The Places Where I Recognize Myself

July 23, 2022July 23, 2022 becomingandbeholding2 Comments

There are moments when

I catch glimpses myself –

where I picture the kind of woman

I am becoming though

she sometimes feels far away.

I will be in a yoga class and

feel in my body a sense of home on the mat.

“Yes, here,” will be whispered into my heart.

I will stay even if uncomfortable.

I may be holding the hand of another

while they are dying and

listening to their softening voice

while witnessing their growing transparency.

I offer my humanity and breath while I take them in.

I stay.

Yes, here.

Once I was at the beach walking.

The sea spoke to me.

“You belong. Come here often. No need to call ahead.”

I found my home in the world

while listening to the music of the surf.

Now I make time for my toes to be cradled by sand.

My heart, soothed by sea songs

in the tempo of wholeness and belonging.

I might be peeling carrots and

learning to cook tofu.

I have learned the value of green things.

“This is how to nourish. Eat these. Set this table.”

My body thanks me.

In the neighborhood, I walk

in the early morning by myself,

saying hello to the trees and bunnies.

It is an active solitude

where I converse with God.

Seeking guidance for my many steps,

I maintain my strength of body.

This is how I move forward into a new day.

Yes, this is me.

Then the words…

They call to me.

We are friends most of the time.

Metaphors and beauty, insights –

beckon me to the page.

Another tether to my soul formed.

Writing is an intimate action which

enables me, lifts me, soothes me.

Inspiration has become a cherished friend.

Absolutely. This is me.

I am acquainted with grief and pain.

My heart has been broken many times.

My body has failed me.

I have endured,

grown.

My wounded places have

transformed into fertile places.

I cultivate this inner garden of earned wisdom

by extending myself to others who similarly suffer,

trip, and find themselves on holy ground.

Yes. Me.

And finally, I can envision her…

a graceful, beautiful and wise woman

with silky silver hair and a sparkle in her eyes.

She is wrinkled in some places –

Soft in others.

This soul has a glow about her

which lights up a room with love and grace.

She is my north star.

Each day I make my way to her.

Moment by moment she is created

through my open present heart

and daily choices.

I allow her to emerge.

Poem · Poetry

A Proper Sorting and Tossing

June 11, 2022June 11, 2022 becomingandbeholdingLeave a comment

I take it in,

all the goodness

I can wrap myself around.

I take it in,

and I hold it dear.

I let it crowd and smother

the junk that remains

from all past hurts and loss.

I push these out and out.

There is no time for clinging to old hurts.

There is only room

for the good things.

So I sweep and dust,

sort and toss.

I keep a tidy home

in this heart of mine.

No matter the weather outside,

despite all storms and struggle

which rattle the windows,

no matter any darkness looming,

nothing is glued to me

but that which nurtures and lightens.

Whatever is not worth keeping

passes through me

as if through a window.

Of course I see it as it passes…

I do notice the unpleasant winds

and the damage they can produce –

but I don’t let them blow me over.

There is plenty else to own,

to cherish,

to foster.

These things are knit to the bone

so I can remain steady on my feet.

Growing older grants this

wisdom of discernment.

I finally know

how to welcome the light that shows up –

even if it is just a flicker.

This is what I take in and cradle with tenderness.

This is how I shine from within

and build resilience.

Examine everything carefully; hold fast to that which is good.

1 Thessalonians 5: 21

I realize there’s something incredibly honest about trees in winter, how they’re experts at letting things go.
Jeffrey McDaniel

Photo by SHVETS production on Pexels.com

Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

On The Wing of The Breath

April 9, 2022 becomingandbeholding3 Comments

Create some wind.

No matter what swirls around you,

add some air to it.

Whether it is a sigh

or a deep gulp,

get it going.

Don’t get caught in the holding of your inner breezes.

This only creates pain…

Life is born in and through us

and it is only on the wing of our precious breath

that we can unfold and float

among the mountains and valleys.

This is what breathing is –

working with life.

And working with life,

is why we are here.

Uncategorized

A Deeper Listening

January 16, 2022January 16, 2022 becomingandbeholding2 Comments

As a baby poet,

and a lover of writing,

the words that arrive

seemed to flow effortlessly

for a time.

When I dared to take those

first steps

that one day in a coffee shop,

and my love – after reading the results –

and to my surprise –

proclaimed me a poet,

I blossomed so fully

and beautifully

into joy and purpose.

I shined from the inside out,

blessed by having been seen.

This is what happens

when one is in the flow,

the wellsprings of artful expression.

But lately,

I find myself in the driest season of all.

This dehydration and loss of the words

has begun to hurt.

I feel it in the tightness of my voice –

a constipation in manifestation…

of engagement in my gifts.

So where did those waters of life go?

There is still a heart in me

that longs to speak.

There is still a soul

that seeks to inspire.

There is still a desire

to connect artfully

and with meaningful impact –

not out of a need for praise,

but of a soul-drive to be helpful –

to connect to our common humanity.

But here I am.

Thirsty for the words

and waiting to be quenched

by the flow

which glows through me.

It has been a season

of healing and grief for me.

There has been a deep dive

into all the embodied pain

I have been carrying –

lugging around through life

unwittingly.

The drag of it all

has finally caught up with me.

I have been brought to my knees

to find a profound humility.

Now that I am getting back on my feet again,

and on sacred ground,

feeling healed and graced

with a deeper listening to life,

I sense the presence of inspiration again.

She whispers softly,

but with an urgency

that deepens my attention.

So the words are starting to spring forth gently.

I know I must share them –

for I know they are needed

for the many who thirst longingly

just like me.

My heart begins to pour them out

as I enter the flow

once again.

Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

I Miss Your Face

May 19, 2020May 19, 2020 becomingandbeholding10 Comments

At least I can see your eyes –

even though they look sad and tired.

Your shoulders, too, are not the same.

They are rounded.

Perhaps an unnamed shame is weighing you down…

or maybe grief.

There is good reason for grief.

You stand at an awkward distance

as if a cloud of contagion was

surrounding me

like Pig Pen’s dust.

I feel embarrassed somehow

by the invisible cloud.

I mean you no harm, of course.

Your eyes dodge mine, anyway.

The disconnect between us,

is strange –

its wordless noise brings

a haunting isolation.

The masks have swallowed our voices.

I hope one day to see your smile…

Your dependable dimples

could always brighten my day.

But now all I see is the barrier

we all have to wear.

I miss your face.

$woman-with-face-mask-and-latex-gloves-holding-a-shopping-bag-4226269$

Uncategorized

Always With You

April 24, 2020 becomingandbeholding1 Comment

Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

That Part of Me

May 29, 2019May 29, 2019 becomingandbeholding5 Comments

My heart is working hard these days

with loss and loneliness.

I am an orphan seeking home.

The grief of moving through the landscape which

is my life

tugs at the ways I have

stitched myself together.

This waking up is painful –

but as I move forward,

I open my heart to it.

It is a time of deepening –

of allowing the mystery to instruct

and show me

the location of my true belonging.

The older I get,

the more acquainted I am

with this type of deep reckoning.

It is familiar terrain and

I have visited it often.

When I look back, I can see this.

But in this moment,

choosing to be present

feels like valor.

I gradually take on the challenge

as little pieces of me mend.

I begin to hear again the

warm and forgiving invitation.

It calls to me like

a song over the hillside,

sending music to my ears and heart.

I allow this embrace of mystery which

wells up within my very soul.

This is the place which

connects me to the beauty of it all

and the realization of belonging.

I find my way home again

and I learn to dwell in a sweet peace.

I dare to hold everything –

all the precious pain and longing.

Thanksgiving visits me –

I am surprised as it wells up like a wave

and invites me to rest in a beautiful tenderness.

This is Life and Grace

given and received.

They had never left.

“Secret work is being done in us of which we have no inkling.” John O’Donahue

Poem · Poetry

This Golden Crack

September 5, 2018September 5, 2018 becomingandbeholding1 Comment

Like a canvas

before the artist’s brush,

we get our markings.

Our unique hues

and textures

create the picture

of what seems to be true

about us.

But sometimes life is lived

more like a ceramic pot –

one that gets cracked

along the way…

shattered, even –

the mending of which

is complicated work.

It takes the artist’s hands

and keen attention to detail

to put the pieces together,

beautifully.

It is a necessary process.

This breaking,

followed by the recognition of the mess,

enables us to be held

and mended.

When we submit to the

Master’s hands,

and allow for the

hard work to be done,

we are fashioned anew.

Our cracks become golden

and essential.

We are forever changed, and

we shine with humble strength

from our broken places.

Like the Velveteen Rabbit,

we have been loved into

becoming more real.

Tea bowl Tea bowl — ; Japan; 17th century; Stoneware with clear, crackled glaze, stained by ink; gold lacquer repairs.; H x W: 10.5 x 12.2 cm (4 1/8 x 4 13/16 in); Gift of Charles Lang Freer

Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

Acquainted With Grief

July 19, 2018July 19, 2018 becomingandbeholding3 Comments

Somewhere between meeting the new

and releasing the comfortable

there will always be grief.

It is that separation thing

that is oh, so inevitable –

and as predictable as

melting ice cream.

It is the tug along the way

that pulls at the heart,

sometimes tearing it painfully –

leaving scars that

mark the spot.

Nothing lasts –

or so it seems.

It takes a lifetime to figure this out.

Eventually, we learn

that grief is the price of love –

given and received.

I bump into grief every day.

When I see it in another,

its embers are sparked in me

and the familiar ache of it all

shows up,

reminding me of its

ready presence,

pouncing on me,

like a mugger on a morning walk.

Grief has an I get it quality

when witnessed in another…

Our earthly existence

comes with loss

woven deeply into its tapestry.

We can see it in each other’s faces –

when we dare to look up.

Loss is the glue

that connects us

and joins us together.

Some think God causes this sadness

as if to manipulate us

to devotion

by bringing us to our knees

with heartache.

I disagree.

To me, God is all trust and love

with an unimaginable capacity

for wisdom and compassion –

and is not the cause

of our suffering.

If anything, God gets it –

suffers and grieves with us ,

weeping as we weep.

God knows that the answer

to grief

is the loving embrace –

the one we share with one another,

and the one

God gives with

Everlasting Arms –

through us.

We are not alone,

ever.

This must be realized.

When it comes to grief,

and life (as it turns out)…

well, we are in it together –

and once we get off the floor,

after extreme loss has arrived,

we can move forward,

side by side,

learning a deepening resilience

together.

Poem · Poetry

When I Am Not Writing

April 16, 2018 becomingandbeholding1 Comment

The babbling brook that

is the stream of life, passes

before me,

its eternal and purposeful movement,

effortlessly dancing –

its whispers inviting me

into the water.

I sit on the shore,

afraid to get wet –

mistaken by the idea

that in staying dry,

I can somehow

avoid the discomfort and uncertainty

of change –

when in actuality,

I am delaying my

ongoing baptism into Life.

In this moment,

I dip my toe back in.