Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

Acquainted With Grief

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.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018

adult-black-and-white-blur-735978

Poem · Poetry

Transitioning

 

When in an unfamiliar place,

you are on your way.

It usually comes with lots of tension.

You become unsettled,

and maybe even a little bit scared.

Transitions are that rocky time

when your usual patterns are useless

and you have to allow for

change.

The big ones are literally

earth-shattering,

setting you off kilter,

making you feel raw and

vulnerable.

But when you get to the other side,

you are in that shiny spot of

All New.

You have grown new muscle, and

you are reborn.

When this freedom flowers,

you realize that

the pain of change

was nothing but 

the peeling of the layers

that are no longer needed.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018

Poem · Poetry

Beyond Chasing Tail

Round and round we go,

looping and repeating,

distracted with ourselves –

chasing tail.

Transformation comes only

when we lose interest

in this game –

when it finally dawns on us

how much time,

and how much energy

is lost

               in the constant spinning.

It is the miracle 

of the pause

which lifts us up

and out –

and helps us connect

to what is real and true.

We discover the wonder of rest, and

in the birth of this realization, 

we learn to drop the chase.

We are finally free.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018

dog

Poem

Blow Me Over

 

Pour me a cup of coffee

and warm me up

with that gooey, lovely feeling

of being with an old friend.

The movement within my heart

is like a gentle wave

which rocks me –

or a wind which moves me,

opening both my lungs

and my heart, simultaneously.

I could weep at the memory.

How I miss our times together!

We so took for granted

the easy geography of sharing the

parenting of our kids,

the unfolding of our lives as

women caught – but growing through,

the married-wifey-mommy labyrinth.

Each of our paths ended up so different

but what was lasting remained.

We will always be friends,

despite the winds of change which

move through us and

around us, seemingly threatening

our deep connection.

I am not daunted by the wind.

Rather than being intimidated by its roar,

I am moved by the ways

it pushes us together

and opens our hearts ever so powerfully

when we are together.

For that moment,

we can be home

for each other –

and that means everything.

Copyright@ Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018

two cups of coffee

 

 

Poem · Poetry

Talking to Pain

I have become too familiar

with your presence.

It is as if you belong to me

and I am stuck with you.

But my soul calls out

in gentle whispers

and questions that lie.

I am separate from you.

You hang around

as a distraction and a restraint

which holds me back.

When you show up,

you have my full attention.

I am lost.

But as I grow,

I now realize the Truth

that you and I? Well,

we are not friends.

I do not need you anymore.

And yet, you do have a role

as a Teacher and a tool

to remind me to get Present.

I shake you off like a bad dream

and begin to question you.

What are you trying to tell me?

Now when you show up

I pause and breathe

and get interested in my thoughts.

My mind becomes a classroom

with you as

the unpopular teacher

who forces me to blossom.

I begin to listen to you

and turn my attention

to the Truth of

who I am.

Everything opens up

and I am free.

Copyright@ Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018

pain pic

Poem · Poetry

Don’t Let Go

 

Like a warm blanket

takes the chill away

from my weighted shoulders,

your Presence is sweet comfort.

When alert,

I catch glimpses of you,

and they are just enough

to enliven

that inner pilot light

you so gracefully set

to burn within me.

Sometimes it burns fiercely

and then I know –

that is what flames are meant to do.

You are with me all the time.

You are my inner light,

waiting to flame up

every time I dare

to share its healing energy.

I surrender to the flame,

to its powerful glow,

trusting that

when the chill dares to set in

from time to time –
when I manage to turn away

for a minute

or a month,

you will wrap me up in your

inviting Presence,

hold me close,

and re-light the flame.

Don’t let go.

 

Copyright © Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2017

hand lighting candle

Poem · Poetry

Infant Poet

 

It is the strangest thing

when a poem takes over.

Kidnapped by it,

sometimes it lifts me above

to broaden my view –

or it can

lean me forward

with such focus,

everything else falls away

except the nub of it all.

 

Expanding and contracting,

I breathe the poem

and it breathes me.

We are one,

locked in a gentle tussle

until it is time

for the poem to be born.

 

I never thought of myself

as a poet.

It feels like a gift

given to an infant –

like a mobile hanging above a crib,

like a toy

to keep me busy

and broaden my senses –

to show me who I am

and help me

find my words.

There is an awkwardness –

but also,

deep joy

and a radiance that

nourishes.

 

I have come to rely

on my poems.

They are a gift

akin to the blessing

of having a loving parent

whose embrace

shows me the way.

 

Copyright © Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2017

 

baby talk

Poem · Poetry

Still You

Oh, yes,

The seasons come and go,

bringing new ways

of being.

Sometimes you shine with new growth,

literally bursting at the seams –

brilliant in shiny young green.

And then there are the periods

when what is not needed

must fall away –

the colors indicating

how bold you are

to face the loss

of what is attached.

And yet,

through it all –

despite how the winds have shaken you,

or how crowded your field has become,

you remain.

Your roots run deep,

they grasp, expand,

and strengthen

as your rings widen.

Your center

is deeply connected to the eternal.

So, my friend,

the lesson here

is to understand at your core

that though the changes come –

whether welcomed,

or not,

you are not the changes.

You are

still you.

 

Copyright © Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2017

Image created by my sister, Martha Harris

Autumn Tree by Martha

Poem · Poetry

Structure

Limping again

with another broken bone.

A repeat injury

only this time

on the other side

as if it had to happen

for a symmetry in the lesson.

I am feeling a little picked on.

 

Feet are important

for grounding and balance.

Standing is now clumsy and awkward

with one foot in a walking cast.

Walking is even worse.

I am forced to slow down.

Is God toying with me?

Forcing me to look at what I am made of

and what kind of condition I am in?

 

Now there is talk of potential disease

a thinning of my bones,

a weakness that clearly has been hidden
until this year.

All this makes me feel old

and envious of all those effortless walkers

out there.

I have heard that healing

can make us stronger in our weak spots.

I hope this is true.

And now that I have run out of feet,

perhaps I can get grounded again.

 

Copyright © Cynthia Cady Stanton 2017

bone 2