Waves of Fear

Waves of Fear

I don’t really identify with being a fearful person,
and yet I’m feeling waves of fear.
There’s a craving within
to realize that I’m safe.
I’m so very ready for these
waves to fully wash away.
I’m sitting here in my sweet little home,
cradled in memories
of sharing love and life with my soulmate,
 holding and raising our sweet babies,
 finding my way to becoming a teacher.
I can recognize that the body-wracking cries of yesterday
 have mostly subsided,
but still feel unheralded emotions stirring
 as muscles softly twitch, milder tears trickle,
breath seems shallow.
Like the rain cascading outside these windows,
the gentle breeze that blows,
I guess it just needs to happen.
I don’t have to run and hide,
or feel threatened.
I still feel the wish to be held or
at least to hear someone say the words,
“You’re okay, Sarah.
It’s right to let the those waves of fear
roll out and away.
It’s true, you’re safe.”
I’m hopeful this desire
will fade away over time,
or that I will be able to
comfort that tender spot within
for my self.
I don’t think I care anymore
to know exactly
where they originate,
 I’m just trying to believe
 that waves of fear
 simply do not have a place
 in my life anymore.

Sarah Carlson

June 28, 2018

Darkening Before the Light

Darkening Before the Light

The whole story
needs to be told.
Before the lightening,
perhaps simultaneous to it being born,
there was/is a sort of darkening.
Tears seep and surge,
seeming to surface
 from every part of the body.
Reminiscent of a full on baby cry
when the only remedy is to be
cuddled, comforted,
with tears accepted, not judged.
Experienced as an adult,
 this is accompanied
by multi-faceted grief.
Safe and right to feel,
the eventual effects
are the soothing of a tender heart,
the settling of a puzzled mind,
the mending of a wounded spirit.
A darkening before the light
that has the power to
heal the deep, dark places
that simply must be honored.
It’s the truth, the full narrative,
 that leads to
a shift from threat to trust,
providing the opportunity
to genuinely lighten up.

Sarah Carlson

June 27, 2018

Lighten Up

Lighten Up

Eyes, heart,
mind, cells
open wider and wider.
Flexible, changing
frontier becomes
 more and more 
true and trustworthy.
Sinking and settling
into a precious body,
beautiful just as it is
in the here and now.
Antiquated perceptions
that one must strive to receive love,
must somehow earn the right to heal
release, steadily melt away.
Moments of, “OH!”, blips of freedom
expand and saturate.
Sensations of revival
that feel right and good,
but will take time
 to more fully incorporate.
Intrepid, courageous exploration
has paved the way
to understand that the pressure to ‘earn’
came from a deep and barricaded place.
But the freedom, the lightening,
comes from an even deeper,
more expansive
place of knowing –
where the light shines through,
always has.
It most definitely is time to
allow the canards to crumble,
honor the hues of healing,
and lovingly
lighten up.

Sarah Carlson

June 26, 2018

Lonely, Yet Not

Lonely, Yet Not

I am supposed to feel loneliness right now.
I know this because within this feeling
I am more profoundly discovering me,
my veritable, essential self.
The one who has been there all along,
but had to struggle to exist within
confusing, imposed falseness.
She is lovely and strong,
caring and humble,
creative and intelligent,
graceful and giving.
I love her
and know she is
not really alone.
Tears are flowing from
deep in my soul.
I don’t necessarily have words
to accompany them,
but they do need to flow.
So I let them
and, in tandem,
feel the elation
of settling into the exquisite
recesses of my being.
I am solo right now
with summer here and
no students who need me,
offspring grown
with lives of their own,
soulmate’s physical presence gone.
It’s okay,
I need this.
I’ve worked hard
to land here
in this very spot.
It’s a bit stormy
but I’ve got it.
I’m lonely,
yet not.

Sarah Carlson

June 24, 2018

Full Light

Flowers given to me by one of my fourth graders

Full Light

Sunbeams reach and stretch,

 envelop all beings below,
warm and enlighten
those who choose to notice

and let it all in,
let it all out.
Darker days, mere memories
of the cold winter season,
have beauty and substance
all their own.
Day by day the light has grown
to reach the vibrancy
of the Solstice.
Fullness without,
fullness within.
Full Light.

Sarah Carlson

June 21, 2018

No Longer a Threat

This African violet has been through a lot. Barry gave it to me on February 14, 2002 - our last Valentine's Day. We didn't really have any sort of regular way to celebrate that particular holiday, but for some reason that year he decided to give me this gift.
It has weathered a house renovation during which it was shoved in a corner of an upstairs bedroom that wasn't particularly warm, and being watered very sporadically during that time. It has been tipped over on a few occasions - once after I had it re-potted at the store where he bought it because I thought it was dying, and once when I took it to someone's house to be part of an extremely healing experience - again on the way home. And yet it thrives.

No Longer a Threat

A hole in the screen,
a break in the skin,
a door left open.
A worry that something will
infiltrate, infect, fester.
A constant sense of jeopardy
rooted in origins
both understood and not.
This powerful effect of the wound
is losing its potency
as boundaries are determined
and continue to fortify
in such a way as to allow
benevolent permeability.
All the while the true taproot
grows stronger
with life-giving liquids circulating
 more and more freely.
Mind settling,
heart nurturing,
 soul fostering –
dynamic and sure
they surge and swirl,
providing a fullness
that is at the same time
 fresh and familiar.
Truth spirals,
grace expands,
love swells,
and there simply is
no longer a threat.

Sarah Carlson

June 19, 2018

Mourning Dew

Mourning Dew

Expanding essence,
settling spirit,
vibrating vitality –
a trilogy of wellness.
Even with these truths aboard,
sadness sometimes
seeps to the surface,
quietly gathers
for acknowledgment.
For it is also true,
 real, and right.
Like morning dew on
leaves and grasses,
stale sorrows bead and adhere
until a being notices,
allows them to vaporize
or entwine with
 restoration and revival.
Mourning dew,
warmed by
mourning light.
A gentle,
beneficial aspect
of the continued
honoring of the
veracity of grief.

Sarah Carlson

June 8, 2018

Unique and Yet the Same

Photo by Rami Haddad - Sunset Peak on Lantau Island, Hong Kong

Unique and Yet the Same

Perched upon rocks left askew by
earthly forces of bygone days –
solitary and together, both.
Awestruck, they widen their gazes,
enabling splendor and accomplishment
to saturate.
Breathing in, they watch the ocean
loosen its grip as
the once pervasive fog rises,
revealing treasured islands below.
They pause in wonder,
allowing gratitude to
permeate their beings
before they put feet to ground
and move on.
They follow the meandering trail
to the village far below,
ready for a time of
rest and rejuvenation
as new adventures await.
Sinewy singing muscles,
tranquil trusting minds,
beautiful beating hearts.
Unique and yet the same.

Sarah Carlson

June 5, 2018

Nothing to Do

Photo by Liz Koucky

Nothing to Do

Sometimes there’s nothing one can do.
I’m going to have to let that notion
sink all the way in.
For so long I took on far more than I should.
It wasn’t necessarily wrong at the time and
I learned a great deal in the trying.
There are things I know about me,
about life and healing,
that I may not have internalized
 any other way.
These recognitions are part of
a pivotal juncture in my life.
They came to me as I settled onto my island
and some winds began to bellow,
congesting the scene,
making my airways tighten.
They weren’t deeply threatening,
just stirred things up and pestered.
I tuned in for a bit and then realized I could
 take shelter with my boundaries strong,
allow for internal reorganization,
turn both away and to.
As I quieted I thought back
to the last night, 16 years ago,
when Barry and I were still us in the flesh.
We walked arm in arm around our neighborhood,
out for an evening stroll in the sweet spring air,
teenage children at home.
The next morning three of us raced off to school
and he, on vacation, met some friends
for a game of tennis.
And, then it happened.
He died.
With this habit of feeling
that there must be something I can do,
could have done,
I deeply internalized fault.
Did he try to tell me something on our walk?
How could I not have known?
What did I miss?
But he didn’t,
I couldn’t,
and I didn’t miss a thing.
There was nothing to do,
but be in the moments as we were,
cherish each other as we did,
and be in love.
Another radiant change –
acknowledging that
I didn’t make a mistake
because there really was
nothing to do.
Sometimes there just isn’t.

Sarah Carlson

May 29, 2018

Trek Across Maine

Trek Across Maine announced a major route change, starting with next year's Trek. This has brought up varied thoughts and emotions for me, and I'm guessing for many others. This isn't a complaint, just a statement of what is.
For me participating in the Trek for the past 12 years has been important in varied ways. One of those is that it has provided ample opportunities for me to connect with my brother, Geof, who was killed while biking on Martha's Vineyard in 1987 at the age of 33. Geof was also one of the very first Trekkers, riding in both 1985 and 86. I drove him to Bethel in 1985, silently wondering what in the world he was doing - especially since it was pouring rain. I will never forget seeing him off with the few hardy souls who rode that year and then passing him as I returned to Farmington with my two small children in the car. There was my big brother, lead rider of the first leg of the first Trek (they didn't have much in the way of route markers in those days), happily pedaling in the torrential rain, his extra layer of a garbage bag flapping in the wind, gigantic grin on his face as he gave all of us a big wave.
Twenty four years later, as I was making my way from Bethel to Rumford in my third Trek, I understood. The weather was remarkably similar in 2009, though there were almost 2,000 riders that year. As I watched the water shoot away from my tires, saw my reflection in the saturated road, took a moment to scrape the dirt from my glasses, I laughed out loud. I totally got why my brother was so happy that day. I was having a blast. There was no place else I wanted to be.
There have been other years in other parts of the Trek that I've felt him, as well. Often as we drop down towards Waterville, our home town, and make our way to Colby where we both spent many hours playing tennis, swimming, going to events. Sometimes going out of Waterville in the early morning as we pass by our old neighborhood and our high school.
I will miss all of that, along with hosting my team at my home in Farmington, and the wonderful experience of spanning our state - truly from the mountains to the sea. It just won't be the same. Change can be good, I know - radiant even... after all I did write a book with that title. But, I just don't know about this one.
As I pondered all this over the past days, I remembered the poem I wrote after participating in my first Trek. And I realized I had never posted it to my blog. So here it is:

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 our son,
the companionship of our daughter,
 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 our unique human spirits
and the stretching of personal limits.
Giving and receiving support
to and from people we knew
and others we had yet to meet.
Pedaling past a multitude of scenes
that represent 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 smiling
green shirted volunteers.
Blue skies overhead,
 interrupted only occasionally
by friendly clouds wafting 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 our daughter, his niece.
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

Sweet Little Island

Sweet Little Island

A quiet island sits
surrounded by reflective waters,
evening sky slowly slipping
into darkness.
I, on the edge of the road,
feel drawn to the scene
and so pause to take it in.
Days later I remember,
and realize why I stopped.
More and more I have the
sense of being on my own island
in both the clarity
 and uncertainty of life.
This is actually growth
 as I’ve worked to
adjust to losing the one with whom
I felt safe navigating
varied currents and inevitable obstacles.
My island is part of a whole
and I am included in the
tender loving support of the Divine.
I know that.
There are moments when I
have to draw in to
protect my shoreline
and interior landscape
as I continue to internalize that
I don’t have to be a repository
for the hurts and sorrows of others.
This is not easy for one with a caring heart,
inquisitive mind,
 sensitive soul.
It is, however, vital to healing.
I’m going to need more time
to fully unlearn a habit that
was so deeply in place.
If I need to pull up,
take shelter on the sweet little island
that is me –
so be it.
Though loneliness does visit,
it’s a pretty wonderful place to be,
safe in the knowledge
that I am loved.

Sarah Carlson

May 20, 2018

Water Over a Dam

Water Over a Dam

Having gone there,
with time spent in varied and intricate
nooks and crannies,
there’s the discovery of an amazing energy
that is both novel and familiar.
It has a wildness and yet it’s tame,
a fierceness partnered with empathy.
It contains an astonishing gusto
paired with sensations of serenity
that swirl throughout the stream.
Internal exploration
provides for opportunities
to let go, let flow
and produces this
wonderfully eclectic energy.
Healing is a process,
not a singular event.
At times there is a jettison
that is liberating,
feels so very good.
At other times there is confusion,
when what was once regarded as right
transmutes to wrong,
and vice versa.
Like water over a dam
trappings and notions plunge away,
debris carried to places unknown,
while residual vapors hover
to be reintegrated
or let go when the time is right.
Discombobulating,
transforming
invigorating,
reorienting,
liberating.
Water over a dam.

Sarah Carlson

May 17, 2018

Oh, How I Miss...

As I celebrated the fact that The Radiance of Change is now for sale in Rangeley, Maine at a delightfully named bookstore - Books, Lines and Thinkers - this picture dropped into my mind. It was taken on Dallas Hill in Rangeley at the home of some good friends at the time. Barry and I had stopped by to let them know we had decided to get married. It was late May of 1979 and we were married a month later.

Oh, How I Miss…

Oh, how I miss those arms, those eyes,
that heart.
Wonderfully lanky arms,
so often draped over my shoulder
or linked in mine
as we walked and talked
in harmony and peace.
Beautiful blue eyes,
filled with such tenderness and acceptance,
seeing me as I had never been seen before.
I saw you seeing me and knew that
you saw me seeing you.
Deeply caring heart
so in love with me
and the glories and challenges
of marriage and parenthood shared.
The heart that knew the moment we met
that you and I would be us.
And a wonderful us we were,
still are.
Even in moments of stress or misunderstanding
the promise of
reconciliation and restoration,
no grudges to be held,
remained true.
In my healing I’ve learned to embrace it all –
the triumphs and sorrows,
the connection and loneliness,
the love and longing.
And, oh how I miss those arms, those eyes,
 that heart.

Sarah Carlson

May 15, 2018

Go There

Go There

Don’t go there -
worst advice ever.
At least it was for me.
In truth,
it became vital to go into
that which was causing my dis-ease.
You can wrap it up,
store it away,
deny its existence.
But there IS there,
will continue to be.
It’s not easy to take the leap,
plunge on in.
It can’t really be done alone,
so you’ll have to ask for help.
You’ll need support and love,
but when the time is right,
when you hear the call or
feel the tug,
go there.
You’ll learn and grow,
gather what is necessary,
enabling you to take
what there has to teach
and utilize it for good.
Over time you will discover
slivers of understanding,
shards of insight,
specks of wisdom
that, together,
provide illumination and peace.
There has virtues all its own
that will mingle and mesh with
here and now
revealing the beauty
of a familiar landscape
anew.
So go there -
wander and wonder,
explore and examine,
and in time,
restore and recover.

Sarah Carlson

April 24, 2018

Heartened

This is a re-worked version of a poem that I wrote 11 years ago. When I put the book together it didn't make the cut, though I liked how I played with the word. The memory of it came up for me after a recent osteopathic treatment and I realized that so much of my work has been to move away from that sense of threat. I don't think I was comfortable with sharing the poem because that sense was still in play. I'm deeply grateful to feel that fundamentally incorrect notion slipping and sliding away... for good.

Heartened
(Take Away the T and move the R)

Threatened.
That’s what I felt for much
of my life.
Not just fear, but threat –
here, there, everywhere,
ready to pounce at any opportunity.
It had long been lurking,
creeping around the deep recesses of me,
keeping some parts of me captive.
In my healing I have gleaned some
understanding of the varied reasons
as to why and how that happened.
I know those multiple causes
were anchored to diverse stanchions.
As my mind has opened to
novel ways of thinking,
my heart to new ways of feeling,
my spirit to unique ways of expanding,
I can see and feel that,
in truth,
I should be heartened
by what I have accomplished,
how I have lived.
I can safely honor
my generosity, wit, and resilience.
So I think I’ll just
take away the t and move the r,
change feeling threatened
to being heartened
in the multi-hued,
softened moments of the
here and now.

Sarah Carlson

April 11, 2018

Right to Doubt

I went to a writing workshop this past weekend that was put on by the Maine Writing Project. The guest speaker was Gary Lawless, poet and owner of Gulf of Maine Books. Near the end of his amazing talk he asked us to write to the prompt of - what does 'pilgrimage' mean to you? 

This is what came for me as I pondered that topic:

 

Right to Doubt

Imposing man in long white robes
compels somber people
to kneel, stand, speak, sing,
be quiet.
No apparent rhyme or reason
to the messages,
as they all seem based in threat.
Every so often he comes out
from behind what keeps him separate
and swings a smoky, smelly canister.
Rosy-cheeked girl
holds a hymnal in her gloved hand,
swings her Mary Jane clad feet
as she looks, listens, smells,
 strains to understand.
Despite her efforts,
she only fully takes in fear.
“Why?” she wonders.
“Don’t they see, hear,
feel the truth?”
Her little stomach churns
as she squirms in the pew.
Years pass
and still she wonders, fears.
But she instinctively also
knows to embrace the good and,
 as a young adult,
she finds unconditional love.
Together they thrive,
through thick and thin.
And then, one day he is gone.
Broken-hearted, she carries on –
eventually heeds the tug,
embarks on a journey within.
Her trek is long and arduous,
though much is discovered along the way.
She’s grateful she knew to take the plunge
as she finds places of flowing,
of growing and knowing
on which she is continually
learning to rely.
She cuddles her little one,
who had every right to doubt
the missives of that scary place.
As time goes on she is
better able to rest easy,
digest the awareness that
it’s right to release,
right to trust,
right to commune,
right to
not feel wrong.

Sarah Carlson

April 7, 2018

Godwink

Godwink

Softly, subtly,
sometimes sidled with
stale achiness,
pieces rearrange, find newness
within her sweet, solid structure.
Now and then mild confusion
accompanies this realignment.
She simply notices,
acknowledges,
turns to faith.
She’s ready and willing
to allow and accept as
she knows her existence
is true.
Profound moments of
sublime serendipity
present themselves along the way.
She knows to immerse,
let them soak into her being,
cleanse and aid in healing.
Pensive, tender face of a young boy
as he shares a deep sorrow and his
own moments of healing.
Joyful energy of adult offspring
swooping down the slopes
of a beloved mountain.
Depth of sensitivity as a blind friend
raises his voice in song, adding to
the beauty of an Easter sunrise
on that same mountain.
 Perfect punctuation of that celebration
as a contrail gleams in the rising sun,
dark clouds parting.
Not-so-random conversation
with a genial couple celebrating
an anniversary,
speaking of love and connection,
children now grown,
teaching and learning,
and the birth of a book.
“We’re all supposed to be here
right now,” says the woman.
“This is a Godwink.”
This poet quietly smiles
and agrees.

Sarah Carlson

April 3, 2018

Sweet Relief

Sweet Relief

Wide open, full-on feeling,
wholly being in the body.
No threat to allowing
the full spectrum of emotions
that accompany being human.
They come, go, ebb, flow
with absolutely no need to feel wrong.
Even the sense of teetering on the edge
of previous pitfalls,
maybe even slipping in a bit,
carries no danger.
Remembering to ponder, consider,

determine what is actually going on
within and without.
Simply sitting with the
sensations and emotions,
letting the truth unroll, caress, and protect
like a warm, woolly blanket.
No concern of being ‘too’ of anything –
quiet, loud, happy, sad,
weak, strong, energetic, weary.
What sweet relief all this exploring
is bringing to this wide-eyed warrior.
Intrepid, soft-hearted, loving spirit
joyfully embraces the solace
that more and more saturates her cells.
Sweet, gentle, loving relief
with moments of no hurt,
no worries, no wonders,
and no threat… even to that.

Sarah Carlson

March 20, 2018

Here I Am

Here I Am

Liberated little one –

brimming with wants and needs,
joy and wonder,
curiosity and concern,
hope and love.
Smiles and frowns come more freely
as our integral being
relaxes into now.
Energies combine
into a fervent, flowy mix
as the effects of a turbulent past
continue to diminish and disperse.
Sorrows such as the
long ago loss of a brother

may be felt anew,
as stifled emotions
are allowed and honored.
Triumphs such as the
birth of a brand new book

are safe to embrace,
 as our words of healing are
 heartfelt and genuine.
Like sunbeams and shadows
on a deep woods trail,
the interplay creates
 a pleasant, intricate whole.
We can rest easy in the moment,
 savor our vitality,
appreciate our place
within the vastness
of it all.
We can simply say,
“Here I am, this is me,”
and see where next
 the open pathways may lead.

Sarah Carlson

March 8, 2018

The Radiance of Change - the book

I'm so happy to announce the publication of my first book, The Radiance of Change. As you will see by the blurbs it was written as part of my path of healing following the death of my husband, Barry. It is about loss, yet more accurately it is about what one can gain from choosing to move into the challenges of adjusting to the changes that life inevitably contains. Right now the book is available at two places in Waterville, Me - School Street Yoga and Hospice Volunteers of Waterville, ME. It is also available at our wonderful independent bookstore in Farmington, ME - Devaney Doak and Garrett Booksellers. Here is the link to purchasing it online through them:
https://www.ddgbooks.com/product/radiance-change

I'm Already Armed

I wrote this piece as a way to help myself rally within to return to school on Monday. My heart goes out to the many school communities in our country that have been directly impacted by school violence. I can't imagine the pain and anguish involved with recovering from witnessing such an event.
I believe that one of the ways classroom teachers can move forward in the current climate is to remember and embrace who we are, both as individuals and as a community. This is how I feel and I share it in support of classroom teachers everywhere.

I’m Already Armed

I am a teacher
and I’m already armed.
My ammo consists of
empathy, kindness, passion,
hope, and concern.
My clip includes a deep desire
for my students to grow and learn
as much as they can while they
are in my care.
And care for them, I do.
Each and every day I welcome them
with open arms,
and together
we attack fractions, grammar,
scientific discovery, social constructs,
long division, informational writing,
reading comprehension strategies,
and so much more.
I strive to equip my students
with tools for life
like mindfulness, heartfulness,
creativity, self-expression,
and belief in their individual worth.
The only call to arms I would accept
 is to embrace
my school community
even more.
Such are the arms
that the children of our world
yearn for and deserve.
Caring, connected arms
that hold on and let go
at the very same time.
Arms that support and accept,
encourage expansion and
promote peace.
These are the arms that
belong in schools.
I am a teacher
and I’m already armed.

Sarah Carlson

February 23, 2018

I'm Not Sorry

An introvert's way of processing the publishing of her words:

I’m Not Sorry

I’m not sorry that Barry’s death broke my heart
or that it caused me to explore within.
I’m not sorry that I felt lost
or that it took a while to start finding my way.
I’m not sorry for having been in such pain
or for needing to access help
so I could recover.
I’m not at all sorry,
not one little bit,
that I chose to allow fluid, hopeful words
 to cascade around and through,
that I have now let them
glow in the light of day.
I’m going to allow myself to
soak in the splendor of a job well done
as my words of healing and hope
stream and swirl into the world.
I’m going to trust that people
who choose to engage
will let the experience
 take them wherever they need to go,
feel the feelings they need to feel.
I’m going to stay open to tenderness,
 continue to heal,
 and let my voice be heard.
Naturally humble,
I feel grateful
and proud.
I’m not sorry at all.
There’s just no room for that –
not here,
not now.

Sarah Carlson

February 20, 2018

Soft-Hearted

Soft-Hearted

Silently their skis glide along
a packed trail
that meanders through
the piney woods.
Trunks, branches, and boughs
cradle the still-sparkling snow
deposited by an earlier storm.
Emerging from the trees
onto a frozen pond
they marvel at the stillness
of the winter scene.
Climbing temperatures cause
low clouds to cling
 to the surrounding hills,
enhancing their sense of serenity.
Tracks of varied woodland creatures
criss-cross the trail they follow,
the sense of adventure strong within.
Pausing for conversation they
notice a snowy heart right in
middle of their path.
Soft-hearted beings, both,
they share cozy moments
of understanding, friendship,
and awe.
The one writing these words
connects ever more deeply
to the tenderness of her
healing heart.

Sarah Carlson

February 11, 2018

Born of Hope

My propensity for helping and encouraging kicked in this morning as I used my skills on my very own self.

Born of Hope

Tender one opens her arms,
her being, wide.
Her intuitive mind,
caring spirit,
grounded body
continue to reorganize, reunite
in a lovely mixture
of wisdom, integrity, and health.
She ponders the emergence of her poetry,
grateful for its sweet, steady

presence in her life.
There’s a gentle worry, a wonder,
about allowing some of her precious pieces
out into the world in the form of a book.
But deep down,
as deep as those most frozen places,
comes a sense of sureness that it is
good and right to allow her
book to be born.

The weaving of her words
all these many years
have been by her, for her.
And some, of her choosing,
for others.
She’s known that all along.
Though at times she was unsure,
and still can be,
all throughout her path of healing
that beacon of light has been a constant.
It has warmed and melted,
softened and soothed,
illuminated and guided.
Vigilant in her search for truth,
her words are of healing, 

not of hurt.
She smiles with the recognition
that these words, her words,
have been born of hope,
just as she
has always been
and will continue to be.

Sarah Carlson

January 30, 2018

Ice Whispers

Sandy River - January 2018

Ice Whispers

Deep freeze,
lasting for so very long.
And then… a thaw,
with torrential rains
and howling winds,
that lifts the waters,
cracks the layers of ice,
sets great chunks free.
Almost to flood level,
the river rushes through the valley
carrying the ice along
until the pieces
pile upon one another
in a jumble.
The rains continue,
then subside,
allowing the waters
to settle and recede.
Little by little the chunks
release to flow along,
softening in the milder temperatures
and the warmth of the sun.
Gently, more gently
the river flows,
slushy pillows of
residual ice slide along with it,
bumping gently into each other
as they ride along.
Merging and diverging,
they whisper
of wisdom gleaned

 from the freezing,
the flooding,
and the freeing. 

Sarah Carlson

January 15, 2018

There is a Spot For Me

There is a Spot For Me

As the New Year approaches
I again find myself missing you,
deeply and lovingly.
Gentle recollections wash
sweetly around and through as
I remember the sensations of
our little family living and
growing in this home.
This was our spot, together.
Through healing, I have recognized
 that my broken, frozen places
were already there.
But during those married
and family years,
I felt like I belonged,
I had a spot.
Our togetherness and shared love
enabled my light to be quite bright.
The years since your death
have led me in, through,
below, and beyond.
I’m somewhat in awe that,
in choosing to explore and heal,
I’ve discovered a radiance
that is bright and strong,
has amazing facets that
continue to be revealed.
This once broken heart opens
so wide sometimes that it
literally feels as if all my cells uncoil
and my possibilities are endless.
The Light of Love penetrates further in
and emanates further out.
Whether in this home we shared,
or other places I know not where,
it’s wonderful to know that
even though you are gone,
there is a spot for me.

Sarah Carlson

December 31, 2017

Solstice Sun

Sunset - December 21, 2017

Solstice Sun

Solstice sun slips behind
a familiar landscape
and the darkest day is done.
That sun, though visible for so little time,
still holds warmth and brightness.
In truth, it’s us here on Earth who
are in cyclical motion,
but we perceive the sun
as traversing across our sky.
The Solstice sun rides low on the horizon,
casts long shadows,
helps us recognize
the impact of the dark.
For many days onward
there is a lightening as
radiance expands in a
rather imperceptible way.
This lightening brings with it
a deeper warmth,
a crystallizing of hope,
the promise of new life to come.
Surely the dark is part of the cycle,
will always be,
but if one is aware and
notices the expansion,
there is further opportunity
to open to the possibilities
that accompany the
splendor of light.

Sarah Carlson

December 28, 2017

On the Right Track

On the Right Track

Oftentimes I do feel
I am on the right track.
I attend to my valid sorrows,
welcome breathy joys,
value my unique self.
I am full of purpose,
radiance, and vitality.
But then sometimes
 I feel adrift, lonely,
and weary of grief.
At times tear surface and
I can't identify their origin.
They come quickly,
catch me by surprise,
clearly need to flow.
They come and they go,
but leave me with a gentle unease.
I believe that some
of the defunct lessons
I absorbed are still
unsnarling and
I don’t need to understand

 the leftover tangles.
Just the writing of that
 produces peace.
I can feel my body relax,
my mind settle,
my spirit soothe.
I think I will make the choice

 to gratefully and lovingly
continue on my way,
trust that I truly am
on the right track.

Sarah Carlson

December 27, 2017

Make No Mistake

I saw this shovel hanging on a sapling while walking the trail along the brook behind my house. It was in the early afternoon after the first snow. I was fascinated by how the load it was carrying couldn't seem to slip all the way off as it was warmed by the sun. I posted the picture with this:

Afternoon sunbeams, shovel in a tree.

Snow slides slowly, not quite free.

The next day I had an osteopathic treatment and then, as often happens, wrote a new poem inspired by some of what surfaced during and after my session. I wondered if I had a picture to pair it with and, as I looked through my photos, it became clear this is a perfect fit.

Make No Mistake

I recently realized
that I’ve lived just about all of my life
trying to not make any mistakes.
The definition of a mistake was nebulous,
didn’t come from me,
involved fear and threat.
This has been quite a revelation.
I mean, really?
I spend all my working days teaching children
that it’s okay to stumble,
that those are the times when we learn the most.
They know I accept them right where they are,
will stand by them as they recover from a blunder,
will walk with them as they move ahead.
And, in truth,
I have lived that
on some level within, as well.
But way, way, way deep down inside
the drive to make no mistake
has been a strong and swift undercurrent
with a surreptitious potency.
It made me quick to accept responsibility
whenever anything went wrong.
For so very long I assumed that the
‘push aways’ were always totally my fault.
I had this weird double standard
where I understood other people’s
struggles so easily and could
be there to support and help.
Yet, mine were because
I must have made a mistake
somewhere along the way
and I deserved to hurt.
Make no mistake?
Humanly impossible!
And so now I must remember to
be gentle with my self
as I recover and move ahead.
I will gratefully continue to receive,
allow caring and healing
to dilute and diffuse,
as the burdens I lugged for so long
continue to slip away.
Message to self:
make no mistake -
I am perfectly human,
just like anyone else.

Sarah Carlson

December 12, 2017

At the Same Time

At the Same Time

At the same time I hurt,
I am healing.
At the same time I waver,
I flourish.
At the same time I yearn,
I feel settled.
At the same time I worry,
I feel safe.
At the same time I quicken,
I am mindful.
At the same time I wonder,
I know.
At the same time I am solitary,
I commune.
At the same time I doubt,
I believe.
At the same time I
acknowledge sadness,
I feel triumph 

that can be followed by
deep, breathy, permeating joy.

It validates, allows, transmutes.
I can gaze both upward and inward,
revel in the wonders
of being me.

Sarah Carlson

November 29, 2017