Uneasy peaks

When I started to feel lightness and had a sense of finding my way through the sorrow, I thought, "Okay, I'm doing it. I've gone from there to here and that's done." The linear mind again kicking in. But grieving is not a straight path, as I've said. Once I began to understand that I was able to hmmmm.... well, to start to be more at ease in the process, I guess. This next poem is one of several that was my way of expressing that.

Uneasy Peaks

From a valley of despair I have journeyed.
Emerging emotions, torrential tears, whitewater words
pouring from a well of deep inner turmoil
have been the impetus, the vehicle of my movement.
Traveling on a path that has at times been
a gentle slope with obstacles to be faced,
but more often so steep that I am breathless,
not sure that I can keep moving,
yet I do.
Some days I walk along a precipice that
tenses my body and makes my spirit so weary.
Other days I have a spring in my step and
take time to drink in the view,
feel the breezes of contentment and peace,
hear the gentle whispers of encouragement and hope.
I have fallen many times,
fallen so hard that old hurts return to haunt
a newly evolving me.
Fallen so hard that the buzzing bug
that pesters my brain becomes loud and annoying.
The bug of doubt, of worry, of fear.
But each time I have picked myself up,
acknowledged the pain for what it is,
and moved forward.
I have reached beautiful peaks,
where I feel aware, and solid, and sure,
where I discover things in myself that I
never knew were there,
where I just feel right.
Yet those peaks make me uneasy,
make me think I should turn back -
back to what was because, although it was dark,
it was at least familiar.
But I don’t.
I only slide a bit and find ways
to brush the bug away,
then strive for another peak.
For I now understand
that those uneasy peaks are part of a fresh horizon,
that my uneasiness dissolves into learnings about me,
that my inner boundaries have changed.
I have wandered far and wondered deeply,
and soon I will settle into
the me that is right.
A me that is at ease reaching for new heights
and comfortable when I get there.

Sarah Carlson

January 5, 2007

Saying hello to my big brother

I just returned home from doing a presentation at a Hospice training for new volunteers on the topic of rituals and good byes. As I prepared to present I realized that yes, saying good bye is very important, but it really is also about saying hello to a new way to be, a different way to have a person in your life even though he or she is gone. I will have much more to say about that regarding my process of adjusting to life since my husband's death. But part of this process, for me, has also been about grieving for my big brother, Geof, who was killed in a bicycling accident in 1987. Well, really it has been about finding him again - and saying hello. I did say good bye as best I could when he died, but I had some things I needed to attend to before I could more fully process his death. I wrote the poem Big Brother as I entered that phase. And then, six months after that, I found a wonderful way to reconnect with him.

Geof had ridden in the Trek Across Maine, a 180 mile bike ride from the mountains of Maine to the coast that takes place each June over a 3 day period. He rode in the very first year of the Trek, in 1985, and again the next year. I drove him to the start of the first day in 1985 and have a delightful, very clear memory of him riding the beginning phase in torrential rain with a huge grin on his face. I remember wondering, "How could he actually be enjoying that!?" 25 years later I found out the answer to that question when, on that anniversary ride (my third Trek) , the weather the first day was exactly the same and I had a glorious time with my team forging through the wind and rain and thinking about my big brother. I have ridden for the past 4 years and each year, in some way or another, I feel his presence, his support, and his love.

The poem Trek Across Maine is one I wrote after my first Trek experience. The picture above is of the bike storage on one of the stopovers. The years that Geof rode there were 100 or so riders - now there are about 1800 each year. Just an explanation as to why a rider chose to hang his/her bike in a tree!

Big Brother

Big brother, where did you go?
I never got the chance to know you.
I wanted to, but I never really did.
We shared the same house, the same parents,
yet we were so different.
I knew you loved me, knew you cared.
But we didn’t talk much.
We did what we needed to do to move forward
each in our own way.
I remember the Mother’s Day when we
shared a moment in the garden of our childhood home
as happily married young parents.
Children playing with our spouses in the front yard,
we sat together and began to discover each other.
I said, “We did pretty well, didn’t we?”
You asked what I meant.
I pointed to the front yard and smiled.
You got it, you understood and
in that moment I felt connected to you in a different way.
New ways to be together, the future bright, good times ahead.
It felt so solid and sure that day, just sitting together
my big brother and me.
Then you drove away with your family,
contented smile on your face.
A face that spoke volumes without words.
Ten days later Dad called to tearfully
tell me you were dead.
Time has passed and I have grown older,
much older than you ever had the chance to be.
Yet you are still my big brother
and now our children are
amazing young adults finding their
way in a world that has been too long without you.
I miss you, your laugh, your quiet confidence.
They miss you, too.
We have all gone on, but your absence looms large.
I miss you, big brother.
Where did you go? Where did you go?

Sarah Carlson
December 26, 2006

Trek Across Maine
(Through the Eyes, Ears, and Heart of a Neophyte)

Heart pumping, stomach churning, gasping for breath –
and I hadn’t even started yet.
Soaking in the moment knowing I was embarking on the ride
with the quiet support of my son, the companionship of my daughter
and the memories of my husband and my big brother in my heart.
Off we went, my awesome friends and I,
off to join the river of bikers ebbing, flowing, coursing
from the mountains to the sea.
An incredible journey unfolded as we melded into the current
powered by the human spirit, the stretching of personal limits.
Giving and receiving support to and from people we knew,
and people we had yet to meet.
Pedaling past a multitude of scenes
that represented Maine at its finest.
Rolling fields, green hills, distant mountains,
sparkling rivers and streams
weaving their way around the solidity of the rocky earth.
Serenaded by chirping birds, croaking frogs,
and the cheers of green shirted volunteers.
Blue skies overhead interrupted only occasionally
by friendly clouds that wafted by.
Up and down hills, feeling the contentment of reaching a peak and
the exhilaration of cruising down the other side.
Early mornings, flat tires, broken spokes, aching muscles,
more miles than we had ever ridden.
We did it all and I finished hand in hand with my daughter and
a sense of accomplishment
unmatched by anything I had ever done before.
Personal, multi-faceted victories for us all.
A memorable Trek that I hope is the first of many more to come

Sarah Carlson

June 19, 2007

Lightening up

As I prepared this poem to post it really brought up some emotion for me. This was a huge turning point and now, almost 4 years after I wrote it, I realize how much I enjoy feeling the lightness I have discovered as a result of all the work I have done. Right now in my life I am working through a somewhat difficult, confusing situation, but I am doing so in a healthy, productive way that honors me - my feelings, my heart, my light.

Personal Solstice

Darkness, what is it?
The absence of light.
I thought that, felt that for so long.
When I fell to the depth of my personal darkness
I thought that I could not keep the light,
that it was for everyone else but me,
that the inner blackness was just too strong.
Some part of me knew the light was there
even in the darkest of times.
Always a keyhole of light
that let some warmth into
the cold reaches of my soul.
But I just didn’t feel I could keep my grip
on the shreds of light that presented themselves,
taunting me with glimpses of what could be.
That was my perception, my reality.
But over these past months I have found words,
have let my tears flow, have learned to trust,
have started to understand the pieces that are me.
Some of those pieces form my darkness,
but that darkness need not threaten me,
It is just a thing to be conceptualized and contemplated,
to learn and grow and teach from.
But it does not have to control or define me.
And, although it is big and dark and real,
it is backlit like a cloud with a silver lining.
And so what is darkness?
The promise of light.
For without it how would we know
the true beauty of shooting stars,
of a gibbous moon on a summer night,
of a campfire on a remote island,
of a flickering candle on a winter’s eve?
The colors of a sunset mean that darkness is near
but are also the colors of light.
And that setting sun
shows us the promise of a new day.
I believe my personal solstice has come.
I have faced my darkness,
understand its multiple facets
and now know that there is a light in me
that can shine through and light the way
to a future of possibilities.

Sarah Carlson

December 21, 2006

One foot in front of the other

This poem was written about an experience I had on the fourth anniversary of Barry's death. I went for a hike alone that day and, though it was a huge effort to make it to the summit, I felt a deep sense of reconnection as I sat and soaked it all in.

One Foot in Front of the Other

May 29, 2006 – 4 years

I needed to move, but it was so hard.
I wanted to be somewhere, but I didn’t know if I could.
So I made my way to the base of a special mountain
and I put one foot in front of the other.
There was every reason not to -
deep fatigue, spent emotions, sore muscles,
aching heart, excessive heat, dark clouds.
But to the summit I went in spite of it all.
There I was looking down at a place
on the other side of the lake
where I had met the man who helped me be whole,
helped me believe in me,
became my mirror, my anchor, my saviour.
There I was sitting in that beautiful spot
on the very day when, four years earlier,
my life had changed again -
the day when he left and never came back.
As I looked over the valley,
messages from nature were spread before me.
The sky had become blue in many places,
but there was a haze on the horizon.
The blue - the clarity I craved,
the haze – the confusion I felt so lost in.
There they were sharing the same sky.
The clouds made beautiful shadows
on the spring green valley below.
Greens that sparkled where the sun made it through,
hopefulness and sorrow sharing the same space.
Here and there in the valley were the lakes,
dark blue basins full of currents and movement.
I felt him so clearly with me that day,
remembering the bond that was forged
on the mountain, in the valley, by the lakes.
As I sat listening to the whispering of the wind
and the songs of the birds,
I felt a sense of hope, a sense of peace,
a sense of knowing that there would be other mountains to climb
and I would continue to find ways to
keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Sarah Carlson
December 17, 2006

Inner prism

At some point during this phase I started to really notice the sky in new and insightful ways. I remember being in a kayak on a nearby lake and looking straight up into a cloud that was full of motion and energy. Dark and light layers with whisps of vapor curling away. I can still see it in my mind's eye. Another memory is one of biking home along a field and looking out over a beautiful fall sunset sky with so many vivid colors hugging the hills. Then there was an evening snowshoe outing with new friends under a sky just bursting with stars and moonlight bathing the snowscape. Those experiences, combined with continued inner energy work led to the writing of this piece.

Inner Prism

Dense, jagged, penetrating blackness of fear
once consumed my core, pierced my aching heart,
took over an integral part of my being,
made me feel unsure, worthless, the reason
for all the loss and sorrow in my life.
A black whole that was so powerful, so strong -
still visits, perhaps as a reminder to make
the choice to turn toward the light, toward the marvelous
hues of healing, of goodness, of peace, of joy.
I’ve seen them, felt them, though they often dance along a
boundary long ago defined by things I could not control.
A gray, viscous boundary being challenged by the
ebbing and flowing of my searching soul, my wondering spirit.
Inner spirit that sees through eyes newly aware of
what is really there in the beauty of the natural world.
Eyes that look up to see puffy white clouds
with centers of gray swirling water vapor -
natural cinematic vision of the process of healing.
Darkness and light intermingled and entwined,
surrounded by the blue of a peaceful sky,
edges illuminated by the ever-faithful sun,
always there to provide for the silver lining.
Eyes that notice that sun set and provide a rainbow of colors,
reds, oranges, yellows, pinks that fill the sky,
spill over onto a myriad of green in the hills.
Colors of happiness, contentment, fulfillment, hope.
Kaleidoscope of color from without to within.
Eyes that see the majestic moon in a starlit sky,
and pause to look for patterns in the stars
in blackness that isn’t always quite black,
that can be soft and reassuring
when experienced in the company of good friends.
Eyes like prisms that refract and harness
those colors from without
to help overtake the inner blackness.
From without to within to conquer my fears.
darkness beaten back by the colors of light.

Sarah Carlson

December 15, 2006

My beloved river

Well, I was going to call it a night, but this next poem is just begging to be put out there, so to speak. I can actually hear it saying, "Hey, don't forget about me!" Seriously, though, this was a wonderful poem to write. I remember feeling so good after I put these words on the page. And... I'll let the poem speak for itself.

My Beloved River

My beloved river continues to speak,
teaching my being, calming my mind,
alleviating my fears, soothing my soul.
Together we unfroze, my river and I,
as the spring sun spread its light
on shimmering, solid ice that concealed the
liquid flowing beneath.
Always moving, never stopping,
finding a way through.
Great chunks of ice showed themselves
as the floodgates opened.
Chunks that harbored debris,
sticks and stones of past pain and hurt
carried away by the torrent of emotion.
Rapid currents that altered the banks,
changed the boundaries, then settled.
Warmer air turned the ice to slush,
which spoke with a quiet sureness.
Soft sounds of the hope of peace,
quiet whispers of understanding,
of moving toward a better way to be.
Yes – the river never stops.
Water in endless motion,
ebbing and flowing
like my newly freed spirit,
my still searching soul.
The river is my guide,
showing obstacles to flow around,
times of whitewater anguish,
quiet pools in which to rest,
surface sparkling in the sun
reflecting the light, the warmth.
My beloved river does speak
and reminds me to keep moving,
that there is a way through.

Sarah Carlson

December 11, 2006

Within and without

This post will include three very different poems. The first one is a piece that rhymes, which has been unusual in my poetic voice. It seems to happen when, even though the topic might be deep, there was a light-heartedness that was emerging at the same time.

One of my students gave a heart shaped rock (pictured above) to me just a few days before Barry died. I found it several weeks later in my classroom and it became something to cherish, as well as leading to my being more aware of heart rocks as I walked and processed. I have found many beautiful examples and have shared them with others over the years.

The bird connection actually began with an experience with Barry along the river, again just a few days before he died. We were there one evening with our son and two Canadian geese flew in and landed in the moonlight right near the bank where we were cooking dinner over an open fire. We had a nice talk later about what a spiritual happening that was. Since he died I have had many, many experiences seeing varied birds when I most need it - beginning with an owl that went from tree to tree as I walked along a dirt road very soon after Barry's death.

Nature Speaks

Birds and heart rocks - one up and one down.
In nature, my temple, they truly abound.
What do they tell me? Why do they appear?
If I just listen, they can lessen my fear.
Two geese on the river, moonlight all around
told us of the purity of what we had found.
They reflected our passion and helped us feel peace,
but four days later his presence did cease.
And since his passing more winged ones have shown,
making it easier to forge into the unknown.
An owl in a treetop looking down to see
if all was okay, if I knew how to be.
Bald eagles and herons on foot and in flight
urging me onward in my personal fight.
Hummingbirds, wood ducks all there to say,
keep trying, keep going, you will be okay.
And heart rocks showing themselves on a beach,
just when I feel that healing is out of my reach.
A piece of the earth made out of stone,
Yet showing that in nature one is never alone.
And so my journey continues, with more to pursue.
If I remember to keep listening I’ll know what to do.

Sarah Carlson

October 1, 2006

The next two poems are a result of truly beginning to feel my feelings. I tried so hard for so long to stuff them into a place where I could manage, but that just didn't work anymore. Through polarity, drumming, talking, writing, experiencing nature my inner world continued to change.
I think by finally allowing myself to be in 'neutral', that opened the door for the 'shift' to happen. The poem The Shift is about an experience I had when one night when I just felt so very much happening. I went to the tennis court where Barry died, felt drawn there really. And the rest is in the poem....

Neutral

Pain – I felt it and know it’s valid,
understand its causes – and its effects
on my inner being,
on my thought processes,
know that it caused
rage – I felt it and know it’s real,
understand that it is there,
that it is okay to acknowledge its presence.
It makes me restless,
but I have felt its power
and know it can fuel me.
Except right now I feel like I’m in neutral.
The engine is running, the fuel is there,
but I can’t quite get it in gear.
I am so very tired, yet energized.
I feel so uneasy, yet so sure.
Still swinging, wanting to let go, to get a new grip.
I know I am solid, yet my core is still molten.
I don’t know where I am, yet I am right here.
I don’t feel like moving, just want to rest.
Perhaps it is time to idle, to be where I am.
Let myself stay in neutral until I can harness
the energy that I once thought would do me in,
but now know can help me move solidly into me.

Sarah Carlson

November 26, 2006

The Shift

What happened?
Something did.
Something good and real and deep.
I felt unbearable pain and agonizing rage
pulsating through by body, through my being.
So I walked and I thought and I questioned.
But this time I asked productive questions as I looked into me.
What to do, where to go, how to release what has been torturing me?
And then I knew, just deeply knew.
I followed an inner wisdom that I never knew I had,
went to an unlikely place to find answers, to find peace.
I laid down, my back connected to the earth that last held my soul mate’s body.
I looked up to a starlit sky and could feel my soul ebbing, flowing,
searching for a way through, like the frozen water of my beloved river.
Felt the chill night air, yet was warmed by the molten core of my rage, my pain.
And something shifted as I tried to pray, but wasn’t sure I knew how.
Something happened as I chanted the drum strokes,
Kah-Earth, Doum-Water, Tak-Fire, Cha-Air.
Something was released as I looked to without
and asked for help to ease my torment.
My being was nurtured by the natural world around me.
My burden was lightened as I somehow let go.
My soul was caressed by the love of Barry,
of our children, of my friends and family,
of myself, of the universe.
I felt the power – within and without.
A power filled with goodness, promise, hope.
A power that does fuel me as I continue to heal.
Still struggling, but sometimes filled with peace,
still affected by fear, but sometimes moving with a solid sureness.
Yes, something did happen -
a deep shift because of a connection
within and without.

Sarah Carlson

December 3, 2006

Finding my inner rhythm

Another friend of mine suggested that I try drumming with a group of local women who had started a frame drumming group. Again, as with polarity therapy, this was something I knew nothing about. My initial response is one that many people have when it comes to drumming, "I don't have rhythm. I wouldn't be able to do that!" But again I trusted and I found myself going to one of their practices. My friend very wisely put a tambourine into my hands and, before I knew it, I was following along.
The group didn't have a name at that point and after much brainstorming a name popped into my head that the group did eventually adopt - InnerRhythm. Since that time we have branched out (pun intented) into playing rhythms on both the tambourine and the tar. Many of us have also taken on the djembe.
One of the things I did soon after I joined the group was write - you guessed it - a poem that helped me internalize the four different drum strokes of the tambourine. They are based on the natural elements of earth, water, fire and air and we learn rhythms that combine them in many ways. Drumming has become another outlet for me and, at the time I discovered it 4 years ago, was an important aspect of my opening up.
And yes.... I did actually go outside this morning and put my drums in a tree in my front yard to take the above picture!

Universal Pulse

Kah, Earth, Kah, Earth.
Spinning planet, ground beneath us.
Rock solid, always there.
Kah, Earth, Kah, Earth.

Doum, Water, Doum, Water
Oceans, rivers, endless motion
Freezing, thawing. ebbing, flowing.
Doum, Water, Doum, Water.

Tak, Fire, Tak, Fire.
Smoke, flame, heat, warmth.
Molten core, boundless energy.
Tak, Fire, Tak, Fire.

Cha, Air, Cha, Air
Clouds, sky, wind, weather.
All around us. breathe deeply.
Cha, Air, Cha, Air

Kah, Doum, Tak, Cha.
Earth, Water, Fire, Air.
Nature’s elements, universal pulse.
Kah, Doum, Tak, Cha.

Sarah Carlson

October 2006

Drumming, among other things in my life, helped me deal with what I call the 'pendulum effect' of digging in and dealing with grief and sorrow.

Pendulum

Swinging wildly…
loving mother,
fearful child,
intuitive educator,
unsure youth,
confident woman,
uneasy adolescent.
When will I settle into me?

Back and forth…
trust - distrust,
faith - doubt,
power - helplessness,
confidence - confusion,
security - apprehension
love – fear.
When will I truly believe?

To and fro…
negative image,
radiant beauty,
withdrawn teammate,
competent leader,
deep fatigue,
boundless energy.
How can I find the balance?

Persistent pendulum…
lonely prisoner,
emerging friend,
off beat wanderer,
rhythmic drummer,
word weary warrior,
energetic poet.
How can I just be?
I just want to be…

Sarah Carlson

October 3, 2006

A conversation

Wow, this is an interesting process - sorting through all these poems as I remember back and marvel at how much has transpired. At first I thought I should put them out there in order, but they haven't been coming to mind in order... and then I realized that makes sense! That old linear mind again.... but, OF COURSE, this will be a meandering path, too!
So the one that has been in the forefront of my mind and heart today is really a pair of poems. I have them right next to each other on a page as they are a conversation between Barry and me. I speak to Barry first and then he responds - and I clearly remember when I wrote the one titled 'Sarah' I actually felt him with me - I didn't hear him, I FELT him and it was lovely. It was sad, too, at that time - but I did feel a wonderful sense of the deep relationship we shared together for so long.
The picture above is one I took from the summit of Saddleback Mountain. It looks down to Saddleback Lake in the valley. That's where Barry and I first met in the summer of 1975.
So.... please picture these poems next to each other...:)

Barry

That first horseback ride, harbinger of what was to come.
We talked, we listened to each other’s despair.
Deep connection that wasn’t even about words.
It was just there.
You knew it, felt it much sooner than I.
I was so young, so hurt, so vulnerable, so guarded.
But you knew, you saw, you helped me understand
it was okay to feel, to need someone,
to be me.
We were connected on so many levels for 27 wonderful years.
Through life’s twists and turns we were solid and sure.
You filled a void in me, as I filled a void in you.
But then you left, just left.
I know that wasn’t your plan,
but one beautiful spring day you left and never came back.
We weren’t ready for that, our children and I.
We need you and your calm, quiet presence.
We need your subtle humor, your deep love, your devotion.
We need you.
I need you, especially now as our children
move out into their futures.
I miss you, in so very many ways.
In ways I never realized would be.
I know you are there, here within me and our children.
But it just isn’t the same.
I can’t quite remember what it felt like to be held by you.
I can’t quite hear your voice.
I’m scared, Barry.
I don’t quite know how to be without you yet.
I miss you so very much.


Sarah

I miss you, too.
Wonderful wife, mother, friend.
You did fill a void in me.
You made me complete.
I loved what we had.
You know that and it is a part of who you are now.
All the things I loved about you are still there, too.
Have always been.
Don’t forget.
You have to celebrate them within yourself now.
They are real, valid and so vital to your moving on.
Your perceptiveness, your compassion,
your sense of humor, your busy mind,
your beautiful being.
All the good things you felt while you shared your life with me.
They are still there.
Trust yourself, trust their validity as you learn to
understand the validity of your pain.
As you remember that it is okay to feel, to need, to be you.
It’s okay to be scared, Sarah.
I would be, too.
We were one, you and I.
But now you are just beginning to see you for you.
I am part of that, but just part.
It’s okay.
Just keep going, keep searching and know that
who you are becoming
is simply an extension of the goodness
of who you have always been.
I love you, Sarah.
I love YOU.

Sarah Carlson

October 22, 2006

Beginning to clean out

As I began to open up and realized that it really was good and right to share and process and heal, that poetic voice danced its way out in new ways. One very early poem is one I still love - The Boots. They were cowboy boots that Barry had purchased when he was out West and were already quite worn when I met him. So - well worn and well loved, but now gathering dust and mold in the basement. Once I wrote this I was able to deal with them and, looking back, I think it was the beginning of taking control of what I could as I steeled myself to dig in and do more work. And the beginning of my understanding that though we were such a team for so long, so well matched, I could and would find a way to move forward.

The Boots

There amidst the unused clothes
beckoned the boots.
Constant reminder of the physical loss.
Embodiment of who he was –
lover, rebel, father, cowboy, soulmate.
They called out – what about me?
What are you going to do with me, without me?
There they lay – unfilled, moldy, sorrowful.
Yet, were they him? Or were they just something he once owned,
once wore, once treasured?
Some THING that had value to him, but were no longer needed.
No longer needed because he is in us – in every life he touched.
Clearly in me – his loving wife.
Clearly in the children he so cherished and who inspired awe in him.
His footprints are indelibly etched in our hearts,
in our souls, in who we are.
No longer are the boots needed.
We are going on to make our own footprints,
walking our own paths,
but carrying him with us, each in our own way.
Moving to the rhythms of our memories, his laughter, his love.
The boots are gone,
but he is not.

Sarah Carlson

August 2006

Opening the door - to the dark and to the light

I love the word meander: to follow a winding course or a journey that is circuitous in nature. Our society often tends to be so linear, but to go with life's twists and turns can certainly provide a whole different perspective. A river meanders as it erodes the banks that hold it in or when there is an obstacle that gets in the way, and eventually the flow does find a way. That image appears often in the poetry that I plan to share through this blog. I learned to set aside my linear mind and to follow the meanderings that my heart knew I needed to explore.
AND I am so excited. Excited you say? Isn't this a blog that is mostly about grieving? Didn't she use the word sorrow in her heading? YES - to all of those questions. I am excited because I feel that I have found a way to share something quite wonderful that happened to me as I have walked down the road of bereavement - the poetic voice that demanded to be heard and has resulted in the writing of over 170 poems over the past 4 and 1/2 years.
I really didn't want to go down that road so much, but I had to. My husband Barry, my soulmate of 27 years, died very suddenly one beautiful spring day 8 and 1/2 years ago. It took a while, but eventually I found my way to some productive ways to work through my grief. I can honestly say right now that I feel so very fortunate - for having had the wonderful years I did with him, for having had two incredible children with him who are now young adults, and for all the amazing things I have learned as a result of dealing with his physical loss.
Shortly after Barry died I was walking one day and I suddenly realized what the term 'broken heart' meant. It just physically hurt so very much, like a dagger was piercing my heart area. That was a precursor to my learning to listen to my body and that knowledge came from one of the ways I discovered to deal with my grief - polarity therapy. For more information about this particular type of energy work please see the following website: www.polaritytherapy.org
Through a mutual friend I started having polarity treatments with a woman named Katharina Burdet, a full 3 and 1/2 years after Barry's death. I really did not know what to expect, but the friend who recommended that I try polarity was someone I trusted. Katharina was in the second phase of her polarity training and also had experience in the area of bereavement. And so we began a wonderful journey together. One of the things that happened was that I tended to do a sort of journaling after a treatment. I, being a teacher by trade, naturally wanted to share what my thoughts and feelings were as all these new learnings unfolded. As time went on, though, my writing started to change and it was as if a door opened that provided for a whole new way of expression for me. One day early on I asked Katharina, "What is polarity anyway?" Then I quickly said, "Never mind, I think I know." As soon as I got home I wrote the following piece, which I later realized did have a poetic sort of bent.

What is Polarity?

A journey to within and without,
to that deep place where healing and hurt can coexist
and be a powerful mix to find a truer path.
A sense of being an integral part of the outer world,
a reconnection to a love that was thought to be lost
but has become embedded in the evolution of a new me.
A time to reflect and deeply understand the impact
of all that has been.
A chance to relax, renew, and find inner peace.
A way the body and mind discover positive pathways
to a future that is yet to be lived.

Sarah Carlson

March 2006

The picture above this post is one that I took yesterday and really shows what polarity helped me see in many ways - the dark is there, but can be quite beautiful. Without the dark, the colors of light would not be as splendid or noticeable. There is so much more to say... but I will leave it there for now.
For the record, though, most times I will not be writing as much prose. My real goal is to get my poetry out there and available in the hopes that it can help anyone who has experienced a loss.