Tears of My Heart

Tears of My Heart

I cried and I cried and I cried.
When I thought I was done
I cried some more.
Tears surfaced
from everywhere at once –
expressions of me,
from me, to me,
for me.
I don’t know the origin
of every droplet.
They were an eclectic mix,
a spectrum from sorrow to joy.
I don’t know if such a purge
will be repeated.
But if it is,
I will allow.
What emerged that day were
tears of my heart.
Open, cleansing, and
pure.
My feelings freely flowing.
No impediment or judgment.
No fear of rejection or retribution.
Just full on
tears of my heart,
clearing the way even more
to Light, Love,

and exquisite liberty.

Sarah Carlson

January 15, 2019

Someone to Cry With

Someone to Cry With

Unexpected, unexpressed emotions
pour forth from previously protected places.
Though unbidden, they must be allowed to flow.
Unfamiliar in their feel,
a product of the newness,
they scour, cleanse, and vitalize.
Lovely little one needs these releases
while she learns not to lug any more,
as does this vibrant, healing me.
But those moments can be
quite a challenge,
 for now.
When the waves crest,
there’s a craving for
someone to cry with,
 who loves me just as I am,
 won’t push me away
for feeling the deep.
Though there’s been no one
in that particular track
for quite some time,
in truth, it’s empty,
but not.

I climb a gentle hill,
breathe deep the woodsy air,
listen to the whispers of the wind.
Suddenly the truth washes through me.
I’m never really alone,
though loneliness still visits.
It is safe to freely feel
whatever I do in the moments of my life.
Anyone who judges that is wrong,
not me.
I can be my own
someone to cry with
as more and more I internalize
all that surfaces
from dropping in.

Sarah Carlson

January 9, 2019

Red Sky at Night

My father was one of the biggest fans of my poetry, even though he died before much of what ended up in my book was written. He followed my blog and every so often would gently say, "You really ought to publish, Sarah." I know he would have loved holding The Radiance of Change in his hands. I've been thinking quite a lot about him recently. Last night walking out of school, I was greeted by this sky and Dad's words from so long ago.

Red Sky at Night

Red sky at night, sailor’s delight.
I can hear my father saying that to me
as we watched sunsets
at the lake, in the mountains,
by the sea.
I smile with the memory as I step out
into a winter’s eve.
Later, skiing through soft snowy woods,
enchantment flows around and through
my being,
accompanied by a deep awareness
of the power and validity of hope.
It’s been there all along for me,
in my heart, my spirit, my words.
Sometimes inner waters
are stirred by winds of change,
though much more gently so.
Old patterns can
still sporadically
cause doubt,
the wonder if I’m wrong.
But, the truth is
my craft is as right as can be,
and it is safe to
 embrace the calm,
bob in the waves,
go with the flow.
Red sky at night,
sailor’s delight.
Thanks, Dad.
I love you.

Sarah Carlson

January 3, 2019

Novelty

Novelty

A gentle softness arrives

with newness.
New Year, new morning,
 new understandings.
Novelty within and without.
Like the freshness of snow
that just happens to blanket the world
in the wee hours
of the first day of the year,
all is muted, quiet, pristine.
For precious moments
 stillness can be
seen, heard, felt.
Rain, wind, blue skies
will come and
the beauty will change.
But, right here, right now
there is peace,
a softness to mourning
 that, though not sought
 or expected,
is gratefully acknowledged.
Breathe deep,
feel the calm,
the scarcity of discomfort.
Celebrate what has come…
novelty.

Sarah Carlson

January 1, 2019

With You and Without You

Barry Carlson and Sophie at Campsite 15 on Students Island, Mooselookmeguntic Lake, Maine

, 2001

I always miss my husband, Barry, the most on New Year's Eve. I've written about it many times and it happened again this evening. It feels really good, to be honest. Odd, but good. And something I will continue to adjust to as my life goes on...

With You and Without You

Dear, dear Barry,
Another New Year’s Eve without you.
There are so many
 with you
to remember and cherish as those
 without you
continue to grow.
I know you know how grateful I am
for the times I shared
with you.
But, you are gone,
have been for quite some time,
and I’ve had to work hard
 to adjust to life
 without you.
I know your love remains
a part of my life now.
Recently, though, for the first time
I realized that I can actually be whole
without you.
It seems so simple when I say it aloud,
but actually it has been quite complex
to get to this point.
I was just a kid when we met
and our togetherness
became a cornerstone for me.
I remain grateful for that.
I always will.
But, the time has come for me
to live more fully into my life
without you.
I carry all that we were,
that we had,
tenderly within.
I know your presence and support
will show every
now and again

in sweet and subtle ways.
I’m strong and able,
open and hopeful,
excited about further recovery.
I’m ready to move forward
with you and without you
in a completely singular way.

With so much love,

Sarah

December 31, 2018

Fully Born

Fully Born

I’m realizing that which was
fully borne by me,
that which should never have been
mine to convey,
has largely been set down for good.
For the good of me, that is.
It was not wrong of me to
lug it for so long.
I simply didn’t know any better.
At times anger wends its way into my being
as I more clearly understand the
contents of the satchel
that weighed me down for so long.
Anger for the imposition,
the false sense of ownership,
the absurdity of it all.
But, in the setting down,
the letting go,
there’s a distinct feeling of 

hmmm…
I think it’s best expressed
as re-birth.
Or, more clearly, a sense of being
fully born.
All the wonderful bits and pieces
that have long been part of me
are adjusting to being 

without the weight
of that old, worn satchel.
I feel grateful that

 I had the strength to carry it,
found my way to safely 

examining its contents,
and now have the opportunity
to drop in
to the newness of being
fully born.

Sarah Carlson

December 31, 2018

To Be Sure

The Cascades -Sandy River Plantation, ME
Photo by Sheryl Farnum

To Be Sure

Slate - the finest grained metamorphic rock.
It foliates in planes perpendicular to the direction of compression.

Sometimes there is a hollowness to healing,
like some sort of scouring out.
But, at the same time a fullness is present,
or maybe a filling is more accurate.
This emptiness can be fleeting,
or last a while.
No right or wrong –
it happens as you need it to be.
It’s as if you become a blank slate,
yet the processes and layers that
formed, fused, cracked,
shifted along the way are still there,
part of your bedrock.
You can access their
energy and history anew,
revisit the wide range
of stories in the layers.
Sometimes a fresh plane emerges,
taking you completely by surprise.
For me it was a fervent missing
of my soulmate as the holidays approach,
followed by the sudden understanding
that I can, in fact,
be whole without him here.
His physical presence, I mean.
Just 18 when our lives merged,
I did not realize how much
I defined my self by our union.
No wonder the aftermath of his death
has taken so long to decipher.
Now I can even more deeply feel
how our time in tandem is
gracefully embedded in my layers
and that my substratum
has long been strong.
My slate is actually quite full,
yet has space for future foliation.
Understandable grief
 accompanied by expanding faith.
A Happy Solstice,
to be sure.

Sarah Carlson

December 21, 2018

Yesteryear

My family in front of a Sugarloaf trail map - circa 1963

Yesteryear

One wing strong,
the other still healing,
she continues to stretch into
her very own self.
She must have borne the load
on that side –
heaving, sorting, shifting,
trying with all her might.
Plenty has been set down,
but her body
harbored memories
deep within.
She understands now that
the releasing and relearning
 take time
and she must be patient.
Her highly trained, analytical side,
so attuned to looking for answers,
needs time to relax
into all
being well.
She savors the moments when her
poetic essence shines through,
treasures the recognition that it
has been there all along.
As bitter, stale pains heal
memories of good times surface.
She pauses in stillness,
sits by the side of her serene lake,
feels even more tension unwind.
A little girl smile spreads
across her wholesome face.
Yesteryear contained both
heartache and happiness.
As sourness recedes,
she remembers to taste
the sweetness, too.

Sarah Carlson

December 18, 2018

Wintry Twilight

Wintry Twilight

Crisp air, crunchy snow, waning light,
solstice looming.
I rush to fit in a quick ski
after an energizing,
yet tiring day.
Tension slips away as
my skis glide on the grooming.
The familiar fullness
that comes
in the company of trees
and sky
and self locomotion
feels welcome.
I stop for a moment to
breathe it all in,
gazing up
 to a crescent moon
drifting above
bare branches
as they tickle
the wintry twilight sky.
Gratefully
 I slide
 into the evening.

Sarah Carlson

December 11, 2018

Above the Fray

Above the Fray

Ah… sweet freedom.
Riding thermals on strengthening wings
with time and space to
observe, glean, release.
Circling for the sheer joy
of making a turn,
feeling forces at play,
allowing winds of change
to work their magic.
Pristine images of nature-speak
provide opportunity for
twisting the lens as needed.
Vibrant body, calm mind, settled heart
meld together as
 residual tension wisps away.
She realizes she may never
know the whole story.
And yet,
she rises –
 clearly, freely, uniquely
above the fray,
secure in the knowledge that
whatever the origin
it was theirs,
not hers.
She knows that life will
contain new challenges
along the way.
But, whatever caused
that particular darkness
 is over.
She can
 and will
let it
be so.

Sarah Carlson

December 4, 2018

Serene Lake Within

Serene Lake Within

Along the shores of a placid lake,
next to a lovely little cabin,
the world as she knew it erupted
in both scary sights
 and vicious sounds.
Her tender, 7 year old essence
was deeply impacted in those moments.
She remembers the event,
how she and her brother retreated
as far away as they could.
She doesn’t remember
any words between them,
just the shared energy of
fear, shock, and wonder –
not the good kind.
She remembers being glad he was there,
now wishes he were still here
so they could recover together.
She doesn’t remember
 how the quarrel began,
or any talking to process it after.
She does remember
 skirmishes that led up to it,
and feeling defeated
 in her multiple attempts
at making things right
in the years that followed.
Her adult mind drifts
 to another tranquil lake where
 her life was again altered,
this time by Love.
In the here and now,
she is profoundly grateful for
the tenderness of that Love,
her ongoing insights from
rising above the fray,
and her growing sense of unity
with the Divine. 
She feels an inner stillness,

 her very own serene lake within,
free from the confusing undercurrents
of that long ago battle
and its turbulent aftermath.

Sarah Carlson

December 1, 2018

Simply Still

Simply Still

Whether striding ahead with gusto,
 taking small exploratory steps,
or pausing to take it all in
progress comes,
healing happens.
Even meandering
 back to what was,
seeing it anew,
 supports growth.
Withered leaves fall,
swirling winds blow,
water continues its cycle
even when frozen
on the ground.
Changes,
some obvious
 in their radiance,
others sweetly subtle,
continuously occur.
Forward
is often considered
to be moving
 straight ahead,
but, in reality,
is in varied directions
and includes interludes.
Expansion can and will happen
when you free yourself to be
simply still.

Sarah Carlson

November 27, 2018

Tranquil, Wide Horizon

Gratitude comes at various times, in sometimes surprising circumstances. I'm extremely thankful to be at this point in my healing.

This poem is largely about my dad, who passed away 7 years ago yesterday. I visited him each of the first 9 days he was at the Togus Hospice. Then I remember realizing that whatever was happening within him wasn't about me, that he and I were good. So, as he lay there silently doing his own work, I said my good byes. He died a few days later.

One of my biggest fans, especially of my poetry, I know he would be grateful for the healing I've accessed, for the shift that this piece represents.

Tranquil, Wide Horizon

Two ships sail on a foggy sea,
their courses diverge.
One heads to brighter, freer days,
the other set to travel
 in the same unending denseness.
Its cargo includes
drums of despair,
heaps of heartache,
barrels and barrels of burdens.
With feet firmly planted on
the deck of my own ship,
I raise a steady hand,
 wave a misty-eyed good bye.
Those on the deck,
at the helm,
 of that galleon of gloom,
had brightness mingled with
 their shadows,
but distress and tension reigned.
I was on that ship for a time,
my caring heart,
loving nature
groomed to lug a load
that was not mine.
I had to disembark,
climb aboard a ship of my own –
not an easy feat.
Though my shoulders still ache
from the strain of those years,
I carry gratitude
as more and more I discern
transcendent, lively
 treasures within.
That dark ship has sailed.
 My voyage continues as I look
to the tranquil, wide horizon that beckons.
I hear the gentle waves,
marvel at the starry sky of night,
feel the warmth of
continually emerging light
wafting over the welcoming seascape.
I breathe deep the refreshing air,
fill with acceptance,
wellness, and love.

Sarah Carlson

November 22, 2018
Thanksgiving

Softly, More Softly

Softly, More Softly

So often we are in a rush.
Do this, solve that,
make it better… now.
But, in truth,
that which is worth exploring
often takes time to fully comprehend.
Instinct helps me allow and encourage this
as the amazing young beings
in my classroom ebb, flow,
gather, and grow –
each in his or her
impeccably unique way.
Why, then, do I feel
I must hurry?
Why am I, the teacher,
often dashing to get from
here to there?
Why do I, the author,
think I must scramble to make sure
my words and images fly
out of the boxes,
off the shelves?
What causes the healing me to
sometimes wonder about failing
if I don’t fully enfold newness
 right away?
This educator, this author,
this sparkling woman
knows that, in truth,
illumination is like the
twisting of a kaleidoscope,
pieces cascading, nestling,
settling anew –
beauty at every turn.
So I’m going  to make sure to
notice the light
 shining wherever it does,
allow understanding
to come as it will,
acknowledge the elegance and grace
 that are right before my eyes
each and every day.
I am going to choose to
slow down,
softly, more softly

 occupy my own space
in this harried world.

Sarah Carlson

November 18, 2018

Expanding Faith

Expanding Faith

Softly, more softly she settles,
trusting that whatever she feels
is rightful
 and hers.
One strong, residual strand
of the tether that held her back
weakens all the way,
releases –
the one that made her
feel wrong for needing help.
She finds herself gently reaching,
though she knows not what for,
then realizes it doesn’t matter.
In moments of profound healing
whatever happens simply does –
to her, with her, for her.
There's no need to try so hard,
nothing that needs doing 
other than allow and accept.
Another turning point,
she feels her cells shimmer,
as the once persistent
sense of jeopardy slides away.
She breathes deep a curative breath,
slowly lets it weave around and through
that which has sparked within.
Her vapors
fan those inner embers once again,
but this time
 she doesn’t feel constriction
 or any need to hold back.
Carefree and peaceful
she breathes again,
and again,
and again.
Pristine energy
deeper safety, definitive support
partner this liberation.
Heartened by a continually
 expanding faith
in unconditional Love,
her inner compass orients
 to the fuller and fuller flowing
of the truth of her being,

Sarah Carlson

November 7, 2018

The Worry Owl

'The Worry Owl' by Holly Johnson

The Worry Owl
(for Holly)

A new friendship,
the bond of being
 widowed too young.
Calm, caring, thoughtful conversation
with an openness provided
by that unwelcome,
but very real bond.
Talk of connections in nature –
heart rocks, dragonflies, birds of all kinds.
Of love lost, but not.
The gift of a painting,
clearly done from the heart.
A calm, caring, thoughtful owl
peering out from the trunk of a tree.
The Worry Owl you called it,
with the advice,
“Let the owl do the worrying.”
Thank you, Holly,
for the Worry Owl
that keeps me company
all these years later,
but most especially for the gift
of your calm, caring, thoughtful presence
in the lives of all of us
who had the good fortune
to know you,
your beautiful being.

With love,
Sarah Carlson
November 8, 2018

Greater Than, Less Than, Equal To

Greater Than, Less Than, Equal To

Numbers –
so concrete,
easy to compare.
One definitely worth either
more than, less than,
or the same as another.
It’s clear what their relationship is,
once you know the rules
and how they operate.
And then there’s us,
we humans,
with our varied and complex interweavings.

It is so often said that we are all created equal,
yet there are those who seem to believe
they are greater than,
constantly needing that ‘fact’
to be seen.
Likely they may actually feel less than
somewhere deep within,
and so the need to prove.
By stepping out into the natural world
it’s easy to behold true equity and balance.

Fledgling tree with changing leaves
sways in a cool fall breeze,
waters of a nearby pond
ruffle and reflect,
mountain backdrop stands
full, strong, and steady.
One part of the scene no greater
or less than the other,
each having an equal part in the grandeur.
The human who takes a pause to notice
fills with the clean, clear energy
of that equality.
Once again grateful
for the teachings of nature,
she moves forward
with more clarity on board.

Sarah Carlson

October 27, 2018

Blossoming

Blossoming

Tiny one lays on her back,
wide open to the newness
of the world around her.
All she really needs is sustenance,
tenderness, the security
of a sense of place.
She exudes the joy of living
just by being herself.
But every so often
something is off,
not quite right.
Her beautiful being tenses
as she cries out,
looks toward the one
who might offer solace.
But it’s not there
and so she begins to master
the tucking away of suffering.
Now,
so many years later,
she can still feel
the deep, stale discomfort of
the missing
and the hiding.
But she also again recognizes
opportunity to unlearn and relearn,
orient to a source of love
that is boundless,
trustworthy,
and true.
She closes her eyes,
carefully lays open once again
as, bit by bit,
 that antiquated source of fear and pain
fades into the distance,
softening as it goes.
Her focus shifts to
the grace and haven of
blossoming.

Sarah Carlson

October 23, 2018

Autumn Afternoon

View from Fairbanks Bridge, Farmington, ME

In late September I did a presentation of my poetry at the Rangeley Public Library. This was a special spot for me because Barry and I met in Rangeley in 1975. After my reading I went out to dinner at a restaurant called Forks in the Air (a name Barry would have loved). I was feeling many things - excitement, accomplishment, relief, gratitude, and so on. I decided to have a libation and perused the choices. And... there it was, right there on the menu - Rogue Dead Guy (a malty ale from the Rogue Brewery in Oregon). I thoroughly enjoyed it - the taste, the serendipity, the dry humor that Barry would also have loved. In this case I think of 'rogue' as a person full of mischief, one who breaks away from norms and does things his/her own way. It was perfect. I knew a poem would eventually come. It started on Tuesday after an osteopathic treatment (and after Coming Undone) and came to fullness after I took this picture and played with the abecedarius form.

Autumn Afternoon

(abecedarius)

Autumn afternoon pedaling on my trusty
bike. Blustery winds blow some rain in, but I don’t
care. I’m in the rhythm of riding as varied thoughts
dance through my mind.
Eventually you enter and, as always, I’m grateful that you
find your way in. It has become a 
gentle sense of joining as I work to
harness the shifting energies of healing, the
intricate undertones and sometimes bewildering
juxtaposition of openness and boundaries. The
kinesthetic nature of pedaling
leads to connections of heart and
mind. As my gears hum I
notice my health and feel grateful, not
only for when we were us in the flesh, but also for sensations of your
presence now. I pause on the bridge near our home, smile with knowing that my
quirky
rogue dead guy continues to show up, sometimes murky and other times clear,
sensations of love shared always present. I’ve had some
trying times lately, have had to strive to
understand. It’s been a bit painful, really, but with
visceral relief distinctly present. I have more
work to do, but it’s actually
exhilarating to be here right now, in me. I continue to honor
your love as I let my
zeal out into the light of day and decide what reflections I want to let in.

Sarah Carlson

October 13, 2018

Coming Undone

Coming Undone

It’s coming undone
and I’m so glad.
The tether that kept me bound
to a multi-layered,
completely false sense of responsibility
is frayed and tattered,
only has a few tired strands left.
I’m somewhat in awe
at how well I’ve navigated
all this time with that faulty anchor
impeding my currents.
What a heavy load,
fastened before I knew any better.
At times it is crystal clear
when someone wrongly tries to process
their own stuff through me.
In some ways I seem to be
a bit of a magnet for that.
But, I no longer accept that position
and I’m getting better
 at kindly and gently
fending it off.
It’s the subtle times,
when others almost seem devious
in their attempts to pass the buck,
that still drag me down.
I don’t always catch it
as deep sediments get stirred and
that which reflects back 
seems murky and muddled,
doesn’t match what I know to be true.
Eventually, though, I figure it out,
acknowledge another opportunity to mend.
These last strands,
the inner weave of the tether,
may take more time to let go.
Or, not.
Either way is fine.
I’m just profoundly grateful that it’s
coming undone.

Sarah Carlson

October 9, 2018

Boundless Expanse

Boundless Expanse

It takes some work to uncover your fathoms,
especially if they’ve been ensconced for long.
There may be layers that are confusing
or weigh a great deal.
You may not always recognize the fabric
of the coverings
as opportunities to lift them appear.
But lift them you should.
Carefully, tenderly raise them
when you are ready.
The setting aside is not always predictable.
You might need to spread the material out
so you can take a closer look.
Or maybe you’ll need to gently fold it
as you reminisce,
continue to assimilate.
Some layers should be shared
with a trusted confidante
so you can further process their effects.
And then there are those pieces
you’ll need to fling aside,
perhaps even rip them to shreds,
let them scatter
in the winds of change.
But the insights that come from your efforts
are most definitely miraculous.
Along the way you will gradually
see, hear, feel things more purely
 and enjoy being uniquely you.
The spiky intricacies
of whatever your dark times include
will either disperse or
peacefully coexist with the glory
of the boundless expanse that contains
wonder, truth, communion
and Love.

Sarah Carlson

September 25, 2018

Marvel With Me

Me with my big brother, Geof, at the gray camp - Snow Pond, Maine... circa 1958

Marvel With Me

Dear Geof,
I wish I could talk with you
about so many things
that have been on my mind lately.
You are the only one
who shared tender,
 sometimes tremulous,
childhood years with me.
It’s been so long
since we sat in the garden

as young adults
marveling at our spouses,
our little ones.
That was the last day,

me just turned 30

and you 33.
Hmm, I just realized
that we didn’t actually
talk much right then.
But in those moments
our energies merged
and we were content.
You used to insist that
the things that were broken
were not mine to fix.
I don’t know how you knew that
at such a young age,
but you were right.
It feels so very good to
more and more let go of
that assumed responsibility.
As I do
my whole being loosens
and I can recall
joyful memories like
 having a big brother
marvel with me.

Love, Sarah

September 16, 2018

Allow

Clearwater Lake - photo by Mardy Bogar

Allow

Some clouds are stormy,
some benign,
some hard to read.
And yet the sun has the potential
to illuminate the edges
of them all,
given the right conditions.
Just as our nearest star
facilitates the splendor
of silver linings,
so can we humans permit our
inner brilliance to radiate
 from behind whatever
barricades may be in place.
We all want to,
though the desire may be
somewhat sequestered.
No matter what fronts
have blown through,
our own exquisite uniqueness
is there nestled within,
ours to share when
we feel secure and right.
And that we should -
both feel safe
and allow.
The sun doesn’t hesitate.
Why should we?

Sarah Carlson

September 11, 2018

The Way Ahead

Saddleback Lake from the Grey Ghost Trail - Sandy River Plantation, Maine

The Way Ahead

Our stories intersect.
We criss-cross each other
as we meet, greet, be.
Some stories entwine us
more than others,
like the story of true, deep, shared love.
The soulmate kind.
A sturdy anchor that can
keep a vessel secure
despite varied pulls.
When, for whatever reason,
the physical container of that love leaves,
there’s a scary sensation
of being adrift
and vulnerable.
It’s easy to hold on to
that which actually constricts,
promotes tension within.
Part of healing from the angst
and emptiness
of being on that drifty ship,
involves learning how and when
to let go.
There can be a sense of others
having power over you,
when in truth they don’t.
You might feel beholden,
responsible,
or simply wrong
at times when you are
stretching into your newness.
What a profound, liberating
 moment when
you realize
that you can let go,
even of that.
When you do,
the way ahead becomes
even more hopeful, open,
and true.

Sarah Carlson

August 28, 2018

Sun Shimmers and Rain Plops

Parker Pond, Maine

You'll have to look closely at the picture above. These moments didn't last long.

Sun Shimmers and Rain Plops

Blue-gray sky speckled with fair weather clouds.
Just enough wind to make evergreens waltz,
waves lap against my granite perch,
sunlight glitter upon their varied faces.
I settle in to read for a bit,
about indigenous wisdom and
the illusion of separation.
In need of some time
to ponder the message
I set my book aside and,
from seemingly nowhere,
a gentle, spotty rain begins to fall.
For just a few moments
sun shimmers and rain plops
dance on the water’s surface,
 together as one.
Circles within circles
bobbing, expanding, flowing
on the twinkling, reflective sheen.
Grateful and content,
I smile at nature’s
timely illustration.

Sarah Carlson

August 26, 2018

Ancestral Angst

Popham Beach State Park, Maine

This one is connected to an earlier poem called Ancestral Darkness - page 133 of The Radiance of Change and in the blog archive from October of 2015.

Ancestral Angst

Some of the energy from ancestral angst
somehow settled within.
Part of my lineage
with a distinct rigidity
that I’ve lugged
for a long while.
As I heal the strands often loosen,
discharging tension.
It’s as if there’s a conduit 
to sorrows of the past
to which I am linked,
but with current that is lessening.
Because these bonds are so old
there can be a bit of a skirmish
as they let go,
I let go.
Sometimes I think I should apologize,
which in moments of release
makes no sense at all.
Perhaps I am sorry because I care,
but now know that the issues
of my forebears were theirs,
not mine.
Maybe I’m just sorry because 

distress was such a large
piece of the puzzle
as I remember it,
took it in.
I’m not sorry that I recognized
my need for liberation.
As more and more unloads,
washes away,
I access greater appreciation for
the goodness of the grains
that also form my foundation,
and theirs.
I’m sure they didn’t mean to
cause family fracture.
I’ll never fully understand
all that was broken,
but I do know that
none of it was my fault.
 Though I still meander back,
I am acutely aware that
whatever happened is over.
I can flow forward with relief
at being
less and less connected
to ancestral angst.

Sarah Carlson

August 18, 2018

Two Briny Beings

Popham Beach State Park, Maine

This poem connects to and earlier piece titled Cross-Currents. It can be found on page 155 of The Radiance of Change and in the blog archive of September, 2016.

Two Briny Beings

Standing strong
in soft sand,
my tender feet
sink just a bit.
Ocean waves come from
 multiple directions,
wash around my legs.
I am mesmerized by the moment,
though right then I don’t quite know why.
I just knew I needed to be
right there, right then.
I can still feel the sensations of
sand caressing my feet,
water enveloping my skin.
Two briny beings
in a tidal dance
 of wholeness.
I didn’t have to understand fully
the reasons for my desire to
be in that spot,
just knew to follow the guidance
from whence it came.
No tension, no worry,
no remorse.
That sublime sensation
of letting go,
letting flow
in action once again
around me,
for me,
 within me.

Sarah Carlson

August 15, 2018

Cloud Bath

Saddleback Mountain in Rangeley, Maine

Lately I've had poems from the past come to mind as I write new ones. The following poem is closely linked to one titled One Foot in Front of the Other from 2006. It is on page 12 of The Radiance of Change and is also in the blog archive from November of 2010.

Cloud Bath

To the top of a favorite mountain
at the invitation of new friends.
Yet again,
I put one foot in front of the other
and make my way.
More sure footed this time,
with far less tension in my body,
very little ache in my heart.
To the summit we stretch,
and beyond.
On a rocky prominence we perch,
in awe of the lovely view.
In the distance
other mountains visited,
lakes enjoyed,
roads biked.
This busy body content
to simply sit, breathe, be.
Varied clouds
flow with summery breezes,
natural cinema playing
before our eyes.
Some vapors settle
 in the basin behind,
begin to sweep up the back slope.
Hugging the col,
they roll over the ridge,
descend the front slope
before they lift,
rise up as if in jubilation
at their freedom.
We humans immerse
in a cloud bath
with a smooth, gentle power.
Honored to be right there
in those moments,
I welcome the chance
for quiet cleansing and
soothing rejuvenation.

Sarah Carlson

August 15, 2018

There Again

There Again

We went there again.
To the old gray camp that is so close, 

yet so far, from home.
I know you were unsure about going.

I don’t blame you.
But you trusted,
allowed in the safety of now.
I felt your tenseness as we entered the kitchen

through the creaky screen door.
But you started to relax
 as we reached the living room,

sensing the difference
in the atmosphere of the place.
You checked every nook and cranny

with your eyes and your heart,
especially the open porch
with lake breezes wafting around and through.
You so badly wanted the changes
to be real, to be true.
As you turned and walked toward the pantry
 you stopped in your tracks,
taking it in anew.
It was altered
in both appearance and energy,

all traces of alcohol gone,

along with associated tension and angst.

Really, truly no longer there.
I felt your tender essence

infuse with hope, faith, delight –
your face aglow, your eyes a-twinkle,
your body at ease.
Yes, we went there again.
To that place of sadness,
misunderstanding,
and generational suffering.
It took some doing,
but we were solid and sure,
happy in our health,
able to fully accept the veracity of what is,
allow the ferocity of musty memories to wane.
Those dark days are done,
no longer need to produce pain.
Later, sitting by the lake,
watching the clouds drift above
and the loons swim by,
residual wariness and worry slid away,
 replaced with love
and gratitude for having gone
there again.

Sarah Carlson

August 8, 2018

Truth

Parker Ridge Trail, Tumbledown Mountain - photo by Katharina Burdet

Truth

Hear me, little one.
Trust me when I say you are safe,
we are safe.
We’ve worked hard
to uncover and explore,
wonder and weep,
receive and recover.
We, together, are me
and it’s time to fully align to the truth.
The continual sense of goodness
that has kept me company,
even in the hardest of times,
is real.
The core of strength
that has fortified my being
all along the way
is sure.
The ability to write,
illuminating healing and hope,
is beautiful and right to share.
The curative experiences
of body, mind, and spirit
can and should
 be welcomed and absorbed.
On solid ground,
beneath a benign sky,
serenaded by flowing waters
I stand full, robust, and ready.
I can take deep restorative breaths,
open wide to the beauty
both before me and within me.
Though there may be occasional stirs
as I assimilate and adjust,
the truth is
I am safe
to freely, fully,
firmly
be me.

Sarah Carlson

August 6, 2018