Quickthaw

Thawing from the roof of my dwelling - March 2019

 Quickthaw

Complex system of sculptured ice,
glacial in nature,
caused by pressures and shifts,
floes and fissures –
moored deep, deep within
 a genuinely warm-hearted being.
Though thawing has been part of her process,
one day faultless conditions clear the way for
a quickthaw.
A flash flood follows
with truly torrential emotions
busting loose her banks.
She is there, in it,
at the same time an observer,
marveling at the beauty
of diverging flows.
She experiences a curious sense of safety,
a distinct ability to be with it, without it,
profit from its power.
Secure in her vessel that,
though tossed about,
stays the course,
is steadfast and right.
And, then…
things settle into a slow and steady melt,
a sliding into newness yet again,
residue dripping away with gentle abandon.
That which remains rearranges to find its rightful place
as she dwells in Light, swells with Love.
Familiar kaleidoscope effect with
an energy that is novel and needed
as her lens becomes more and more clear.
This quickthaw has a power
 that once may have made her fearful,
but now she can embrace
for the healing it produces,
the hope it fosters,
the truth it sets free.

Sarah Carlson

March 25, 2019

A Perfect Storm

A Perfect Storm

Some things are simply futile.

There's literally nothing one can do.

And, yet, there can be a sense of constant demand.

Try this, fix that, come to the rescue.

But you can't fix someone else's brokenness

or rescue them from being stuck in their own muck.

And you shouldn't be expected to.

However, that can be part of the challenge.

You've been groomed to try and try

and try again,

no matter what.

You are yanked in disparate directions,

trapped in the midst of irrational forces.

One day, though, you begin to realize

that you don't have to yield to their energy

any longer

and you slowly,

bit by bit,

claim your freedom.

It may be that some time,

when you're in a place of healing,

those forces converge

for a perfect storm.

Multiple fronts crash into each other and,

though you thought you had already 

given voice to the distress,

your body simply needs to express.

You ride the storm surge,

tossed this way and that,

eventually emerging to calmer waters.

It's a struggle to pull away from the trappings

and come back,

but you do.

It may not feel like quite the same place

and you are stronger, wiser, and so much more free.

Queasy and a bit off balance,

you orient more distinctly to the truth of you,

your place in the world.

You trust that the residual

pitching and rolling will settle,

the pressures that precipitated

a perfect storm will separate and dissipate

as they blow farther and farther away.

It begins to dawn on you 

that you are actually rescuing yourself.

Though gently unsettled,

you feel buoyant, secure, and right.

Sarah Carlson

March 12, 2019

Confluence

 

Confluence

Wispy, pink and mauve clouds drift soundlessly
across an early March sky.
Dusk approaches as more vibrant colors
spread across the horizon.
Waxing crescent moon seems to follow the sun
in the ongoing interplay of celestial bodies.
Banks of snow appear solid,
though they shift and settle with
temperature fluctuations
of longer, brighter days.
Stoic, sleepy trees stand ready
for sap to flow
with awakening.
Warm-hearted woman
takes a moment
to gaze upward
and inward,
smiling at the confluence
of completion,
emergence,

cyclical phases,
and the ever-present promise of
new beginnings.

Sarah Carlson

March 9, 2019

The Power of Quiet

The Power of Quiet

There’s a quiet to being a widow
that is like no other.
At times it involves a deep craving
to share life experiences with
the one who knew you best.
I believe in continued connection
and I treasure those times when
his love shines through.
Whether a sighting in nature,
words that wend through my mind and onto paper,
or simply a sensation beyond explanation,
I do know he’s still there.
Through my writing I talk and process and heal.
I didn’t mean for this to happen.
It just did.
Recently I realized that without the aspect of stillness
poems such as this would not have come to be.
This understanding is so important for my process
because usually there is very little talking back.
I put some of my musings out into the world
and, for the most part,
don’t really know where they go
or what effect they have.
I found that confusing for a time,
but now I can view it as similar
to stopping in my tracks
during a ski on a frozen lake
to breathe and be.
I was alone, but not.
All was still, but not.
There was silence, but not.
Friends skied ahead or rested in cabins.
Clouds drifted overhead, water moved beneath my feet.
My steady breath and the constant breeze 
synchronized into a symphony.
Though responses are always welcome,
yearnings and loneliness will still visit,
I can honestly say that I’m grateful
for the power of quiet.

Sarah Carlson

February 27, 2019

Onward We Flow

Onward We Flow

As things open and a new flow ensues
there can be a gentle discomfort,
a feeling of tender vulnerability.
It’s about a shift away from susceptibility
to that which used to cause hurt.
Emergence and conclusion happening,
sometimes separately,
but more often at once.
A sense of disturbance
may be present,
but is accompanied by
a flourishing appreciation of self
and a differentiation from difficulties.
You realize that problems are not of you,
do not define you,
and there’s a lovely freedom to
choose how and when to react.
This notion is deeply empowering and,
 for one who is used to being hurt,
takes some time for adjustment.
Deeper and stronger, though,
is a continually expanding sense
of no longer being victimized,
of trusting in who you are
in any given moment.
Unease, insight, and freedom
often travel together,
especially when you
welcome them aboard.
So, like burbling water
 in the depth of winter,
onward we flow
together.

Sarah Carlson

February 26, 2019

Reminder From a Winter Sky

Cabin 8 at Gorman Chairback AMC Lodge

Reminder From a Winter Sky

Octagonal cabin sits by
quiet, frozen waters.
Sun slips behind a tranquil horizon
as friends gather together
in a temporary home.
Conversations ebb and flow,
like the ongoing movement beneath the ice.
Laughter, connection, depth and delight
course in and around the lively group
as life stories merge and mingle.
Stars and moon
saturate the darkening sky,
weary skiers rejuvenate and rest.
Night dwindles, morning expands.
Waning moon slowly recedes
as sunlight bathes the opposite shore.
Humans awaken to a brand new day,
ready for another ski adventure
with ample opportunities
to breathe the forest air,
soak in the warmth of the sun,
stretch physical limits.

This skier ponders the way the moon
waxes and wanes
as her energy does the same
on the ski out.
Without one there would not be the other
and there is beauty in all the phases.
She knows to simply allow fatigue
and be thankful for hardiness within.
With that comes a sense of accomplishment,
a freshening of spirit,
 and her stride strengthens once again.
Such a lovely reminder from a winter sky –
just as night gives way to morning,
so does waning lead to
novelty, growth, and fullness.

Sarah Carlson

February 24, 2019

Love You Still

Love You Still

Dear sweet Sarah T.,
I’m here and I
love you still.
I am in awe of all you have done
since I died,
though I’m not surprised in the least.
Your courage and grit,
combined with such gentle compassion,
are part of what drew me to you
along the shores of Saddleback Lake
during that magical summer of 1975.
I saw it, felt it in the

 twinkle of your eyes,
 set of your chin,
 warmth of your smile,
 rhythm of your words.
It was in the way you
pounded tennis balls,
carved a turn,
mothered our children,
loved them and me.
We had a good run
you and I,
but because I left when I did,
how I did,
you’ve had to work hard to recover.
You barely had time to grieve
as so many challenges
and changes happened at once.
I know it’s part of you to be a giver.
But, now you know
it’s also good and right to receive.
So yes, sweet Sarah, go on and
breathe deep the gathering bloom.
Do that not once,
but over and over and over again.
Do what you need to do
in any way that you choose.
It really is okay.
Feel what you feel –
little you, big you,
every space and place within.
Thaw, flow, rest, and recoup.
Honor your graceful gems, allow them
to glisten and gleam in the light of day.
Feel the joys of being you and
always, always remember that I
love you still,
Barry Q. Carlson

Sarah Carlson

February 20, 2019

My Best Life Without You

 

My Best Life Without You

How is it that sometimes I miss you
more than ever before?
A deep missing that involves my
newly breached underpinnings.
Is it because you knew,
you saw those places?
Or maybe it’s because I’m older now,
 not sure just where
I’m going next.
I don’t know if staying in this house
you so loved is good for me.
It’s showing its age and needs some repair.
Maybe that’s part of the missing, too.
I’m not sure what to do,
how to make the foundation strong again
and deal with the other issues it presents.
I can’t seem to keep it warm enough
 this winter, either.
Perhaps being cold makes me
feel more alone.
I even wonder if it’s because the
world now is just so different,
more troubling.
At times things are so clear and
I feel like I just know.
You died,
I’m still here.
I have intrepidly explored, adjusted,
grown stronger and wiser even.
Then there are those ambiguous times
where I feel murky and unsure.
The juxtaposition of the two
 makes me feel tired all the way
down to the depths of my soul.
I don’t experience it as good or bad,
just challenging and true,
part of the whole picture –
both close to home
and in the wider world.
I miss the sense of being in tandem
as we dealt with what came our way.
Soulmates we were, are.
So, that must be it.
I can finally be at peace
with missing you with my entire being.
I imagine in doing that
I can more heartily live
my best life without you.

Sarah Carlson

February 19, 2019

Ethereal Moments

Ethereal Moments

Winter storm lays a blanket of
  fluffy, puffy snow
on the sparkling ground.
Three women meet at a trailhead,
two ending their ski,
one just beginning.
A gentle conversation emerges
as they gaze above,
in awe of the way
 velvety clouds
stretch and drift,
 muted colors gently pulsating
in the layers of droplets.
They talk of love and loss,
grace and gain,
chance and change.
So often it’s hard to make sense
of that which happens to us,
around us.
We can get cluttered by
worry and wonder,
care and concern.
And then there are those moments
when you know you are
in the right place,
at the right time.
You can look to the trees
and clouds and waters,
into the eyes of the humans
who share
and let the meaning be
whatever you want it to be.
Ethereal moments of
natural connection
when you can simply
 sigh,
 settle,
and savor.

Sarah Carlson

February 14, 2019

Dear Me,

Dear Me,

It’s okay.
Feel what you feel,
right here, right now.
It’s not wrong, ever.
You’ve carried the pain of others
long enough.
So long that it was
lodged deep within,
had to be excavated
and explored.
That’s why it’s been so much work
and the sensations are stale
 when it surfaces and loosens.
Why you feel such a mixture of
 frozen and flowy,
confused and clear,
powerless and powerful.
You’ve done it,
exposed the roots of that
which was imposed.
It’s not your pain,
never should have been.
and it’s okay to
cry it away,
breathe deep the beauty
of who you are,
let yourself fully unfurl.
You are not hurting anyone,
need not feel beholden,
in allowing this to happen.
It’s safe and right
and richly deserved
for you to be free
from that particular suffering.
I know it can be scary
and you are still wary of being wrong
when these truths shine through.
That’s a tendril of the trauma, though.
You know that now.
It’s part of your blossoming to
let it go,
let it flow
away.
Love doesn’t hurt,
so let go the pain.
Cry your cleansing tears,
smile your lovely smile,
and be you.

With love,

Sarah Carlson

February 12, 2019

Breathe Deep the Gathering Bloom

Photo by Terry Owens

The poem Late Lament, by Moody Blues drummer Graeme Edge, is in spoken word as part of the song Nights in White Satin. I must have listened to it often as a teenager in the early/mid 70s. The first line is, "Breathe deep the gathering gloom." The poem ends with, "But we decide which is right and which is an illusion."
Clearly something was stirred recently from those bygone days as the first line of my poem dropped into my head right after an osteopathic treatment.

Breathe Deep the Gathering Bloom

Breathe deep the gathering bloom
as visceral freedom oozes, flows
in, out, and all about.
Open-hearted,
she settles more and more and more
into the bounty of exploring
her Divine fathoms.
Gently she twists the lens
and this time,
each time now,
her innate beauty reveals
in such a way
 that she simply smiles
and knows.
Some detritus may appear
every now and again,
and there may still be some thawing,
but she is keenly aware
of what to do.
Let the decomposition and melting
kindle

as she roots, foliates,
blossoms.
Ah yes,
breathe deep,

loosen, resolve,
allow the ongoing

graceful unfurling
of her beautiful being.
Breathe deep the gathering bloom.

Sarah Carlson

January 29, 2019

Worn Out by Winter?

During the experience represented below I had some moments of loneliness and despair. But they were quickly replaced with the humor of it all, along with the recognition that I am strong and able and get the job done.

Worn Out by Winter?

I woke up this morning with things on my mind.
I wanted to clean out my wood stove
so I could use the ashes to spread
on the skating rink that is my driveway.
And, of course, the stove actually needed cleaning.
With the temperature a balmy 5 degrees
I thought this would be a good chance to
accomplish this feat.
However, when I opened the stove
I noticed the ashes still had some life to them.
Not wanting to carry the ash pan
with lively ashes through my house,
I realized I should shovel out the back door
and up around my deck.
This actually needed to be done anyway,
just in case I run out of wood (good chance of that)
and have to rely on my gas stove later on.
Can’t get gas delivered if the tank is inaccessible.
I hadn’t done this before the rain storm came
that followed the last snow storm due
a sore shoulder that let me know
enough was enough after
cleaning off the front walkway
 and the deck (4 times).
This meant that shoveling this morning
included breaking through an ornery crust
to get to the crystalline snow below,
then lifting it up above the mountainous
banks that now surround.
The ashes, cooled by their new resting place,
 now pave a route to my car,
creating both safety and the messiness
of tracking said ashes into my house.
As I finished I wearily wondered,
“Am I,
 a lover of snow,
 worn out by winter?”
This was quickly followed by,
“Nah, I think I’ll go skiing!”

Sarah Carlson

January 26, 2019

Tears of My Heart

Tears of My Heart

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

and exquisite liberty.

Sarah Carlson

January 15, 2019

Someone to Cry With

Someone to Cry With

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

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

Sarah Carlson

January 9, 2019

Red Sky at Night

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

Red Sky at Night

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

Sarah Carlson

January 3, 2019

Novelty

Novelty

A gentle softness arrives

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

Sarah Carlson

January 1, 2019

With You and Without You

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

, 2001

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

With You and Without You

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

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

With so much love,

Sarah

December 31, 2018

Fully Born

Fully Born

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

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

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

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

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

Sarah Carlson

December 31, 2018

To Be Sure

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

To Be Sure

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

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

Sarah Carlson

December 21, 2018

Yesteryear

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

Yesteryear

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

Sarah Carlson

December 18, 2018

Wintry Twilight

Wintry Twilight

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

Sarah Carlson

December 11, 2018

Above the Fray

Above the Fray

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

Sarah Carlson

December 4, 2018

Serene Lake Within

Serene Lake Within

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

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

Sarah Carlson

December 1, 2018

Simply Still

Simply Still

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

Sarah Carlson

November 27, 2018

Tranquil, Wide Horizon

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

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

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

Tranquil, Wide Horizon

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

Sarah Carlson

November 22, 2018
Thanksgiving

Softly, More Softly

Softly, More Softly

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

 occupy my own space
in this harried world.

Sarah Carlson

November 18, 2018

Expanding Faith

Expanding Faith

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

Sarah Carlson

November 7, 2018

The Worry Owl

'The Worry Owl' by Holly Johnson

The Worry Owl
(for Holly)

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

With love,
Sarah Carlson
November 8, 2018

Greater Than, Less Than, Equal To

Greater Than, Less Than, Equal To

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

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

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

Sarah Carlson

October 27, 2018

Blossoming

Blossoming

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

Sarah Carlson

October 23, 2018