Right

April 2016 in Flint Woods - Farmington, ME

Recently I've had many, many "oh!" moments. It's been quite wonderful, but slightly disorienting, as well. At least that's what I thought for a time, but then I realized that what's really happening is that I'm reorienting. I'm optimistic, grateful and excited.... and a bit tired at times, too.
Today I went for a woods walk, knowing that writing needed to happen. I sat at one of the overlooks in Flint Woods, a view of Mt. Blue in a sparkling spring sky dominating the scene. I pondered and then followed a desire to close my eyes for a bit. A cool wind came and went as I zipped up my jacket and listened - within and without. Suddenly a visual of a gnarled hand came to view - one I've 'seen' before. I felt strong and sure and I said, "Let go... enough!" Right after that several birds started chirping and singing quite loudly. Or maybe they had been all along and I just heard them differently. I'm not sure, but it felt powerful and 'right'. As I walked back to my car an icy puddle at the side of the trail caught me eye, stopping me in my tracks. I took several pictures and knew that the one I've included above had to do with whatever was surfacing... and then I came home and wrote this over the next several hours.

Right

I’m not feeling quite right.
But I don’t feel wrong either,
and that’s novel for me.
I think there’s some depth
at which I don’t quite know
what right actually feels like - yet.
It was not right
that my childhood feelings
were often twisted into knots by
 those who should have
embraced me with love.
That’s true. It happened.
But it’s also true that I transformed
those confusing experiences
 into good as best I could.
I’ve done well
and the gnarled, frosty hand
 that still tries to grab me
 when my being  flows free
no longer has much pull.
As I more keenly understand
my inner essence
I feel distance and protection
from its piercing pinch.
More and more I reorient,
settling into the cozy comfort of me
 just as I am,
feeling whatever I feel,
at any given moment of my life.
And that is very, very right.

Sarah Carlson

April 10, 2016

Let the Light Shine Through

Flagstaff Lake, Maine

Let the Light Shine Through

Brilliant blues of the morning
sky become obscured by
shades of gray that
softly billow and swirl.
Winter sunbeams gently stretch
to frozen waters below.

As I continue to
learn and grow,
awaken and deepen,
I find I crave answers that
are definitive and clear.
I want those pristine blue skies
all around me,
to be free from any
residual, nebulous gloom.
 When I discover that
 what I thought I knew
is not entirely true
I adjust my path,
reorient my inner workings,
and stride ahead with gusto.
But, like benign clouds
above a snowy valley,
sometimes I just need
 to slow down a bit and
let the light shine through.

Sarah Carlson

March 13, 2016

Enough

Flagstaff Lake, Maine

Enough

Separate and one
we stand strong by the shore
of a frozen windswept  lake,
each of us rooted and whole.
Softly we sway as cool breezes
waft about us and we stretch
into a brilliant blue sky.

Magestic magical mountain range
watches over the valley scene
as stories are told,
new ones unfold,
and joy of togetherness binds.
Storm clouds may come another day,
and we’ll weather whatever comes.
In this moment, however,
we have enough,
we are enough,
and we can simply be.

Sarah Carlson

March 5, 2016

Inner Embers

Bonfire - February 2016

So much has been happening within. I tried to express it in the following poem, but I'm not sure there are actually words that can adequately capture these deep shifts. I do know that I am experiencing energy unlike any I've known in the past, while at the very same time I get incredibly tired. And it all feels right.  I am so grateful that I have had the opportunity, or I guess more clearly that I've worked to provide myself with the opportunity, to learn to see the world through my own eyes and experience it with my very own truth.
I post this with so much love in my heart...

Inner Embers

The energy of healing -
powerful, cleansing, hopeful, revealing.
All through the process inner embers
maintain their glow with
the vibrancy of one’s authentic spirit.
Worn out worries often fuel the fire
as past traumas lose traction,
their effects transformed
to further understandings of self.
Sparks curl and reach,
dancing into the ether
carrying angst, suffering, fear
away.
Cinders from the fire
fall into the glowing coals
so that residue left behind
will ignite when the time is right
and inner embers can
shine more brilliantly than
ever before.

Sarah Carlson

March 2, 2016

Your Presence

The ice of Barker Brook under the light of the full moon (and a headlamp)

Last evening I hosted a gathering of wonderful friends for a moon walk along the Sandy River.  Though it was cloudy at first, we enjoyed a beautiful, muted moon as it rose to the clearer sky up above. As we headed home I felt a strong pull to visit Barker Brook - a spot that has long been a family favorite.  The ice formations there were beautiful with layers of frozen bubbles, views of the bed of the brook, and wispy cracks. I took a few pictures and then we decided to head home to the warm house and good food that was waiting for us. And then I noticed the very distinct heart shape in the ice - shown above. In addition to being clear to the eye, it was raised above the surface - quite stunning.
As I looked at the picture this morning here is what came:

Your Presence

You show your presence in such
sweet subtleness.
Whether I’m unsure and questioning,
open and aware,
aching and weary,
or calmly experiencing me
in the newness of my life -
you are there.
Thank you, my love,
for helping me move ahead
with your gentle, consistent support.
In your absence I can still find
your presence,
and for that I am grateful.

Sarah Carlson

January 24, 2016

My Divine Fathoms

Barker Brook just before it enters the Sandy River

This piece is one that, after I wrote it, produced a deep release. It was a powerful experience, though I'm not sure if the words adequately express just why that happened. And as I write that I realize that it doesn't really matter. It happened and it was good and so here it is:

My Divine Fathoms

Diving down to investigate the varied currents
of one’s being reveals Truths that can
take time to bring fully into focus.
Both exhilarating and exhausting,
slowly and steadily it inspires
distinct shifts within.
I had to let my frozen edges thaw
before I could take the plunge.
At first I was cautious and explored
the shallows where branches and tendrils
were fairly simple to discern.
I could come to the surface with relative ease
and I learned the importance of taking
deep, restorative breaths.
Armed with a clearer understanding of
my inherent strength and courage,
I continue to intrepidly return to
my watery depths in search of further clarity.
Recently I became discouraged as
I kept thinking I had let go of
patterns and impressions
that are not authentically mine
and sporadically I experience more pain and distress.
I realize now that I sometimes forget one
very important thing.
As I peruse my divine fathoms,
I have to  consistently remember
to fully embrace the wonders that are revealed,
 to keenly trust in my knowing,
 and to allow the Truth to be incorporated
into me without reservation or fear.
I am safe and I deserve to feel good. 

Sarah Carlson

January 18, 2016

Grateful

Meat Cove - Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia

I have revisited this picture a few times this week and, as I pedaled on my Thanksgiving bike ride, I realized why. This was taken last summer as a Freewheeling tour guide, Sada, and I headed back to Dingwall to have breakfast while a few hardy souls extended that days' ride. It was the day after an especially formidable ride over two mountains in Cape Breton Highlands National Park and I was feeling so very full and accomplished. That previous day, not only had we climbed switchback roads for mile after unrelenting mile, we also battled very strong headwinds and periods of torrential rain. Without a doubt, it was one of the most challenging days of bicycling I have ever experienced. And I loved it - every single moment of it! One of those moments will remain with me always. It was on a downhill run after the first of the two long climbs - my bike almost blew out from under me as the rain was pelting me from one side. And I laughed out loud with the realization that there was no other place that I would rather be, that I was actually right where I was supposed to be. I felt solid and strong and, though I knew I had another longer, steeper mountain to climb, I had no doubt that I could do it. Sopping wet, slightly chilled, extremely weary - I felt intrepid... and very, very grateful.

Here's a poem rooted in those sensations along with and many other wonderfully healing, enlightening and empowering experiences, both large and small, that I've had over the past several months. 

Grateful

For a heavenly body,
both separate and One.
For obstacles, eddies,
rapids and calm.
For embers, flames,
a sustaining star.
For varied breezes
and fullness of breath.
For the lightness of Love
and moments of Peace.
For chances of change,
opportunities of growth.
For expanding settledness
of inner terrain.
For courage and strength,
wisdom and wit.
For teaching and learning,
mothering and support.
For brisk bike rides
and cozy fires.
For nourishing food
and the sanctity of home.
For enjoying the company
of my very own self.
For the wonder of being -
I am
grateful.

Sarah Carlson

November 26, 2015

One Piece at a Time

Stacking wood took on a new meaning for me as I contemplated the events of Friday night. This has been a time, for me, that inner discoveries and outward connection have become increasingly clarified and solidified. Yesterday as I worked on my woodpile I felt as if my senses, my feelings were especially attuned as I allowed myself to be soothed by the repetitive motions. And this is what came:

One Piece at a Time

A chaotic jumble strewn on the ground,
one piece at a time I make order.
Blue heron soars overhead,
chainsaw whirs in the distance,
trees quake in the roaring wind
as they hold tightly to their roots.
My heart has a soft, sad ache as
I ponder the most recent act of terror.
I am grateful for my calm, cozy home
and I gently realize that all I can do is
continue to embrace the Light of Love
that flows around and through me,
send my own Love and wishes for Peace
out into the world
and keep stacking
one piece at a time.

Sarah Carlson

November 14, 2015

The Light of Love

Student's Island - Mooselookmeguntic Lake, Maine

Well, here I am more than 13 years since Barry died and I've circled around to the deep ache of missing his physical presence. The difference is that I'm okay with it. Well, for the most part anyway. It's there and I know I'm fine, but oh how I would love to have him wrap his arms around me so I could just have a cleansing cry. I've pedaled my bike, acknowledged and honored my feelings, and immersed myself in all that I know is good in my life.  But I just have been having trouble settling. I did recognize some of the energy as 'pre-writing' and so this poem has evolved over the past few days.  This is one that I know will take a little while to live my way into...

The Light of Love

He came into my life exactly
when I needed him.
And though there were many reasons not to,
 I knew enough to trust my heart and let
the Light of his Love
weave its way into my fabric.
Our lives aligned and entwined, our family grew.
Charged with the energy of Love
we encountered triumphs and trials,
joys and sorrows,
reveling in all that we shared.
No longer can he hold me or reflect my essence
with his tender, thoughtful blue eyes.
I can’t grasp his hand as
we walk, talk and ponder together.
At times I still ache for what was,
but his Love remains a part
of who I am right here, right now.
As I heal and grow,
explore and examine,
I more fully understand its omnipotence.
And in fact, the Light of Love
has been a beacon
all along my way -
before I met him and since he left.
I just needed to learn that I deserve it
as much as any other being.
I am not an outsider.
I am as in as I allow my self to be.

Sarah Carlson

November 10, 2015

Ancestral Darkness

Ancestral Darkness

I come from hardy stock,
strong, adventuresome, intelligent -
but with brokenness woven in.
Ancestral darkness was always present.
I don’t fully understand the many shards
of the despair and dysfunction
of previous generations,
and perhaps I never will.
But I always felt a nebulous, chilly energy -
an uneasiness that I couldn’t explain.
It contained palpable sadness,
family relationships that had fallen by the wayside,
and a deeply entrenched code of silence.
This ancestral darkness does not define me,
but I grew up with the confusion and instability of its effects.
All along the way the Light of Love
illuminated  my underpinnings when I needed it most,
but it was hard to relax in its warmth.
The resilience, courage, and perceptiveness
of my forbears were there, too.
So I’ve learned, adapted, expanded.
 I am grateful, optimistic, grounded.
I am growing, healing, flowing.
I can trust in my abilities to care, communicate, connect
and not worry about breaking the code.
It was theirs, not mine.
I can live in the Light,
be who I am.
It was there.
It was real.
But I don’t have to live in the shadows
of ancestral darkness
anymore.

Sarah Terry Carlson

October 25, 2015

Don't Pity Him

A very satisfied walk down the hall together
after a wonderful afternoon
Noah Carver and Sarah Carlson

Cascade Brook School

(photo by Suzanne Carver)

Last Friday - September 25, 2015 - a dream of mine came true. And it was even better than I could have ever imagined. A young friend of mine, 12 year old Noah Carver, was the guest speaker at my school. He spoke to about 60 sixth grade visitors from the Redington Community of the Mt. Blue Middle School and then to all 300 or so third, fourth and fifth graders of Cascade Brook School. His topic was the growth mindset and persistence.

I first met Noah on the slopes of Saddleback Ski Area in the spring of his second grade year when I was assigned to be his guide through Maine Adaptive Sports and Recreation. You see, Noah is blind, has been since birth. Not long after that day, as I had the privilege of getting to know Noah - his mom, Suzanne and dad, Buzz better - I knew that somehow, some way I wanted my students to meet him - my students and as many others as possible. All the stars aligned and the result was an experience that I will continue to reap benefits from as I process. I know I'm not alone in that.
One of the things that came up as we had a question and answer time was a young man who said, "I kind of feel sorry for you." Noah hesitated as he pondered what to say to that. Since I knew the student, I said quietly to Noah, "I think that was meant with kindness." And Noah responded with insight and kindness.
That evening we sat around my dining room table and had an amazing conversation, led by Noah, about the difference between pity and empathy. The following poem is a piece that came from the experiences of the day and from processing further with the Carvers.
I'm posting it with the go ahead from the Carver family.

Noah sharing his recent successful Katahdin experience                              After introducing Noah to my fourth graders

 Don’t Pity Him

His name is Noah.
He is blind,
but don’t pity him.
That would be a waste of time.
His positive energy permeates a room
and resonates with any one who
has an open, caring heart.
You can’t help but be moved
by his enthusiasm for life.

Noah is honest about the fact that
life as a blind child has its challenges,
but don’t pity him.
He doesn’t want that and, in fact,
I think it makes him feel a bit feisty.
He wants you to feel WITH him,
and it is a fantastic ride when
a person decides to
climb on board the Noah train!

So if by chance you have
the good fortune to meet Noah Carver,
please don’t pity him.
You’d miss out on the chance to
benefit from his articulate messages
of love, hope, persistence, and fun.
Take the time to empathize with him,
exploring all that is good and right
in a wonderful connection with a young man
who has so many important abilities.

And remember…
Don’t pity him.
There is no room, no need for that. 

by Sarah Carlson
written for my friend Noah Carver
as I continue to process his amazing
presentation at Cascade Brook School on
September 25, 2015

My Own Two Feet

Mt. Rainier National Park - August 2014

I just finished this piece and, as I did, I realized that I had this picture in my head from my trip last summer. 

My Own Two Feet

Taking a full, deep breath I fill my lungs with
clean, crisp air.
My experienced, yet tender feet are firmly planted
on the sweet, solid earth below.
My wide open eyes gaze upon glorious mountains
in the distance and reflective waters nearby.
Grasses sway in a gentle breeze as
wildflowers pulsate with color and happiness.
Mystical swirls of water vapor form
fair weather clouds in the radiant blue sky.
Tears begin to work their way to the surface,
representing hard work, deep exploration,
amazing shifts, residual confusion.
In this moment, though, I softly brush them  aside.
This is a time to savor, celebrate
and I can cry later.
I reach my arms out wide wanting to embrace
all that is,
all that was,
all that will be.
There’s more to do, more to know,
more to grow.
But I’m okay, we’re okay.
We’re becoming one
as we move into wholeness.
I’m standing on my own two feet,
right here,
right now,
grateful for my gifts, my life,
happy to be me.

Sarah Carlson

August 5, 2015

Have Faith

Double Rainbow - Mercer, Maine (July 2015)

Have Faith

Through life’s mountains, valleys
and mill pond moments
I know now that I’ve had faith.
Sometimes as I slogged through the muck
I do admit that I wondered.
But there has always been a
protected, pristine place within
where belief in God lay in wait.
It emerged when I needed it,
but in ways that were not always
easy to recognize due to traumas
that warped my lens, skewed my perceptions,
and twisted my spirit.

Through carefully constructed defenses
I found love, and love found me.
Messages from the sky,
woods, and flowing waters
 were delivered to me in times
of stress, despair, and loss.
I’ve battled stale learnings and vigilantly allowed
my self to set my defenses aside in order to heal.
As I tenderly look back I remember multiple times
 when I stumbled, fell or was cast aside,
but I cherish the benevolence with which
I forged ahead.
My strength, courage and compassion
have long been in play.
I  am learning to be more fully secure
in trusting my knowing.
And I know that,
both Within and Without,
I have faith.

Sarah Carlson

July 5, 2015

Light - Within and Without

Photo by Emma Carlson/Emily Rooney - Northern Forest Canoe Trail

I haven't written much lately, but recently I remembered two versions of a piece that I wrote last spring. I'm not sure which one I like best, so I've included both of them. I think these surfaced now for a reason - to help me move ahead. Enough said... here they are:

Light - Within and Without

Kayak slices through the waters

of a beloved river

as it meanders 'round rocks and trees

that dip from banks

eroded by the barrage.

Human skin soaks in the rays,

the being within smiles at the shift.

Inner radiance weaves its 

way to the surface,

merges with

the beams from our nearest star - 

reflecting,

refracting,

revealing,

releasing,

Light.

Warmth spreads about the misty morn

as water vapors reach for the sky.

New grasses sway in a gentle breeze,

shadows mimic the dance.

Whitewater ahead pulsates, gyrates,

beckons.

Kayak and human cavort as one,

follow the flow,

travel the torrent, then...

bask in the warming glow -

reflecting,

refracting,

revealing,

releasing,

Light.

Sarah Carlson

April 15, 2013

Light

Sun twinkles on crystalline snow

left behind by stormy days.

New grasses sway in a gentle breeze,

shadows mimic the dance.

Wave crests sparkle on a deep blue lake,

every-changing with the will of the wind.

Multi-hued leaves lay on the ground,

colors enhanced by the breaking dawn.

Warmth spreads about a misty morn

as water vapors reach for the sky.

Dappled panorama in a valey below,

sun plays hide and seek in the clouds.

Moon emerges over nestled hills,

ow clouds backlit by its glow.

Distant stars glimmer in an ink black expanse,

their radiance traveling through time.

Kayak slices through the waters 

of a beloved river

as it meanders 'round rocks and trees

that dip from banks

eroded by the barrage.

Human skin soaks in the rays,

the being within smiles at the shift.

Inner radiance weaves its 

way to the surface,

merges with 

the beams from our nearest star - 

reflecting,

refracting,

revealing,

releasing,

Light.

Sarah Carlson

March 16, 2013

New Light

A few weekends ago I had a wonderful time with some good friends at the brand new Stratton Brook Hut, which is part of the Maine Huts and Trails system. Our bunk room looked out over the Carrabassett Valley toward Sugarloaf Ski Area, where I've had the good fortune to ski since I was 3 years old. The dining room of the main lodge looked out over the Bigelow Range. It truly is a beautiful spot, a lovely space to unwind and recharge.
The picture above is of the sunrise on that Sunday morning. And the piece below is something that came during a busy school week following our weekend getaway.
 

New Light

I awaken, having the sense that

dawn is near.

I stretch tight muscles, tentatively

putting my feet onto the floor.

I open the door and gaze out over

the valley of my youth,

noticing the hint of colors caressing

the distant ridgeline,

bare tree branches dancing against

the backdrop.

My eyes take it in as my brain ponders

the meaning of it all.

I lean on the railing of the overlook

and settle in to simply watch and wait.

The colors become deeper, then begin to lighten

as the rocks, trees, and snowy spaces

become more distinct and defined.

I breathe in the brisk morning air and

wrap my jacket more closely around

my body.

I wonder, then, where is the sun?

When will the new light fully spread its

warmth and illumination on

this glorious scene?

And just as I think I must go inside,

there it is!

Ah, the sweetness of that new light,

bringing with it possibility, hope,

and renewal.

New light sweetly enveloping

all that I know and love.

New light illuminating all

 that is

right here,

right now.

Sarah Carlson

March 20, 2013

Dear Sarah

                                                               (photo by Emma Carlson)

This weekend I've really been missing Barry. I have experiences I want to share and events I want to process. This feeling has been one of gentle sadness, simply something to be felt and honored. I just so badly wanted to talk to him. I miss that conduit, the give and take of conversation with that person I loved and who loved me back, who just got me as I am.
I'm taking a writing class that is part of the Maine Writing Project and one assignment we have this session is to write something in a voice that has been silent. I've done something like this before (see 2010 entry titled A Conversation) in which I wrote to Barry and he 'wrote' back. When I wrote that piece I was in the very early stages of actually allowing my self to grieve. I decided to 'talk' to him again and, after a time of journaling during which I wrote to him, the following piece came. This time it was quite amazing how different it was to converse with him. And Barry, in his mellow and caring way, knew just what I needed to hear.

                                                                Dear Sarah,

It has been so long since I’ve been there

to put my arm around you and watch our children,

to feel your gentle touch and see your warm smile,

to share your love.

I know you understand that my love is still strong,

that it is a part of who you are.

 I know that you’ve wrapped it up

and keep it tenderly

right where you need it to be.

I smile as I witness you learning to love yourself.

I marvel as you intrepidly

keep putting one foot in front of the other.

You are sweet and strong, lovely and learned,

caring and kind, tender and talented.

I knew these things from the moment we met,

but now you can recognize and honor them for yourself.

They are inherently yours.

I am so proud of you and I know that you feel pride, too.

I am here and you are there -

each where we are supposed to be.

You may not know why, but it is good and right

that you now realize

it doesn’t matter.

It just is as it is and you are okay.

You chose to go into the sorrow you felt so strongly

in the days and years after my death -

a sorrow that unlocked a need to unravel and examine

other tragedies in your life.

But all that has slowly been transformed

and enfolded into your core

of beauty and light.

Keep going dear one.

You have many more learnings to share, students to teach

mountains to climb, roads to pedal,

words to write, memories to make.

I wish you well

as you continue to free yourself to feel deep joy,

experience new love, delight in happy times,

and immerse in the wonders of a

world that, fortunately,

includes you.

With deep love and admiration,

Barry

Sarah Carlson    March 2, 2013

Blind Faith

                                                            (Photo by Suzanne Carver)

Last week I was fortunate to be able to volunteer at the New England Blind and Visually Impaired Ski Festival (NEVI Fest) held at Sugarloaf. I've been a volunteer with Maine Adaptive Sports and Recreation for the past several years and have had many, many touching and empowering days with incredibly courageous people. But being a part of the NEVI Fest seemed to take things to a whole different level - 30 intrepid, inspiring blind or visually impaired skiers and over 70 compassionate, dedicated volunteers. The energy of the group was deeply wonderful and participating was truly a life-changing experience. Here is my attempt at capturing some of the feelings/sensations of being a blind guide in alpine skiing:
 

Blind Faith

He softly holds my arm, quietly

letting me know that he trusts me.

He cannot see, has never been able to,

and I am to be his guide.

We are student and teacher, both.

We walk out the door and he patiently waits

while I set his skis next to his feet.

We fumble for a bit, but eventually

 are ready to descend the first gentle trail.

I take a breath and gaze out over the valley,

 silently acknowledging that

this view I so dearly love,

that is ever-changing with the seasons, the clouds,

and the light of the sun,

is something he cannot enjoy.

We start down the slope as I carefully

call his turns,

the other guide making sure that

all is well.

We find a tentative rhythm and I see that

he sometimes fights the hill,

hasn’t quite internalized that

he is dancing with the mountain

and that it is on his side.

They are a team,

we all are.

I believe that I know what he needs -

a blind faith of my own.

And it starts to dawn on me that he

seems to know that I know.

We talk a bit, the give and take

of teacher and student, both.

I marvel at that blind faith,

at the trust and the courage that he,

one so young, displays

 as he does learn to feel the hill,

find his rhythm

 and dance his very own

mountain dance.

 I’m in awe as I again gaze

across my valley and see the tips of the peaks

bathed in the light of the low afternoon sun.

I feel a smile all through my body

 that is accompanied

by the sensations of

accomplishment and deep gratitude.

I’m not blind, I can see –

but it’s what I feel as I realize that

I deserve the blind faith

 he has put in me.

Student and teacher, both

sharing a faith in each other

 that actually

is not blind

at all.

Sarah Carlson

February 16, 2013

Beautiful... Being

There is so much that I could write to explain how this poem emerged. It has taken quite a while to come, but it wasn't at all stressful to wait. In fact, it's been really sweet. Many 'ah-hahs' have happened over the past few months - things I had thought I already understood, but that have now truly become embedded in my fabric. Many, many meanderings and I'm very grateful for all that has come from this extremely labor-intensive personal work. I'm so glad that I chose to head into the darkness, the hurt, so that I could release and learn and grow. That's not to say it hasn't been difficult at times. It has really been quite a ride. It is, however, very tiring to hurt and it occurred to me recently that at some point one must choose to walk away from the pain if possible. Walk away and take all the learnings and understandings into the newness. And I think now is the time for me. Of course I know that life cannot be without difficulty, but I finally realize that it is deeply right to feel good whenever one is able, that I don't deserve to be in pain all the time. This is the piece that explains all this as best I can at this juncture...:)
  -->

Beautiful… Being

 Bones for structure, muscles for power,

skin to hold us in.

Lungs for breathing,

eyes for seeing,

 hearts for beating and feeling.

Minds for contemplating, processing,

wondering, remembering, believing.

Past experiences - both good and bad,

happy and sad,

interweave to provide a

 flexible  structure with which we

have the ability to use our free will to

interpret and inhabit this world.

Each of us a body and soul

that form an inherently beautiful being.

Gratitude for all that we are,

all that we have.

Hopes for inner peace and understanding

of personal power  while

maintaining and cultivating

 a connection to Nature, Nurture

and Love.

Sun and moon and earth,

together in the cosmos,

provide a place where it is

inherently beautiful… being.

Sarah Carlson

January 1, 2013

Dappled

I haven't written in quite a while. And lately I've been doing quite a lot of feeling, very much a meander. I realized this weekend that these feelings have mostly to do with my father's death last fall. During the last full conversation I had with him before he was taken to the Togus hospice, I basically helped him know, that if he felt it was time,  he could let go. I told him I was okay and that I would figure out how to handle some things he was concerned about. It was the truth and, as he tearfully thanked me, I felt his relief... and his love. So it makes sense to me that I've looped back to some feelings I thought I had moved beyond. And, though I am extremely at peace with my husband Barry's death, I deeply miss him right now as I process Dad's death. I miss my soulmate and I miss my dad. Though I am sad and a bit confused, I really am okay.  But I sure could use a hug.

Here's a poem that formed today.

Dappled

My world is dappled right now.

There’s the brightness that comes from

allowing my inner light to shine,

but darkness interweaves with that light.

Like sun shining in through a window that brings

with it the shadows of the leaves as they dance

in the morning breeze or

the grays of a cloud

as it drifts in a sky of blue.

I try to trust that it’s safe to simply be my self as I am,

but I feel like I’m missing something and I

don’t always understand my relationships.

There have been many times when I’ve felt full and free

and right and strong in the company of others,

but often something has come along to trip me up

and make me wonder anew if I’m better off alone,

if I should hide in the shadows to protect myself.

I feel deep gratitude for so much that’s good

in my life and I’m no longer afraid to feel joy.

In fact I know I, like anyone else,

deserve to.

I think it’s residual despair and loneliness that form

the part of the darkness that lingers.

I’m working on turning to faith -

in my self, in my connections, and

in the benevolence of the Universe

so that I can work with the shadows,

 learn more from the shades of gray.

Sarah Carlson

August 19, 2012

Emergence

(photo by Mardy Bogar)

Emergence

Emerging from behind gentle hills

studded with stately evergreens,

bright with reflected light from

our closest star,

the familiar orb slides upward

through the dusky sky.

Low, opaque clouds threaten to 

obscure the view.

Yet, in truth, they

enhance the majestic scene

as it is appreciated by

human beings waiting 

and watching below.

Like a silvery sand dollar

just below the surface of the salty ocean,

the moon embarks on its journey

above our world 

once again. 

Sarah Carlson

March 2012

Solitary

The sweet softness of the world around me during and after the recent snows provided a pathway for this piece. A familiar theme, but through a somewhat different lens.

Solitary

Singular snowflakes waft down from above,

destined for a temporary perch on

bristly branches, silent structures,

weaving waterways, luscious landscapes,

furred or feathered friends.

Perfectly complete on their own as they descend,

the angles and edges of their forms

create an intricate, crystalline whole.

On their solitary journey there is

no need to struggle or resist.

They simply go where air currents take them,

trusting

as they become

part of another whole for a time,

then melt away

to eventually flow anew.

Sarah Carlson

March 1, 2012

Slow Dance for My Dad

It's been quite some time since I've posted. But today I hung a copy of this picture and this poem in the brand new Emery Community Arts Center on the University of Maine at Farmington campus. It's the first time I have done such a thing and I'm truly grateful to be part of a show that Penny Hood, local artist, has put together that features an array of artistic interpretations of her theme... we... are connected. It is sweetly satisfying to have a small part in, to feel a belonging to, this endeavor. Here's a link to more info about it -
http://inside.umf.maine.edu/2012/01/25/emery-community-arts-center-presents-interactive-exhibit-%E2%80%9Cwe-are-connected%E2%80%9D-feb-6%E2%80%93march-10/

The poem is one I've posted before, but made changes to after I decided to share it at my father's memorial service. And so it seems fitting to post this today along with the words I wrote to accompany my piece.

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.

Each turn of this slow dance makes way for more to unwind,

leading to relief and new insights.

Round and round -

circles cross and connect to become interwoven,

creating a sweet, soft tapestry that envelops a being

so that it is finally safe to let go of all that no longer serves.

Settling into a new way to be, freeing a true self,

feeling worthy of fully experiencing

the wonders of the universe.

Deep realization that by trusting the connectedness,

feeling the love, believing in the light

it is safe and right to spread strong, steady wings,

join the winds of change

and soar.

Sarah Carlson

And the words to my 'bio' that are hanging next to the photo and poem:

Connecting to the natural world has always been a part of my life. Sensations, feelings, deep understandings that come to me as I hike, pedal, ski, paddle in our beautiful part of the world began to surface in a poetic voice as I adjusted to life after the sudden loss of my husband, Barry. Eventually that voice and photography merged as I found new ways to express my process. This piece emerged after a lovely experience with a bald eagle. I read it to my father, long my biggest fan, as he lay non-responsive, yet peaceful, in the Togus Hospice this past fall. In doing so, I felt a connection to him that went beyond words and images.