Healing my broken heart

These speak for themselves - two heartfelt pieces that shed light on profound movement from a deeply broken heart to one that is fully open to appreciate love that was, immerse in love that is, and... be expectant of love that will be.

A Heart Reborn

As I find my voice and learn
to trust in living my truth,
my good and caring heart
is beginning to dance.
There is an excitement,
an exuberance,
that has long
been hovering on my fringes.
I can feel it moving as my center
quivers with an energy
that is new to me.
As it awakens
my heart stretches and tests,
fills the once hidden crannies,
and turns somersaults
in my core.
Open, ready, whole -
a heart reborn.

Sarah Carlson

June 4, 2008

Peace in My Heart

I more clearly understand the shroud of
fear I have carried for so long.
I view it as a heavy, dark, red cape
with many folds that curl back on
one another providing nooks
where unknown fears have long
hidden in the shadows.
Yet now I can also picture it
as it cascades away from me,
gently curling aside and
encircling me at my feet,
layer upon layer upon layer.
For now I know that I don’t
have to understand everything
that is in those folds,
I simply have to let it fall
as it will.
That it once feigned protection,
but now is beautiful as it unwinds.
That it contains heartache,
but also much that helped
me tap the well of my own true core.
That as it falls my once
broken heart not only fully
heals, but becomes free and expansive.
I believe the dust is finally settling
from the battles that
this spunky warrior has waged,
taking on much more than
she ever could have imagined,
and now it is time
to not only know peace,
but feel it in my heart, as well.

Sarah Carlson

August 7, 2009

Perseverance - in need of a little love

The above pictures were taken one lovely spring evening in 2008 - May 28th to be exact. I often go down to my special spot by Barker Brook at that time of year. As I've related before it is always very healing and settling to be there. This particular evening I was sitting on the rocky beach letting my dog swim and play in the water - and all of a sudden I heard peeping. I looked up to see this little guy bobbing along in the flow of the brook. He noticed me and started to come my way, but Sophie (my dog) wanted to frolic in the water with him - and he wanted nothing to do with that. Sophie excitedly swam toward him and he somehow got away and went into the woods on the other side. I think it helped a bit that I was screaming at her to leave him alone...:) I looked around to see if there was a mother duck (at this point I assumed it was a duckling) anywhere around, but I didn't see or hear one at all. This intrepid little bird went through the woods and crossed the brook at a shallow area and made his way right for my feet! I just couldn't believe it. He just peeped and peeped - and anytime I moved he came with me. By this time Sophie had accepted my clear message that he was off limits for play OR for consumption. So there I stood with a little bird between my feet, no mother in sight, and nighttime coming on. I really wanted to help the little guy, but wasn't quite sure what to do. I thought that perhaps if I left him alone that his mother would come back so I reluctantly headed up the trail to home. He, however, had other ideas and followed me up a steep bank, along the trail, and up the road to my front lawn - peeping incessantly all the while! Right then and there I named him Persy - short for Perseverance.

There's much more to the story, including a Game Warden instructing me over the phone how to rock him to sleep so I could take him back where I found him in the hopes that his mother would MAYBE come back to him. By this time it was dark and, with the help of a neighbor, we were able to find someone who raised him at her home. It turned out that he was a Canadian gosling. Late in the summer he was released with a flock of geese that was living in the town park in Rangeley. I often wonder how he made out - and I will never forget how amazing it was to be sought out by a creature of the wild who needed love, care and help - and knew how to get it.

Perseverance

Baby bird, abandoned,
rides the flow of the brook.
Peeping his fear and
loneliness
he sees a chance for help.
Making his way to shore
he is challenged and threatened
by a creature larger than
himself.
He eludes the danger and
makes his way to the other side
to hide.
Knowing he cannot make it alone he
takes a chance and crosses the shallows -
drawn to the being he
somehow knows understands his needs.
He follows her,
tripping over rocks and roots,
instinctively trusting her worth.
She finds a way to help and,
in time,
he gains strength,
finds his voice,
fills out his body,
stretches his wings
and is released to enjoy
the wild and
wonderful world.

Sarah Carlson

August 24, 2008
inspired by Persy,
a Canadian gosling
who followed me home from
Barker Brook
on May 28, 2008

Good sorrow

Letting them flow led to this piece - one of my favorites in many ways.

Good Sorrow

I never thought that sorrow
could be a good thing,
but, truthfully,
when it is felt for the purpose of release,
when it is honored and not judged
it is a very good thing.
Experiencing sorrow means
that you care about
what was and, as importantly,
about what is.
It provides the outlet
for true grief to happen
as it should.
In going into the goodness
of sorrow
one can find meaning
and solace,
and love.
So I wish good sorrow
to all who have lost something
or someone.
Let it come,
let it go,
let it heal,
let it flow.
Good sorrow.

Sarah Carlson
June 24, 2008

Learning to allow them to flow

I've known that this post needed to happen because tears are so very important, but I wasn't sure just when. Today, though, I've had some gentle tears flowing and so it seems right. I think and feel that today's tears have partially been about this blog in some ways, but I'm not exactly sure. As I've said before it's been interesting to revisit all these words that came to the surface as I explored sorrow and grief. At times it's still hard to know if I'm on the right track putting all this out there. But then I have an experience like I did last night when someone approaches me and lets me know how helpful it is for them to read my words. Responses like that fortify me for sure. So today I think the tears were a very sublime mix that I really don't need to analyze or explain any further. They were just there, washed some things away, and led to my putting this post together. It's all about understanding that, contrary to what society tells us and what many of us learn, at times it IS necessary and healing to cry. These three poems represent how that extremely critical realization worked its way into my being.

True Tears of Grief

I thought I had already cried
tears of grief,
but I hadn’t really
let them flow.
Even when my
molten core erupted,
I judged.
I didn't intend to,
I just hadn’t quite fully internalized
that I belong,
I deserve, I am not wrong.
As I unravel the layers,
peel away the attachments,
and re-examine my pieces
the blankness is filling
with a deeper understanding of
my essence.
And as it does
I can finally grieve
without reservation.
I can cry gentle tears of yearning
and surrender.
I can cry cleansing tears of
purity and release.
I can cry true
tears of grief.

Sarah Carlson

March 12, 2008

Integrated Tears

And so they flow,
old tears and new.
Her tears, my tears, ours.
I can feel little girl sadness
bubbling to the surface
even before they come.
My body lets me know
with pains that are clearly
begging for an outlet.
I’m not afraid of them anymore,
understanding the need
for expression and release of
old fears, deep despair,
and multiple origins of grief.
And so they flow,
not as often,
but so very strongly when
they come.
Integrated tears that have
the power to fully
wash away unwanted debris
and make room
for experiencing the
joys and the wonders
of me.

Sarah Carlson

March 24, 2008

Rainbow Tears

The floodgates have opened
all the way
and I’m crying rainbow tears.
A multi-hued mixture
of fury, gratitude,
despair, joy, frustration
and things I cannot define.
But mostly these
beautiful and necessary droplets
are tears of grief
for what was and is now gone,
for what was not and
can never be,
for time lost living
the misperceptions I internalized.
Gently or with gusto
they come and they go -
unencumbered by judgment
or fear,
washing away anguish,
detoxifying my being
and making room for further
acknowledgment of the goodness
in me and in my world.
Rainbow tears
of honor and release.

Sarah Carlson

May 31, 2008

Letting joy in and out

I think this might be a good place to revisit that as one learns to acknowledge sadness and despair with the intent of letting go there becomes more and more room to experience other emotions ... like joy. I alluded to this earlier in the post titled Moments of Joy, but as I continued on I remember more distinctly feeling the tandem nature of letting go and being able to let other things, good things, in. I noticed this several times out in the natural world as I explored my shadow, which would sort of creep into my consciousness as a more free and playful side of me. Two of those times made their way into this poem.

I've also noticed lately that once you feel more comfortable with feeling joyful within it more naturally flows outwardly, as well.

Me and My Shadow

Hello wonderful shadow.
I’ve enjoyed your playful presence
lately.
Moon shadow, sun shadow -
my joyful side
coming to life,
testing, teasing,
no longer feeling the need
to fully hide.
Walking by the river
by the light of a full moon,
there you were
frolicking along the glowing
riverbank on the other side.
Cruising down a mountain
under a perfectly blue sky,
not a cloud in sight,
you came up from behind
and took over the run.
I felt your sheer exuberance
and joy
as we danced down the trail
with power and grace.
Welcome, shadow,
come whenever you like.
Welcome.

Sarah Carlson

February 27, 2008

My heart knows

Okay, so as I occasionally re-read some of what I've posted it again reminds me what a non-linear process grieving truly is - with SO many meanders. I sometimes wonder if people who read this might be thinking - didn't she already go there, say that? But, in truth, sometimes when I wrote a poem I would have the same feeling and then realize that it was deeper, different and represented forward momentum. I was in a new place, with more to go. In some ways it will always be that way, though much more gentle and peaceful. I do believe that life is about being where you are while remaining open to fresh ways to think, to feel, and to be.

I went to a workshop at the Waterville Hospice this past Monday. It was in the same room where, five years earlier I had been in a widow's group. It had taken me 3 1/2 years to actually get to that point - yes, in some ways I'm a late bloomer! But as I sat there and listened to people say what had brought them to the workshop I had this wonderful feeling that was a combination of accomplishment, peace and joy. It was just lovely to have that wash over me there it that very spot where I had come at the beginning of my process and that had been one of few places I learned it was okay to use my voice, speak my truth, let the emotions come... and go.

I was having trouble deciding what to post this time and I found a series of three poems that I wrote all in one day! I remember that day as one in which I just cried and cried and cried. I had finally learned that it actually was okay to do so and I happened to have the time and the space to just let the tears come. Interestingly this was about a week after I wrote After the Storm and I guess that at that time my 'flowing' involved the purging of lots of varied emotion.

I was going to skip these poems - they were written before the poems in my previous post, but now they seem important. Perhaps it's because of the experience I had last Monday. Remembering back to how much physical pain I felt as I held on so tightly to my grief and how very crucial the knowledge I have gained from polarity and hypnotherapy experiences, along with the work I did at the Hospice House, has been to my being able to feel that sensation I described above. Sometimes I think I should skip pieces that are not as hopeful maybe, but well... it's all important. But as I revisited these to get them ready to post I truly can feel how far I have come. I did have to let Barry go all the way before I could have the sense of merging and of carrying all that we were together in my heart as I continually move forward into newness.

Molten Core

It all seems to be coming today,
whatever is left of the deep pain in my core.
I felt it physically during polarity two days ago.
From my belly through to my lower back,
from my heart to my shoulder blades,
hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder.
My molten core-
magma ready to erupt.
Although it has lessened in intensity
over the past year
it amazed me to realize how deep
and valid it still is.
And so today the tears have come.
I can’t seem to stem the flow,
don’t really even want to.
I just want it out of me,
want to set it all down for good.
The tears of this deep pain are very different,
coming in waves of varied strength,
they flow down my face like lava from a volcano.
At times I moan and wail and feel so alone.
A once stoic mountain in the distance,
now coming alive with release.
My heart knows what I need today.
I need to cry,
to let it all out and not judge.
My molten core will not be denied
any longer.

Sarah Carlson

November 11, 2007

My Grip

I think these tears of deep pain
are finally able to come
because I let Barry go.
I pried my hands off and
released my grip on both the good
and the bad of what was.
I had to let go all the way
in order to move on,
to recognize that it is no longer
as it was,
and it will never be.
But I’m not sure I know
what to grab onto now.
I’m right here still,
but I don’t quite know
where I am.
Independent for the first time
I don’t know if I know
how to be.
My mind is full of questions
and confusion.
My hands are itching
to find a handhold
as I feel suspended between
what was and what will be.

Sarah Carlson

November 11, 2007

My Heart Knows

My heart has the answers
to the questions of my mind.
Even when it was broken
it knew how to keep going.
It’s my heart that feels
the connections
the universe provides,
takes them in without question
or judgment.
Messages from
creatures of the wild,
from the wind, water and sky.
My heart takes in love from
people who appreciate
the me that I am.
In those moments I get it, feel it,
know that I belong.
Now that my heart is newly open
it’s my head that makes me
feel so vulnerable
as old patterns persist.
But my heart knows I deserve
to be cradled and loved,
that it’s okay to trust my inner rhythm
and join in the dance,
knows my head is like any other
head in the world –
home to a brain filled with
infinite ideas and possibilities.
My head gets in my way still,
but my heart knows the way,
has always known.
I’m weary of the battle
between the two.
My heart knows
what to grab hold of now,
knows where I am,
knows how to be.
I just need to get my head to listen
because my heart does know.

Sarah Carlson

November 11, 2007

There, but gone

I have decided to post a series of four poems, all having to do with adjusting to the physical loss of the man I loved - shifting to understanding that he IS with me, just in a very different way. So often people like to remind you, as a way of trying to be helpful, something to the effect that your loved one is still with you. Early on, though I wanted to believe that, I found it a little hard to comprehend. I think it simply takes a while to fully understand what that means in the context of your own life and how to wrap your arms and your heart around the fact that your loved one is there, but not. Or rather that your loved one is NOT there, but IS.

I want to let these poems mostly speak for themselves, but I thought I would give a brief chronology of how they emerged as best I can remember. Merging came directly from a polarity experience that I had during the time when we were tearing the house apart. I Saw You and Empty Suitcoat were written on the same day. I Saw You was from a dream I had the night before. Every so often (though not frequently) I have what I call 'Barry dreams' that are very profound and provide much clarity. He doesn't ever talk much, but something usually happens in the dream that allows me to work my own way to that clarity. Empty Suitcoat came as a result of putting the house back together and was a revisit to a lovely memory of a day not long before he died when we had a wonderful day of togetherness. Barry's Dead is about a moment I had while bicycling with friends. We were going up a long hill and all of a sudden tears came and I said out loud to myself, "Barry's dead." I pedaled for a bit, let the tears come and then said aloud, "But I'm not." It was so very different from saying or thinking that Barry died. Somehow that meant that maybe I could do something about that or that I SHOULD have been able to do something, but when it shifted to the fact that he is dead it was somehow freeing. I realized that it is something that happened to him and I had no choice in that, but I did have a choice in how to move forward. I'm not sure I've adequately expressed the shift, but it was liberating and felt quite amazing as I shared it with my friends.

Okay, that was much more than I intended to say and so here are the poems:

Merging

I see now that
we are both moving forward -
apart, yet together.
We were so connected
and when you left so suddenly
I just didn’t know what to do.
I kept going as I always have
through it all.
but something in my core froze
and my essence became murky
with worry and despair.
Now as my mind clears
and my spirit finds a new freedom
I see how we are merging
and flowing together
as never before.
You are somewhere else,
I know not where,
but you are here with
me and our children, too.
I am ready to let you go
and I finally understand
that I can move on without
guilt or fear or remorse.
I can put one foot in front of
the other and carry
all that we shared in my heart,
I can celebrate what you saw in me
for myself.
I can repack the satchel
with all that is good and pure and real
about me.

Sarah Carlson
December 21, 2007

I Saw You

I saw you
in my new space.
I was afraid
you would think I
had erased you
as I took things apart
and sorted through me.
My love, our love,
is still strong,
but it’s different now.
I can’t touch you,
hold you, process things
with you.
I miss you,
but I had to make this place
mine.
And then there you were
sitting back, relaxing
and smiling your wonderful smile.
Reassuring, approving,
supporting,
just there in the space
as I need you to be.

Sarah Carlson
February 22, 2008

Empty Suitcoat

I was sorting through clothes
as I put the pieces back together.
And there it was -
the suitcoat you wore
just a few weeks before
you died.
As I felt its silky surface
I could remember standing
arm in arm with you,
together as one.
People came and went,
we talked and listened,
but for some reason
we knew to
soak in those moments,
bask in our love,
be with each other.
I can still feel the small
of your back,
your beautiful hand
resting on my shoulder.
The empty suitcoat
brought that to the surface,
powerful in its emptiness
and its fullness.

Sarah Carlson
February 22, 2008

Barry’s Dead

I’ve long understood that
my husband died.
After all, it’s been more than
six years.
Recently I had the
sudden realization that, in truth,
he’s dead.
Yes, Barry’s dead.
I felt the familiar sorrow
of his absence as I uttered
those words aloud
for my own ears to hear.
Yet, I was strangely calm and sensed
a release of some kind
as I went on to say,
but I am very much alive.
I’m here, right here, in me.
I wonder sometimes if he would
know this new me,
or if this is the me he saw all along.
I’m not sure, but I do know that
the memory of our love and
gratitude for all that we were together is
safely ensconced in my heart.
It feels good to finally
be able to give myself permission
to go on and
enjoy the rest of my life as it unfolds.
Barry’s dead,
but I am free to do the living
I have left to do.

Sarah Carlson
October 23, 2008

Comic relief

I just love snow days. I find them to be so relaxing, a gift of time amidst the busy days of my work life. It's not that I don't like regular days, I just enjoy the very different nature of this type of day. Of course, it does help that I like snow...:)

But I do remember a snow day three years ago that I really didn't enjoy very much. It was the only time I have ever hoped that it didn't snow. This happened just after we had torn the whole main level of the house apart so that my son and his girlfriend/ business partner could redo the floors and the kitchen, as mentioned in a previous post titled MY House. There I was with only subfloors left, sheetrock torn out, a few pieces of furniture to use on the main floor, and everything I owned stuffed in any space I could find in the rest of the house. I had a place to sleep in the upstairs (on several mattresses stacked on each other) and a place to sit in the basement. The bathroom was untouched, but the kitchen was pretty much totally gone! I wasn't quite sure what to do with myself that day.

I can still picture my daughter coming home from college and being rather shocked at how I was living. (Later on I did move in with friends for a while.) At one point in the process we had to move the butcher block table out of the kitchen to make way for the floor to go in - and the only place to put it was in the bathroom. My daughter helped me carry it in and we looked down to see a bowl of bananas still on the table. She smiled and said, "Bananas in the bathroom, Mom, there must be a poem in that!" And here it is - a little comic relief that was part of the journey...:)

By the way, the result of all the work is just beautiful - it was more than worth it!

Bananas in the Bathroom

Bananas in the bathroom,
can’t find my shoe
in this home that we decided
it was time to redo.
Sawdust settles
everywhere that we look,
over belongings stuffed
in each cranny and nook.
Scattered pillows
on the new maple floor
make places to rest
when we come in the door.
Lights strung on curtain hooks
our only Christmas display,
this little house is in
complete disarray.
But beautiful cherry cabinets
hang ready for glassware and goods,
lights, ceilings, walls
starting to look as they should.
No more popcorn ceilings
and carpeting full of dust,
the linoleum will be gone
and I am willing to trust
in the promise of our homespace
rdefined and redone
by an amazing contractor
I am proud to call my son.

Sarah Carlson

December 30, 2007

After the storm

This poem came after a visit to my special spot by Barker Brook in November of 2007. It's one I almost skipped over, but as I reread it today I remembered how important these feelings were and what a turning point this was. I was down by the brook today and could truly feel the peace of the natural scene around me coupled with a sense of peace within. It was a nice sensation...

After the Storm

I went to my temple by the brook
and, as always, it had much to say.
Free flowing water was
moving surely and swiftly by,

sunlight sparkled on the surface
shining down from the newly blue sky.
Yesterday’s storm produced
this flow that was so beautiful to see.
In places there were eddies
where the brook turned back on itself to rest
and make sure it was ready to go on.
An obstacle made the water change course,
but it danced on the backside of the rock
climbing, clinging, searching for answers
before it rejoined the flow.
Most of the leaves are down now
so the sunlight made it all the way through -
illuminating trunks, branches
and the blanket of dead leaves
making ready to feed the roots.
The water made such a soothing sound,
no rumbling to be heard.
The level had risen,
and it moved along its course with a gentle gusto
to the drop that leads to a meander.
Whitewater on the opposite bank
played in low branches
as it flowed around the bend to find the river.
And it occurred to me that
perhaps my storm can be over
if I let it,
if I know that eddies, obstacles,
and meanders will surely be there,
but that it’s the recognition of the storm,
the lessons learned,
the courage I’ve shown in facing it
that actually make it time
for me to flow.
Thank you brook.
I think I get it.
It is my time now -
after the storm.

Sarah Carlson

November 4, 2007

MY house

(Disclaimer... - the above picture is not of MY house, but is an example of the work that my son and his girlfriend/business partner do so capably - in fact it is a part of THEIR home that they are now building.)

This poem has been on my mind all day and I'm finally finding time to get to this post. It's been a snow day after all and I had to go out and play!

This piece was written during a time when I was very unsure if I wanted to stay in the house where we had raised our family, had lived in for over 20 years at that point. It was also just before my amazing son had come to me to propose that he wanted to redo the kitchen and the floors to make it a new and more liveable place for me to be. Along the way, however, I had discovered that the really important place is within. And it felt nice today that I was just so content to be here - yes, still in the same house (though it has been beautifully redone as mentioned above) we had all shared for so many years and now where I spend much time on my own. I still don't quite know if I want to stay here, but today it felt good as it has for some time now...:) And it's been a nice way to end the day revisiting the part of the journey that led to this poem and to celebrate how now it means something different even to me.

MY House

Four strong walls hold me in.
Solid, sure, plumb.
Pegged at the corners with truth,
braced where needed by love.
Interrupted only by
cystal clear windows
that frame majestic, distant mountains
caressed by a multi-colored sky
and rolling hills in the foreground
through which purposeful streams
flow to the beloved river
near my door.
The wooden floors beneath my feet
have varied grains that show
growth and endurance.
A soft, inviting chair begs to be used
as a place to relax, think, read, wonder.
The fire in the stone fireplace crackles
with energy and warmth
at the center of my home.
A simple, well-worn desk
sits near a window and
leads me to record images
and feelings that come from
this process, this journey.
This is MY house,
my inner sanctuary
where I work to find
meaning in the many facets of life.
A place where I am learning
that I have control
of what and who to let in
and where I don’t have to
entertain worn out thoughts, emotions,
patterns, perceptions
that no longer serve me.
This is MY house.

Sarah Carlson

October 21, 2007

Vital

I've been waiting to see what poem would surface for my first post of the new year. As has happened before I was somewhat in linear mode, but then I decided to take a meander and skip ahead to this piece. I clearly remember writing it and feeling so strong and good and right. That's a feeling that stayed in my being even as I dug in and processed more of the sorrow and hurt. And it's still with me as I move more surely into the newness of my life now.

And... about the picture above...:) I don't usually post pictures of me, but this one is just the right one for this poem. It was taken at the top of Burnt Mountain near Sugarloaf. I hiked it alone in September of 2009. Well, not really alone - my dog Sophie was with me. It was a hike I had never done and it felt so wonderful to summit that day. I did truly feel vital AND I also figured out how to use the timer on my camera. I was truly the only human being up there!

Vital

I am vital.
I feel energy flowing
through me,
the currents of my being
melding together and
making me whole.
I am vital.
I have given selflessly
for so long
and now I know that it
is not selfish to include me
in my giving.
I am vital.
I have gifts that are mine
to share
and I make a difference in
those whose lives
I touch.
I am vital.
I belong here in my place
and I finally
deeply understand
that it is safe to
be me as I am.
I am vital.
My body is strong,
my life force flowing,
my being free.
I need not be
perfect because
I am vital just as I am.

Sarah Carlson

October 29, 2008

Filling in the blanks...

I've been trying to choose what to post for New Years. And during that process I've been feeling a bit of sadness and loneliness. I realized that New Years, for me, has traditionally been one of the more difficult times of year - especially early on. I remember the first one well - I didn't want it to turn to 2003 because that would be the first calendar year that Barry would not be with us as he was. I think I had been invited somewhere, but I just couldn't go. I think another reason for this gentle melancholy that has surfaced just now is because wherever we were, whatever we were doing Barry always found his way to me and had his arm around my shoulders - and at the stroke of midnight he always gave me a sweet little kiss. It was lovely...:) And I simply miss that.

So as I was looking through my poetry I found this little number that seems to fit. I remember writing it and how the blankness really did feel good. So much had washed away and there was room to fill with new things - and, well the poem says it best.

My wish for anyone who happens to read this is that whatever blanks there are in your life get filled however you need them to be in the New Year - and that you are able to feel goodness, benevolence and promise all along the way.

There I feel much better - thank you!

Blank

I feel blank and it feels good.
Hopeful, exciting, promising.
I’m empty, yet not.
All that has served me in the past
is still there -
right where it has always been,
but more accessible and easier to acknowledge.
This blankness, though disorienting,
is quite empowering at the very same time.
Where will I go with it?
What will I do?
Don’t know.
Don’t need to know, yet.
I just need to know that
all I have put out so
naturally and thoughtfully for others
is just as necessary
to put into me,
that the blankness will be filled
as I need it to be -
with the goodness of what was,
the benevolence of what is,
and the promise of what will be.

Sarah Carlson

January 31, 2008

Fluidity

Fluidity

Placid waters
gently lapping upon the shore.
Rhythmic – in, out, in out.
Quiet ripples of fluidity
that hold promise, hope,
deep knowing.
Morning mist softly
rises, disappearing
in the heat of the sun.
Storm surges of long ago battles
both known and unknown
still occur, though seldom.
Gently consuming,
somewhat convulsive
their power becomes benign
as the solid banks
of reclaimed self-worth
hold the reckless waters at bay
until they submit, subside
and join the flow.
Reflected light from above
dances and sparkles
upon the silvery surface
that’s only a glimpse of
what can be.
As my being becomes cleansed
and the light penetrates more deeply
I feel a freedom unlike any I’ve ever known.
The new day has dawned
and the diffused morning light
gives way to a glow
that shows the way
to what will be.
I now have the freedom
to fully learn to trust and
live MY life.

Sarah Carlson

October 7, 2007

Starting to discover my own way to dance

Well, I've stalled somewhat as I have again been having trouble deciding what to share and when. So much happened during the time of late 2007 to summer 2009. It is actually potentially overwhelming to sort through all the poetry that emerged. But today, after discussing this with my most wonderful daughter, I realized that I need to just post what feels right to and for me. So I'm going to do that, but still with the hopes that somehow, some day, some way others will read, enjoy and benefit from the way these words came to me as I worked my way through what I know I've already described as an most amazing journey of grieving and self-discovery. As I've pondered this post I realized I'm doing another 'slow dance' - see poem below...:)

The theme of dance has emerged many times in my writings, which makes sense in retrospect. Barry was quite a dancer, which I found out early on in our relationship - as I wondered what the ruckus was in the loft of a barn that was attached to a house we were renting. It turned out to be Barry tap dancing! When I asked what he was doing he just grinned and told me about the dance lessons he and his brother had taken when they were younger. He was a very graceful man and he did really dance on the tennis court and on skis. One of his very comical quirks was that he loved to swing his tennis racket and 'practice his moves' in our driveway. This affectionately became known as 'Dad doing the tennis dance in the driveway again'!

One of the first poems with a sort of dance theme came as I processed an experience I had as I walked along a field by the Sandy River - a place I go often to walk, ponder and exercise my dog. A place that many people in our town go to do to the very same thing. My 'beloved river'...

One day, in the fall of 2007 - actually on my daughter's birthday - as I walked I suddenly had a clear sense that I was not alone. I looked across the field and saw a large bird flying over the field from the river. It was a bald eagle - flying very low, straight at me! As I described earlier I've had many bird experiences since Barry died, but this was the most powerful to date. I stopped and just watched, with a momentary thought of - hmmm, should I duck? And well, the poem tells the rest.

Eagle Dance

Bald Eagle,
so many times you’ve
come and reassured me
with your strength and your power.
Usually purposeful in your soaring ways,
today you danced a beautiful dance
seemingly just for me.
My open heart, my tranquil soul
sensed your closeness.
I turned my head and there you were
flying straight at me across the gentle field.
Once you knew you had my attention
your dance, our dance, began.
A fanciful flight
up and down,
this way and that.
Carefree and joyful you
played in the thermals,
flirted with the trees,
followed the river
and teased the breeze.
You affirmed my realizations,
helped me trust that my free flowing
and my openness are real and good
and pure and right.
Thank you Eagle.
I so enjoyed
the dance.

Sarah Carlson

September 23, 2007

A year or so later I had another compelling bald eagle experience - even more amazing than the one I wrote about above. I was driving to a polarity treatment along a road I travel often. I was feeling many things and my mind was gently wandering. I was having some thoughts that were a bit unsure and uneasy and just as I rounded a bend a large bird seemingly filled up my windshield. I was driving slowly due to the bend and so pulled over to see what exactly had come over me - literally! I opened my door to see a HUGE eagle circling above me. I could feel its energy, its power, our connection. It made several slow, methodical turns and then flew with grace and strength out over the sloping field across the road. I think of that experience each time I drive or bike along that road - and I smile when I come to 'Eagle Corner'.
The poem that came a few days after that experience is one of my all time favorites. It is one that I go back to often and marvel at how it fits my life in unique ways as I travel along into the newness. Here it is:

Slow Dance

Careful circles above the fray
provide perspective and distance,
room for reflection,
a bird’s eye view with time
to twist the lens
for further acuity.
Straining with effort,
each turn of this slow dance
makes way for more to unwind
leading to relief and new insights.
Round and round -
circles intersect and cross to
become interwoven,
creating a new scaffold to hold on to
so that it is finally safe to let go
of all that no longer serves.
Each point along the way
a turning point with
opportunity to make new choices.
Settling into a new way to be,
freeing a true self,
feeling worthy of fully experiencing the
wonders of the universe.
Knowing that further circling may
be necessary,
but by trusting the connectedness,
feeling the love,
believing in the light,
it is time
to spread strong, steady wings,
join the winds of change
and soar.

Sarah Carlson

January 15, 2009

A new day dawns

A New Day Dawns

Early morning grayness,
left over rainbursts
come and go.
Winds of change
work the higher clouds
as they twist and turn,
travel to new places.
Bits of blue peek
through the swirling masses
of dissipating vapor.
A new day dawns
as sunlight bathes
the awakening world.
Aglow in the soothing lightness
one can see, feel
hope and promise
as illumination
works its way through
the darker layers
to the ground.

Sarah Carlson

Sept. 13, 2007

Drifting

I was looking back through my poetry and I found this one, which I actually wrote before Aflutter. For some reason I had decided not include it, but last night when I read it I felt the need to share it - maybe because I've been feeling a bit 'drifty' lately, but in a very tender way.
So here it is...

Drifting

I feel as though I am drifting.
Held up by air currents that,
although gentle,
keep me swaying back and forth.
Back is often good,
sometimes unsettling,
fosters more realizations.
Forth is usually energizing,
sometimes produces the need to retreat
and internalize new learnings.
Drifting,
once tossed about
by the winds of change,
now stirred by
calming breezes of inner awareness
and a more pure sense of self.
Looking for a place to settle,
but not ready quite yet.
A place I’ve glimpsed
that is both
dark and light,
honorable and challenging,
serene and dynamic,
That place within
me
That is where
I truly live.

Sarah Carlson

July 29, 2007

Aflutter

At this point I remember truly feeling the energy of recovery that I mentioned in My True Essence and in other pieces. But sometimes I wasn't quite sure I knew how to move forward with that energy. One day I saw a butterfly when I was walking by the river and I watched it for a bit. It made me smile and this piece came as soon as I got home.

I took the picture in this post at a butterfly exhibit at the Smithsonian - one that you could walk right into and literally BE with many types of butterflies. I've always been intrigued by the Blue Morpho - with its vivid colors on the topside and solid browns for camoflage on the underside.

Aflutter

I know I no longer should
allow myself to be devalued
by things I cannot control.
I know I have shed the
mantle of apprehension
that I carried for so very long.
I know I am at home
within.
I am close to understanding
that I am truly able to walk away
from the hurt and move
forward with hope in my heart.
As I look ahead with anticipation, though,
I literally quiver,
feel all aflutter,
and my path is this way and that
without clear direction.
I think of the happy path
of a butterfly,
seemingly unaware of a direct route,
yet covering great distances during its life.
A butterfly, by instinct,
knows where it is going.
Do I?

Sarah Carlson

September 9, 2007

Effervescence

As I continued to dig in and explore this unexpected life without Barry I began to know my self even better. In this poem I talk about the 'old me' and the 'newer me', but now I know it is really the same me. I just had to experience things differently, which I now understand can be seen as an opportunity. My years with Barry were truly a gift and around this time in the process I began to more clearly comprehend that the things I was discovering as I adjusted to life without him were also a gift of a unique nature.

Effervescence

I feel as though I am bubbling.
The bubbles seem to be a mixture
of old things that continue to dissipate
and new things that I’m
becoming better able to acknowledge.
As if I have clearer lenses in my eyes,
a more helpful filter in my brain,
I experience familiar
emotions and thought patterns
in a completely different way, again.
This frothy mixture of hurt and healing
produces a sense
of almost overwhelming energy
that I don’t quite know how to harness.
The old me thinks I should keep a lid
on my budding sense of self,
the somewhat sparkling
image of me that is emerging.
But the newer me wonders
just where this might lead,
what else is in there,
what are the possibilities?
Now that my heart is whole,
that I’ve come home to myself,
that I’ve learned to hold my being
in higher esteem,
it seems to make sense
that some of my inner pieces of
are demanding to be heard,
do not want to be denied.
I see that I should view
this effervescence as a
wonderful step
in the positive, more hopeful
path that lies ahead.
And so I guess
I’ll just bubble away the old,
dance with the energy
of the new,
and savor the many aspects of
this amazing effervescence.

Sarah Carlson

September 3, 2007

My true essence

At this point in the process many things were happening and sometimes it was hard to keep up with everything. I remember a student I had once who, during a reading assessment when he was trying to retell a story, said - "Hang on a second Mrs. Carlson, I just need to catch up with myself here!" Such a wonderfully accurate statement that still makes me smile.

It was a gratifying experience to revisit this poem and others that led up to it because I can see that, although I am in a very different place now, I am still finding ways to tap the well. The difference is that, although I still deeply miss Barry in many ways, the loneliness is not consuming and I am so much more comfortable deciding what I need and how to give to my self - something we all need in our lives, for sure. I am also still becoming more comfortable not always knowing the answers and am very aware of enjoying the challenge of discovery all along the way.

My True Essence

Deeper, deeper and deeper I go.
The totality of what I’ll find
I don’t yet know.
For as I travel within
I am just beginning to discover
my true essence.
For many reasons
I’ve never really known my self,
never had much confidence in me.
So comfortable in giving to others,
I never knew how to give
to myself.
Unbearably lonely
since my soul mate died,
it is only now that I am
starting to feel content
in my own company,
to see that there can
be excitement in not knowing,
and there is energy in recovery.
There is a place for me
and it’s okay that I don’t
quite know where that is yet.
In coming home to myself
I no longer have to believe
the lies that were not mine.
I simply need to choose
to find ways to
fully tap the inner well that is
my true essence.

Sarah Carlson

August 21, 2007

Inner rumblings

One day I was standing near my brook and the water was flowing in such a way that the rocks on the bed of the brook were tumbling below the surface. It was a deep noise that had a rather soft power to it. Again I had a moment where something that was confusing me became more clear out in the world of nature. I had been feeling so much better as a result of the work I was doing, but there was a deep, old rumbly voice that had a power that was still adversely affecting me. Once I recognized it, though, it began to soften and its effects were not as far reaching as before.

Inner Rumblings

Deep, dark, rumbly voice
below the surface
works at my most inner places.
The surface can be clear,
sparkling really,
but the rumbly voice
gets in the way of my flow.
Yet as I learn to open,
that sparkling surface
penetrates more deeply.
The rumbling,
once so real and true,
no longer has as much
power over me.
In understanding its source,
I divert the negativity
and change the flow.
In knowing that my gifts
are mine because I deserve them
the rumbling becomes benign.
In realizing that my light
survived despite what I lost
the voice softens.
In celebrating the fact
that I am who I am,
as I should be,
my inner flow clears
and I learn to love
my self.

Sarah Carlson

July 19, 2007

Mind weavings

The memory of the spider visitor mentioned in the previous entry helped me decide to post this poem now. And again - I will let this one speak for itself.

Mind Weavings

Healing thoughts,
words of wisdom,
pristine images
of nature speak
intermingle and form
new bonds of clarity
in the weavings of
my mind.
Childlike wonderings
still beg for attention
as the bonds form.
Ever so gently
I lift the strands
that anchor the
remnants of things
I no longer need
and set them aside.
Mind weavings of
goodness, purity,
joy and awe
flow around
and through each other
to produce a
tapestry of discoveries,
understandings,
inner truths
that I can wrap around
myself
to help provide the
security and contentment
I so deserve.

Sarah Carlson

August 5, 2007

Ashes of love

I must admit that it took me quite some time before I could do anything with Barry's ashes. There are many reasons for this and I do believe that it is important to do whatever feels right to family members at any given time in the process. For me, the right time and the right place did not come about until 5 years after his death. This was just a few days after I wrote the poem in the previous post and I think that it was, in part, a result of the opening.
I had done a great deal of journal writing in various forms by this time - and one of them was pages and pages of things I just wanted out of my head and needed to let go of in order to move forward - stream of consciousness writing. One day a trusted friend came to my house with a basic plan of going to the brook to burn some of that writing. (This may sound a bit strange, but I highly recommend it.) Anyway, I went down to my special spot before she came and made a little circle of stones, many of which were heart rocks that just kept showing themselves as I worked. As I did that it came to me that I also wanted to spread some ashes. What followed was a lovely little ceremony that just sort of revealed itself to us. I read some poetry and my journal and as we prepared to light the journal pages a spider slipped out from under the rocks of my circle of stones. I had also brought along a book about animals and their meaning in the Medicine Wheel of Native American culture. We looked up spider which, among other things, represents creativity - especially the notion of creating a new and different phase in one's life.
Since the time of this impromptu ceremony I have added other heart rocks that I find in different places. Each winter and spring some of the stones wash away as the ice shifts and melts, but I can always locate the spot and I find joy and solace in adding new stones. It has continued to be a place to access peace and connectedness.

Ashes of Love

Circle of stones near the waters of the
wise and beautiful brook.
Cloudy sky with bits of blue,
sunlight reaching through
spring green leaves.
Sitting with a trusted friend
reading poetry, talking about
progress.
Spider visitor
whose strong and purposeful presence
reminded us of creativity and success.
Crumpling pages of pain and anguish
that brought so much to light.
The warmth of the fire
as the pages gently
disappeared into ash and smoke.
Sounds of birds chirping
and the brook gurgling by.
My friend’s kind voice of encouragement,
my voice of surety and grace
as I read about my love.
Spreading his ashes,
not sure how,
then realizing there was
no judgment,
just the doing and the healing.
Some ashes in the circle
of stones,
others along the shore
and over the water.
Fascination as the
current took the pieces
and dispersed them along
the bottom,
the finer ones taking flight,
translucent, transcendent,
floating in the gentle breeze.
Ashes of anguish,
ashes of learning,
ashes of love.

Sarah Carlson

July 5, 2007