Cozy Light

Shin Pond Sunrise - May 28, 2017

Cozy Light

In awakening there is a recognition of arrival
 coupled with departure,
in the ongoing progression of time.
A subtle lightening as newness slowly unfolds,
bringing with it familiarity
and the unknown.
All that has been is present
like a solid mountain silhouetted
against a fledgling sky,
calmly reflected in the fluid depths.
Some of what was will wash away,
carried by currents of watery wisdom.
Movement that is understood,
or not.
Quiet clouds may
work their way into the scene,
flowing with the winds
be they gentle or strong.
All that will be is yet to come
as the softness of the rising sun widens
and stretches into the light of day,
the hopeful promise of clear skies
ever present and real.

Solitary being surveys the scene,
ponders and wonders,
then draws in her breath,
grateful for the moment she is in.
She feels a sense of immersion
as a freedom unlike
any she has ever known gradually unfurls.
She kindles her inner embers
to let the cozy light of newness
permeate her body
and expand out into the developing day,
 willing any remaining debris
to softly flow away.

Sarah Carlson
May 30, 2017

Peaceful Acceptance

Looking Up - Backyard of Tara and Toby Burdet and Aaron Nau

Peaceful Acceptance

Tender moments of connection
await awareness as
the need for understanding relaxes.
Simultaneously sinking in and rising up,
 one is able to
access knowing,
trust togetherness,
savor the freshness
 and energy of expansion.
Waters of being flow freely,
breath diffuses deeply,
heart pulsates purely
and there is a tuning in,
a tuning out.
Bits of bedrock beneath
may rumble or tumble,
then sift and settle
 in new places
with a sweet sense of
of realignment,
a suspension of striving,
an opportunity to just be.
 Tangled tendrils
no longer matter
and the taproot is nourished
by what is real and right,
as it has been all along.
A reaching without seeking,
a simple stretching,
a peaceful acceptance of now.

Sarah Carlson
May 21, 2017

Father Love

Clearwater Lake, Maine

Father Love

Gentle, steady acceptance

coupled with a deep, strong sureness.

I know you’ve been there all along,

but for varied reasons I just couldn’t

quite trust all the way, all the time.

I thought I had to hide, protect,

stay strong on my own.

But, just when I was beginning to

understand the primary reasons

for perceived wrongness,

there you were.

In those sweet, tender moments

between sleep and awakening

you simply sat with me in silence

until I became aware of your presence.

One hand on my shoulder, one on my leg

you calmly offered compassionate connection

without judgment.

I didn’t even ask you to come,

at least not to my knowledge,

so your visit was a pleasant surprise.

I vacillated between true communion
 and vestigial patterns of unease.

Even now, though,

I can remember the sublime energy of being with you

and how it felt benevolent and right.

No reason to fear, no need to be ashamed

or feel anything but love.

After letting those sensations

sit and settle for a while

I realize what you offered that morning

was unconditional Father Love -

that, in truth, it’s always there.

It’s reminiscent of moments

with my dad learning the stars

and finding pictures in the clouds,

of what I saw in my brother’s eyes

as he watched his babies for too few years,

and what I felt with Barry as he reveled in being with

with our babies, children, young adults.

I miss them all so very much -

dad, brother, husband.

I know their love is with me still

as I’m becoming more free

to receive, embrace your love.

Perhaps it is actually all the same force.

Thank you for your visit

in the wee hours of the morning

to help me be more aware,

more accepting of ubiquitous

 Father Love.

Sarah Carlson

May 16, 2017

Relax and Rise

Great Wass Island, Maine

Dear Sarah,
Godsend,
that you were, that you are.
Grasp this truth as
you lift yourself out of the quagmire,
release yourself from those pesky tendrils
that try to draw you back.
Because of them you had to
wear strength like armor,
though, thankfully, you knew to let my love in.
You may feel vulnerable in your newness,
but you are so inwardly strong now.
All those moments we shared
as friends, lovers, parents
are woven together
with a warp of love, a weft of truth.
All those moments of healing
that you have experienced
 in the years since I died
have the same warp and weft.
Relax and rise as you
soak in the warmth,
allow your being
 to open all the way.
Relax and rise,
protected and supported
by that beautiful, growing
fabric of love and trust.
I love you, too.
You will always have that,
but there’s more.
Allow the Light of Love
to saturate and radiate
further in and further out.
Relax and rise, sweet Sarah,
relax and rise.

With love,

Barry

Sarah Carlson

May 3, 2017

Godsends

The Love Plant - has bloomed three times since it was given to me - on Memorial Day, Thanksgiving and Easter

Godsends

Dear Barry,
I’m here again needing
to connect with you.
I’ve been sorting through
all my poetry in the hopes
of publishing so that maybe
our love, my healing from
your departing
will help others.
More and more I cherish how
you were a godsend to me,
and I to you.
That’s the word that dropped
into my head yesterday
when I thought of you
as I pondered which
pieces of my heart to share.
Godsend.
It’s all through the writings
I’ve done these past years,
that sense of rightness of
the intertwining of our lives.
I’m just so grateful for your love,
for the caring protection
you extended just by being you
with me.
And even though it has not
been easy to adjust to your death,
I’m grateful for the fruits
of my labors as I
forge ahead
and more fully bloom.
They are godsends, too.
I love you, Barry.
I always will.
I'm so happy that we
were godsends for
each other.

Sarah Carlson

April 28, 2017

Fatherly Love

Carrabassett Valley, Maine - the Bigelows from Sugarloaf Mountain

Life surely is complicated. When one decides to explore the complexities of the past as I have there are so many layers and levels involved. Though at times tiring and perplexing, it's also amazing and freeing.

Yesterday I felt the love of my dad during an Osteopathic treatment. He's been gone for over 5 years now and it felt nice to experience this, to be sure. I think he would want me to share... and if not, I'm going to anyway because I get to choose...

I chose the above picture because the Carrabassett Valley was one of his favorite places as he spent many hours skiing the trails of Sugarloaf. I love the shadows, the vastness, the frozen sides of the trees as they solidly endure the weather.

There's more to the story, but I'm going to let the poem and the picture speak for themselves.

Fatherly Love

I sit on his lap as he wraps strong, safe arms
around my vibrant little body.
“I love you sweet Sarah,”
he whispers into my ear.
I feel my whole being light up.
Disdain and anger soon enter the room,
but his love envelops me in
a protective, though fragile, bubble.
Years later I run across the front lawn
and jump into those shielding arms.
He spins me round and round -
gently, but with gusto.
I giggle at first, then ask him to stop.
He does so quickly and checks to see if I am okay.
I am when we are outside,
but we go in to where jealousy and despair
pulsate and pervade.
His protection wanes as time passes
and my being becomes more and more unsure.
Eventually it’s clear that, though he means well,
he just can’t ward it off any more.
He’s become enmeshed in it
as it relentlessly attacks from multiple origins.
In fact, he’s actually complicit
as they all enable each other
in a twisted nest of dysfunction
and denial of the truth.

I move on in my life with
gentle courage and quiet strength
that lead me to find pathways to healing.
I am expanding more and more
into my fullness now,
though he’s gone.

I think I felt him today, though.
It’s been so long, but I think I sensed
his untainted fatherly love .
All the layers of yuck were peeled away
and I had just a few moments of
trusting it, allowing it, feeling
safe to be with it.
I know my father loved me,
but he just couldn’t protect me
as things were then.
Maybe, just maybe,
I can let the purity of fatherly love
embrace me now.

Sarah Carlson

April 18, 2017

Mother Love

Artwork by Judith Aldrich - June 2015

For a long time I've understood that some things that I can freely put out into the world were/have been missing for me. Part of my healing has been to feel this, get this - physically, emotionally and spiritually.
Yesterday I had an experience that, I believe, was and will continue to be part of ongoing transformation...

Mother Love

I open sleepy eyes and see her
peering over the edge of the crib,
carefully checking… on me.
The pureness of her
love oozes over the rail,
between the slats
 as it gently winds around
and through my being.
Her kind eyes sparkle with the
simple joy of being my mom.
I feel comfortable
 within though
my blanket has fallen away,
the warmth of her guardianship
and acceptance
wrapping me in safety.
She picks up my blanket,
folds it and sets it aside.
She knows that in that moment
I have no need for it.
Slowly and gently she slides
her hands under me and lifts.
I am at once suspended
and connected,
my foundation
healthy and strong.
She lays me against her and
I feel our hearts beating together,
though each has a chest of its own.
I snuggle my face
into the tenderness of her skin,
close my eyes and
allow myself to soak in
the sweet, soft sensations of
Mother Love.

Sarah Carlson

April 4, 2017

Mourning Light

Sunrise in my front yard - March 22, 2017

The morning after experiencing a very powerful and healing Osteopathic manipulation this was the scene as the sun rose over my neighborhood. I was making breakfast and noticed a serene purple glow outside my kitchen window. I stepped out onto my deck with my camera and was able to capture just a taste of this magical, but fleeting scene. I felt as if I was in a bubble of beauty that most certainly included me. Just after I took this picture a snow squall blew through, but the feelings and emotions have stayed with me as a gentle sensation of rightness.
Here is my attempt to put words to what seems to be happening within:

Mourning Light

No one has the right
to tell another where
or when or how
 to grieve.
A softness comes
to mourning
as authentic
emotions are free
to come to light.
A gentle dawning unfolds,
surrounds,
weaves its way
within and without,
 a welcome glow of
ethereal awareness.
As morning sun penetrates
 the darkness of night,
so does mourning light
 seep its way into
a being who chooses
to explore the

diverse and intricate

facets of grief.
What a pure and 

tender experience
it is to behold
and embrace
the beauty, 

the grace,

the rightness
of mourning light.

Sarah Carlson

March 23, 2017

Awaken

Morning after Winter Storm Stella - March 15, 2017

Awaken

Through the night
 wild winds blow,
shaking me to my core.
Multi-faceted roots
hold fast to the sure and solid earth
as a sparkling, pristine
blanket shields me in my slumber.
Branches of my being quiver and quake
 in the onslaught of the blizzard,
but I find my rhythm and
learn to dance with the storm,
yield to its power,
discover from its might.
Morning comes as the sun slides
above the horizon,
begins to warm the chilly air,
sends shadows skittering
across the crystalline scene.
There is a promise,
a quickening as
roots stretch,
trunk expands,
branches swell
with a readiness to bud.
Awaken
to a new day,
a coming season,
a deserved rebirth.
Awaken
 to the freshening,
the unfettering,
the freeing.
Awaken
 to being
right here,
right now.
Let the storm pass and
awaken.

Sarah Carlson

March 15, 2017

Watery Wisdom

Grand Falls on the Dead River in Maine    March 5, 2017

Last weekend, on a very cold and blustery day, I joined a group of intrepid women on an adventure to the Grand Falls Hut on the Maine Huts and Trails system. Along with the cold weather, there were many other reasons to not head up the trail. A young member of the Farmington ski community had been killed in a horrific accident on nearby Sugarloaf Mountain the day before, a member of our group had been injured the previous evening because of icy conditions, and the trail was 8 miles long with no chance for communication along the way. We all had inner concerns and wonderings and yet each of us made the choice to trust in our abilities and our strength and made our way into the hut.

The trail was along the Dead River, but I have to say that I felt very much alive. It was so cold that there was very little stopping along the way. My water bottle froze, along with my fingers when an attempt was made to dig food out of my bag. And so we kept putting one foot in front of the other, some of us on skis and others on foot. Women, 24 in all, arrived throughout the afternoon and there was a sense of togetherness, a camaraderie that took on new meaning in light of the tragedy of the day before.

It was a bit warmer for our trip out on Sunday. The high for the day was predicted to be 15 degrees, as opposed to 7 the day before. I took the above picture of Grand Falls that day as I stood mesmerized by the beautiful scene.

This poem has been emerging over the past week and came together today. I am so grateful for many
things in my life, among them what I've learned along the way as I've healed and adjusted to loss and change. I attended visiting hours and the funeral of the young man who lost his life at Sugarloaf and his family and friends were in my mind, in my heart as I wrote this, too.

Watery Wisdom

Varied currents within
a body whole,
ranging from
grief to gratitude
fear to joy,
despair to faith.
Transitory emotions that
ebb and flow within us all,
a true human experience.
Jagged, frozen places
can and will thaw
in the right way,
at the right time
if one makes the choice
to dive in and explore
the depths of being.
A drip or two at a time
may join the stream,
or an opening may form
whitewater wildness
with an energy of its own.
When the times are right
the vapors of angst will release,
 allowing for moments of stillness,
chances to explore eddies
as they swirl and adjust,
or simply the opportunity
to let go,
 let flow.
The one constant in life
is change
as reflective,
bubbling,
trickling,
streaming,
cascading,
 waters
so clearly
 show.
Water knows,
and deep inside
we do, too.

Sarah Carlson

March 12, 2017

At One

Lower Narrow Gauge at Sugarloaf USA - Feb 20, 2017

People often ask what I say when I am guiding my friend Noah Carver, who was born blind. When we are skiing whatever is said has to be pretty concise, especially now that his technique has improved so much that he is ready and willing to ski pretty fast. Basically we use "And right, and left" for calling turns and the word 'hold', sometimes repeated more than once, to traverse and adjust where we are on the trail. When we get on a flat I often say, "Let 'em run, let 'em run," until the slope falls away again. When we are going to stop I try and get him to the side of a trail and then have him turn so he is facing toward the center of the trail. For instance, if we were heading to the left side of the trail I would say, "And right to a stop." Other than that, we just ski!

We had an amazing day skiing together earlier this week. It was an experience that really touched me in many ways. The following poem is an attempt to capture the sensations of the day and was written as a gift to Noah, who in turn is a gift to so many... Thank you, Noah, for all the positive energy you put into the world.

At One

‘Okay, give a push and we’re off…
And right, hold, hold, hold,
And left, hold, hold.’
We head down a favorite trail
as I work to find a sweet spot,
 a perfect fall line with
no other skiers in our way.
‘And right, hold,
And left, hold,
And right, hold, hold, hold…’
Ahhh - there it is,
we have our opening.
Right,
left,
right,
left,
right,
left …
It feels as if we could
go on and on and on
as we fly down the slope
in a rhythmic dance.
A sense of trust,
an openness of spirit,
a connection that goes
far beyond any words
between us.
A synergy that,
for a time,
makes us feel
at one
with the mountain
we both love.

For Noah
From Sarah
February 24, 2017

Lower Narrow Gauge, Sugarloaf USA - Photos by Suzanne Carver

Primordial Waters

Barker Brook in the afternoon sun - February 2017

As this poem emerged I kept thinking, "I feel like I already wrote this." And this helped me remember that the nature of healing is circuitous. I became filled with gratitude that I continue to have the opportunity experience the wonders of my own spirit as I access more and more relief. As Gary Paulsen puts it in his journal about his participation in the Iditiarod, it's not about winning or losing but rather, "It's all about the dance." I'm very happy that I am dancing this dance...

Primordial Waters

I love it when I feel 

an energy, a flow within
that is all at once very new,
and very old.
Primordial waters that
carry the pureness of being,
and have a truth about them
that cannot and should not
be denied.
They wash away fear and hurt
as they swirl into
 hidden, frozen places
with sure and gentle power.
There is a healing warmth to them
that soothes and replenishes,
allows for release.
For now, they also stir up
residual angst that loses
potency each and every time
I become aware of this flow.
It can be confusing as
to what to trust 
because of age-old,
ancestral patterns
that are a perplexing mix
of dysfunction and intelligence,
brokenness and resilience.
I’m learning to embrace
that which serves my healing
while detaching from that
which causes pain and despair.
I can feel the beams
of my being glimmering
and gleaming more openly
with growing freedom,
the flow of
primordial waters showing
me the way.

Sarah Carlson

February 23, 2017

Wisdom

Barred Owl that visited us for lunch - outside the window at the Flagstaff Hut

Recently my daughter Emma and I went cross country skiing in to the Flagstaff Hut, part of the Maine Huts and Trails system. As we were eating a delightful lunch, along with catching up with some other folks from Farmington who had come in on snowshoes, this Barred Owl made an appearance just outside the window on one side of the hut. As we took pictures it flew over the hut and landed in a birch tree. It stayed there for the rest of the time we were there.
When things like this happen I always marvel at how we can choose just what to make of the experience. This was especially meaningful for me because just a few days after Barry died, all those years ago, I was walking along a dirt road deep in thought. I soon noticed that an owl was going from tree to tree as if keeping watch over me as I walked. It was the first deep connection I felt to him in those very difficult early days.
This is what came this morning as I thought about recent experiences, including seeing this amazing owl with Emma.

Wisdom

I’m here, Sarah.
And I’m there,
everywhere in between -
supporting and loving you.
 Heart-y rocks,
waters flowing and frozen,
twinkling stars,
ever-changing clouds in the glorious sky.
Eagles soaring on thermals,
hawks on the wing,
 owls that visit for a woodsy lunch.
Encouragement from without to
believe, trust,
and be who you are.
It really, truly is safe.
Deep down in your core you know this.
You’ve peeled away the layers of hurt,
fully exposed the wound,
opened yourself to help and healing,
and discovered true communion.
Follow the wisdom through
which you found love,
and from which these words come.
The same wisdom that guides your teaching,
your support of others in times of need,
and that fills you with
that silvery serpentine warmth
when the effects of the wound
release and dissipate.
Do it…
Relax and ride the wisdom
that comes from those expansive
 spaces and places that are you.
Allow them to speak and
savor the burgeoning within.

Sarah Carlson

February 8, 2017

Actually I'm Not Stuck At All!

Jence to the rescue - December storm 2016

View from my living room - after the storm 2016

As I pondered my sadness during the clean up from the storm of December 29th into the 30th, I wondered, "Am I stuck in grief? Why do I miss Barry so much today, all these years later?" As I said when I posted the poem about that, it felt really GOOD to write it. I was, quite literally, stuck in my house as my driveway was choked with lovely snow. But, was I stuck in other ways, too?
And, as my son cleared out my driveway I had a sudden revelation - actually I'm not stuck at all!!
So - this is what the storm taught me...

Actually I’m Not Stuck At All!!

Deep breaths here….
In, out, in, out…
Ahhhh…. there it is -
the truth!
I’m not stuck at all and,
in fact,
never have been.
I have always kept moving,
sometimes around,
but in recent years
right smack through
the obstacles, barriers
and troubling times
that have been in my way.
And when I feel sadness or grief
or despair - that’s okay!
I’ve never ever wallowed in those
more difficult emotions,
but they’ve been real
and necessary,
mine to experience.
And, just as important -
when I feel joy, triumph,
competence, communion -
 that’s okay, too!
They are also real
and necessary and
mine to experience.
Oh, my gosh,
what revelations!
Ya-hoo - this is wonderful!
Even though sometimes
it’s been hard to move
and I’ve had to strive to put
one foot in front of the other,
actually I’m not stuck at all!

Sarah Carlson

January 1, 2017

True Communion

Communing with the sky aboard the Noah's Ark - August 2016

This piece is another one that has been a long time coming. It has been edited a few times and I think it's the way I need it to be - at least for now.

True Communion

Sensations of ease allow
my body to move
more freely
despite minor limitations of
age-old injuries.
A slight need to reach, do
continues to lessen as
billowing love spreads to the
 boundaries of my being.
Sometimes…all at once breathless, but not.
More like a suspension of breath,
a pause for moments of
transition and stillness,
then somehow breathing anew.
A gentle sense of being adrift,
but not off course,
 as I restart, reset, reconnect.
On my own two feet,
yet held and supported.
The way it should be,
should have been
all along.

Various eras of my life blend together
as I stretch into the fullness
of my substance.
Doubts and fears rooted in bygone days
come to the surface of my mind,
begging to still be heard.
But it’s in my power to turn away,
 and to.

There’s more, beyond my knowing.

But right now there's
nothing I need to do 

but allow healing to absorb,
have faith in
true communion,
and be me. 

Sarah Carlson

January 1, 2017

It's Another New Year, Dear Barry

After the Storm - Early Morning of December 30, 2016

I found myself missing Barry quite profoundly this morning as I worked on snow removal after a wonderful storm that dumped over 20 inches of snow overnight. I took a break and wrote this, which really did make me feel better.

It’s Another New Year,
Dear Barry

The year is winding down,
with a fresh one in the wings,
and I deeply miss you.
This holiday is the one that,
for me,
is a container for grief.
I think it’s the memories of
all those New Year’s Eves
we spent together.
No matter where we were
or what we were doing,
your arm was always
around my shoulders
and you gave me a gentle
peck on the cheek
right at midnight.
I cherish memories such as those.
They buoy and sustain me,
but they also make me sad
as one year moves into the next.
An interesting mix
of happiness and sorrow
that can be perplexing
and wonderful at the
very same time.
This is the fifteenth time that
I’ve forged into a new year
on my own,
without that soft-hearted kiss.
I’m content and grateful,
healing and strong.
 I simply miss
the tender, good-natured ways
you expressed love.
It’s another new year,
dear Barry.
I just miss you.

Love, Sarah

December 30, 2016

This Divine Place

 

 

 

 

This Divine Place

Free… flowing, free… feeling, free…being,
freedom.
I’ve crossed a threshold,
walked through a door
that I didn't know existed.
It wasn’t locked, but it does have a key -
the permeation of omniscient love
deeper and deeper into my core.
Unconditional love,
experienced unconditionally.
My footsteps echo as I step into, and away.
I gaze around this new room
with an understanding that it
may take time for my eyes,
my body, my spirit to adjust.
But just the stepping in
opens the way to a more clear image
of the majesty of the castle, whole.
Stale fears make an attempt to visit,
but they really don’t have a place here.
I straighten my spine,
fill my lungs and
walk farther in.
I feel flooded with warmth,
healing, and relief.
There are other things happening
within this place
that are beyond my words,
but I know they are good
and right.
I see a comfy chair with a soft pillow
and, for now,
I think I’ll take a seat
and simply enjoy the peace,
the space,
 the freedom in
this divine place.

Sarah Carlson
December 12, 2016

Just Stop

November Skyline at Popham Beach, Maine

In my classroom every so often I stop in the middle of teaching. It's a deeply effective way of changing the tide of a lesson if there is negativity of any kind in the room. After I stop I always ask my students, "Why do you think I stopped?" At the beginning of the year I often hear, "Everyone was being loud," or something to that effect. I then ask, "Everyone?" After some time they get that I'm not judging or condemning anyone in the class or the class as a whole. I am simply pausing as a way to help each student become aware of choices and behaviors, and how they affect our learning community as a whole. Over time, though not always perfect, the atmosphere of the classroom becomes one of caring acceptance and students learn to work together to help one another with whatever challenges might arise.
Just stopping works in many ways for varied situations. That was on my mind today as I continued to ponder what is going on in our society right now. And this is what came:

Just Stop

So much unease, discontent,
wonder and worry
coursing through our world.
One can easily be swallowed
by powerfully negative currents.
Strongly they pull,
pit us against one another,
make us judge and condemn -
if we succumb.
The future, as always, is uncertain.
It has become even more important to
just stop.
Look to the horizon to watch
 multi-hued clouds
as they billow and blow,
to admire the dazzling colors of our
steady star as it rises and sets,
to behold the magic of the moon as it
travels our ever present sky.
Listen to the sound
of ocean waves as they
softly break upon our solid shores,
to changing winds
as they make
naked trees dance,
to busy birds singing
their individual songs.
Pause to feel
grateful for the good things
in life,
to consider the thoughts
and feelings of those
with whom time is shared,
to simply be.
Be open to any opportunity
to soak in the positive currents
of the natural world,
of empathy and compassion,
of love shared.
Every so often
just stop -
look, listen, feel,
reset, be.

Sarah Carlson

November 13, 2016

More Clearly Now

Montsweag Bay, Maine

More Clearly Now

I can ‘see’ so much
more clearly now,
even through my tears.
Or, more accurately,
because of them.
My body,
both an island
with distinct boundaries
and an energetic entity
 connected to all,
has forged the way
on this enlightening quest
 to reveal truths in which
I can safely believe.
I am both awestruck
and humbled as
diverse treasures 

are continually unearthed.
My inquiring mind still wonders
and worries a bit,
but when I gently relax into

my healing heart and
allow myself to linger,
exquisite multi-faceted
clarity unfolds.
And sometimes I don’t
really even need to know,
simply to trust 

in the spirit and
beauty of love.
I live in this world
more clearly now
as a settled,

 fluid

me.

Sarah Carlson

November, 6, 2016

The Pull of the Moon

From Mosher Hill in Farmington, Maine - October 15, 2016

I have long had a great fondness for the night sky. I have some wonderful memories of stargazing with my father and enjoy organizing full moon outings in the winter. Last night I went in search of a place to see the Hunter's Supermoon. My original idea was to go for a mountain bike ride that would include a stop on a hill that overlooks the town of Farmington to the east. However, a sighting of a bobcat along the trail accompanied by a sense of general unease led me to head to a different hilltop in my car. And here is the rest of the story:

The Pull of the Moon

I sit alone atop
a gentle hill waiting,
believing that I’m looking
in the right direction.
My body aquiver with
the chill of the evening
and the excitement
of getting away,
I take some breaths -
deeper than
I’ve ever taken before.
I feel full
of me.
I settle some and
wonder when it will come.
Just then a sliver of
the pinkish orb
slides above the
multi-hued horizon
exactly where I’m looking.
I gasp a little
and then smile a
smile that I can feel
all through my body.
Slowly,
yet quickly,
the moon
 continues its ascent
into the twilight sky.
I feel deeply grateful that
the pull of the moon
led me to be
right there,
right then,

exactly as I am.

Sarah Carlson

October 16, 2016

Rooted and Gentle Sadness

On the shore of Mooselookmeguntic Lake, Maine - looking out toward Student's Island (one of our most favorite places)

Long weekend are sometimes ... well, long. This in no way negates yesterday's poem. It's just part of the whole truth, I guess.

Rooted and Gentle Sadness

Here I am,
all these years since you died on
that heart wrenching spring day,
and I miss you.
Though the ache is less potent,
I have a rooted and gentle sadness.
I’m so grateful that our lives came together
by the shores of Saddleback Lake,
that you had the patience to wait
for me to understand how
to accept your unconditional love.
I wish you could be standing with me,
hand in hand,
to witness our beautiful children
further widen into their lives
with passions to follow
and loves of their own.
 Sometimes I wonder if you
would know me now,
would love this rather different me.
And then I smile with the knowledge
that you knew all of me the whole time.
I do believe in the sensations of your presence,
in the radiance of change,
and in all the other understandings I’ve gleaned
through years of exploring
within and without.
But sometimes I just want your arms around me,
to feel the physical connection of your love,
to be together in the here and now.
This rooted and gentle sadness
is not wrong for me to feel.
I haven’t failed at grieving.
It’s just part of my shadows

 and, in truth,
enhances my light.

Sarah Carlson

October 10, 2016

The Radiance of Change

Reflections from an October swim - Clearwater Lake, Maine

I was going to share some of the story as to how this piece emerged, but I decided to just let it speak on its own.
It's been quite a week of letting go, letting out, letting be. Enjoy.

The Radiance of Change

As the currents of my being
become more fully free,
 often I have prolonged
 moments of dropping into
my own validity.
Time and time again
congestion caused by
bygone perplexities unwinds
and allows for novelty
and liberation.
Rooted in rightness,
this involves a purposeful
willingness to let go.
I can’t change what was,
only my reactions to what
is right in front of me.
Recognizing the possibility
of old patterns pulling me astray,
I can choose to rely upon
bedrock of excavated truths
to discover a new way through.
Lovingly, tenderly
I wrap my arms around
all I’ve been,
all I am,
and all I have left to be.
I encourage the freedom of unfettering,
nurture the power of presence and
embrace the radiance of change.
There is beauty in me
right here, right now.
More and more I feel safe
to let it reflect and refract
into the light of day.

Sarah Carlson

October 9, 2016

Stretching to Embrace

Seen as I walked back to my car after an evening equinox swim at Clearwater Lake, Maine

I have been fascinated by this image, stopping in my tracks when I saw it. And these are the words that have come over the past few days:

Stretching to Embrace

Rooted in divine fathoms,
my pristine pieces
stretch to embrace 

placid evening light.
Murky shadows,
not an accurate
 reflection of my essence,
are simply part of my whole.
And I embrace them, too.
I can choose to befriend
all that has come before,
safe with the knowledge
that throughout my life
this benevolent spirit
has been fluid,
active and true.

Sarah Carlson

September 25, 2016

Cross-Currents

Popham Beach, Maine

Cross-Currents

Strong, salty waves undulate with angst,
and the power of freedom.
Cross-currents collide,
entangle and rise,
sunlight illuminating
whatever surfaces.
 Tides shift - disentangle,
release, reorganize
and settle into a new flow.
Somewhere within the brine is me,
my authentic being.
When I am able to let go and
ride my unique currents
I am uncluttered, untethered,
unconfined.
My wonderful wild child glows,
her benevolent energy sparkling
with life.

Sarah Carlson

September 24, 2016

Singletrack

Singletrack on the  Carrabassett Valley, Maine mountain bike trail system

I went mountain biking in Carrabassett  this weekend. I had the pleasure of unexpectedly seeing my son and daughter-in-law as they came up behind me on the Narrow Gauge Pathway. They encouraged me to try some new singletrack, and so I did.
Though we spent many hours mountain biking as a family, it was always on dirt roads and wider trails. Singletrack is new to me.
And, though I've been a widow for over 14 years, it feels like single life is new to me, too. I'll leave it at that, but here's what came from pondering the connection between the two.

Singletrack

Singular path snakes
through early evening woods,
‘round rocks, over roots, along
a meandering stream.
A choice - stay in the saddle or
put feet to earth to be more safe.
No right or wrong,
simply the power to choose
whatever feels best.
Tension and focus,
merge with
freedom and flow.
Solitary moments that allow for
confidence, self-awareness

to expand
with every decision made.

Sarah Carlson

September 4, 2016

I Am Worthy of Love

My first spiral. Drawn at Kripalu while participating in a Creative Writing Sampler with Heather Sellers

I've been cleaning house lately - literally and metaphorically. Barry was a very sentimental, and somewhat random, guy. He kept things in various envelopes and boxes in no particular order, so opening one is like going on a sort of magical mystery tour. I have had many sweet, tender, and validating discoveries.
Along the way we faced our share of difficult times, but what stands out as I reflect is family togetherness and fun. All through the years in this house there has been a foundation of love. The unconditional kind that was there from the very beginning of our relationship.

Here's an excerpt from a journal I found in one of the boxes. I was 20 and we had known each other for about 2 years:
Sept. 12. 1977
Barry has taught me so much. He helped me find love in a new way and has shown me how to express it. He has helped me realize that I am just as good as the next guy - in other words he has given me some self-confidence, something I truly need. I love Barry in a way that I never thought I could feel for another person. He is such a wonderful man and I am glad we are sharing our lives. I hope we find the life we want and that some day we can share that life with little ones. Barry has such a wonderful quality of gentleness and kindness. It would be a shame not to pass that on.

 As I've been cleaning, both within and without, I am once again awed by the layers, the twists and turns that this life presents. And by how much learning there is to each and every experience. Though this has been hard work and I've shed many tears, I'm so glad that I've been able to follow the meanders of my heart as I heal from the difficult times, remember the joyful ones, and tap more deeply into the wonders of unconditional love.

  I Am Worthy of Love

Though there was chaos and confusion
in my homespace,
I know Love,
I can Love,
I am worthy of Love.

I was deeply unsure as
I tried to be good,
to be right,
to not make a mistake.
It took so much energy.
 I thought that when things
went wrong it was somehow my fault
and I needed to fix the damage,
no matter how it affected me.
I came last.
When he fell into my life we were
sad, sore and broken both.
But we let each other into
our soul places,
knowing it was right.
  Unconditional love for each other,
and later
for our little ones.
The dark place that housed the
chaos and confusion opened
all the way up
when he died.
I knew to dust off the contents,
examine the pieces,
and am learning to let go.
The Light of Love continues
to illuminate that which I
need to understand
as I become ready.
 I feel grateful and hopeful,
peaceful and strong.

Though there was chaos and confusion
in my homespace,
I know Love,
I can Love,
I am worthy of Love.

Sarah Carlson

August 28, 2016

Softer Around Their Edges

Early morning at Kripalu Center for Yoga and Health - August 5, 2016

Softer Around Their Edges

Waters of being flow
with tender, tranquil freedom.
Still some spiral into depths,
re-emerge with fresh awareness.

Expanding currents of clarity wash away
stale doubts and fears
rooted in truths
that simply are not true.
Detached despair lifts, dissipates -
warmed by the light
of a brand new day.
Body twitches and quivers
with pristine energy
as bits and pieces settle,
softer around their edges
than ever before.

Sarah Carlson
August 9, 2016

A Poem for Barry

Left by me... in the Kripalu Meditation Garden

Before I went to Kripalu last week I paid a visit to Barry's brother and sister in Northampton, MA. I had not been there in a few years and it was nice to be back in their hometown. Barry and I had lived there early in our relationship and had brought our children to visit with family over the years. I had many memories wash over me as we drove along and over the Connecticut River. 

The morning I was to leave, twin brother Larry took sister Sandra and me to a section of a cemetery that had pavers with the names of veterans. He had purchased one that reads 'Francis J. Carlson, Barry F. Carlson, Larry J. Carlson - US Army Veterans'. That, along with a stone in another cemetery, were touching to see with Barry's wonderful siblings.

Of the many things we worked on in the Creative Writing Sampler with Heather Sellers this past week were some poetic forms, one of them being abecedarius - a type of ABC poem. 

I think because I had revisited Northampton and seen his name in stone, I spiraled gently back to Barry's death day. And this is the abecedarius that came as I worked on 'homework' in the middle of my last night at Kripalu.

Letters on pavers, letters on stone, letters on a page... 

A Poem for
Barry. May 29, 2002. I’m in my
classroom, but my attention is
drawn outward. Even sweet second grade
energy doesn’t keep me fully
focused. A quiet, shy
girl asks for help. Two boys collaborate on ‘The Anty Adventures of Bob and
Harry’. My ed tech talks with her
individual student as he works on a poem.
Jack, my mathematician, writes his own
kind of story with numbers and words.
Light streams in the large casement windows
making patterns on the worn hardwood floor.
No reason, but I walk
over, look out to see a Farmington
policeman stride toward the front door. I
quiver when the intercom beeps and I’m called down
right away. The
somber young officer tells me you collapsed playing
tennis, I’m needed at the hospital. Somehow I
understand that my life is shifting. The
very moment I turn into the hospital drive an energy
washes over me - strong, palpable, undeniable. Later I know
exactly what it is.
Your Love. I know this to be true. And like a
zephyr it weaves its way into my life, even today.

Sarah Carlson
in my room at Kripalu
August 4 into 5, 2016

Ode to My Flip Flops

Kripalu Center for Yoga and Health, August 2016

Big day yesterday at Kripalu. Emotions tapped by deep discussion, yogic releases, quiet time in the meditation garden, spirited Kirtan concert and some bonding with my flip flops.

Ode to My Flip Flops

In lime-green readiness
you lay askew.
I kicked you aside
after last night’s
squeaky return
from a shower.
I was tired and uneasy
and yet
there you are.
No pressure,
 no judgement.
Simply available if
needed.
Your sound reminds me of
summer days in the sixties
and freedom.
I can picture you on the tiles
of the entryway
at home.
And that helps me remember
I am free and
it is safe to be me
in this
unfamiliar place.

Sarah Carlson
at Kripalu
August 3, 2016

Let It Sing

Taken while aboard the Noah's Ark - off Great Wass Island, Maine

I am at a writing program at the Kripalu Center for Yoga and Health in the Berkshires. Yesterday we had an assignment - a 10 minute writing exercise inspired by the work we had done during the day and by How to Be a Poet, by Wendell Berry.

After I wrote this, the picture above came to mind.

Let It Sing

(so I remember)


Drop in. Listen.
Allow the flow
from within.
Let the deep places speak -
from you, for you,
with you.
Notice what surfaces
as it swirls, sifts
and then settles
just as you need
it to be.
In those moments
your heart sings a song
of you.
So drop in. Listen.

And let it sing.

Sarah Carlson

August 1, 2016