m uneasy.
I get better and better, though,
 at remembering,
especially outside.
I can pause upon a rocky ledge,
scan, and breathe -
all the way to my toes and into the earth,
all the way out to the tops of the trees and beyond.
Moments of connection and expansion,
deep and real and true.
I feel the solidity
of the layered mountains
in the distance,
recognize their history of change.
I notice how part of the lake below
riffles in the winter wind,
while quiet ice blankets the rest.
I contemplate shades of gray
as they shift in flowy clouds
just as the sun peeks through,
illuminates and widens.
And, there it is,
 there you are,
there I am.
In those moments,
and more often in the everyday,
I can anchor deeply as I expand,
honor my wholeness as I mend,
feel the potency of Love
once again.

Sarah Carlson
February 24, 2024

You, Me, Love

Footprint, pawprint, heartprint - Barker Brook, 2/3/24

 You, Me, Love

 I’m drawn to the little beach
where we caught crayfish,
skipped rocks,
taught the kids
 the art of throwing bubblers.
I turn my face to the mid-winter sun,
close my eyes,
listen to the quiet, shimmering flow -
both of the brook and of me.
 I stretch freely
from ground to sky
and beyond in all directions.
My breath expands,
 blends with the trees
and the breeze,
just as they join me.
I feel you, me, Love.
Both the joy of the whole-hearted
way we lived together
and the sadness
 of how broken-hearted
I felt when you died
are palpable.
A deepening departure
of judgment,
            wrongness,
                            any pull to be
            other than I am.
A freedom to tell, ask, feel,
grieve, laugh, cry, be…
The comfort of feeling at home in me.

Though I have known these before,
I lost sight a bit
enduring the pandemic.
As if social distancing
became a sort of soul distancing
that tapped a deep, tender place
of feeling scared and alone in the dark,
trying hard to understand.
Though healing and growth continued
and Light has been present,
there was a void.
Thank you for reaching through,
in ways powerful, subtle, and true.
As I fathom the fullness of me,
 I am ever grateful
for you, me, Love.

Sarah Carlson
February 4, 2024

His Special Light

 His Special Light

The morning starts
 with a quick cuddle
and the excitement 
of getting ready
for adventure.
As always,
there’s such joy
in learning, growing,
and being together.
Later,
he holds his special light
as we softly sing
Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.
Before long his eyes get heavy
and he ever-so-gently
 drifts off to sleep.
My body slowly relaxes, too,
as light, love,
and gratitude for
such tender moments
spread throughout my being.
What a sweet reminder
of how delightful it is
to love,
and be loved.

Sarah Carlson
February 2, 2024

By Your Side

 Sun shadow arc that appeared just as the sun was breaking through the clouds behind me - top of Narrow Gauge Extension at Sugarloaf Mountain, Maine. Partnered with remembering and reconnecting.

By Your Side

I’m here, Sarah,
though I’ve been gone long.
I’m so glad that you continue
 to more deeply discover
the truth of you.
Through the fog,
when things unfreeze,
and as you bask
in soothing moments
of awe
you can anchor
 to the constancy
of our Love
whenever you desire.
Their anger and dysfunction
are not yours,
 never were.
They are not you,
you are not them.
You are you.
Remember -
your soft strength,
caring heart,
sweet soul
have also been constant
through it all.
 Wherever you go,
whatever you choose,
and as you continue
to heal
I’m right here,
 by your side,
 always.

Sarah Carlson
February 1, 2024

 

Intermingle

 Intermingle

Gentle soul, He.
How grateful I remain
for the energy
of the love
 we share.
A constant, for sure,
                                    though I drifted a bit,
                                                became encumbered
                        by challenges
                                         that stir disquiet
moored to darkness not mine.
So, he found ways
                to remind,
                             rejuvenate,
                rekindle.
Star showers and snow hearts,
eagles on the wing.
Dream visits and wind whispers,
powerful golden light
that illumines
familiar hills, valleys,
robust places
 within.
So much intermingles
as I allow and honor,
root and rise,
patiently embrace
 this gentle soul, Me.

Sarah Carlson
January 24, 2024