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

In The Right Light

February 13, 2022 becomingandbeholding6 Comments

In the right light,

the morning greets me

with the kind of hope needed

to float joyfully into the day.

I start with a smile

lit from within.

In the right light,

my elderly cat appears like a

kitten resting after deep play.

As the rays of sunshine he bathes in

shimmer across his gray coat,

they seem to hide how frail

he really is.

In the right light,

the emerging silver threads

on my head

bring a sparkle to my deep blue eyes,

revealing the gift

of my earned evolution

and the power of being seen.

In the right light,

all life is art –

and all its shades,

all its colors, shapes, and textures,

all the broken and joined lines,

seem to form words –

the ones that matter.

They speak louder to me

these days.

In the right light,

the trail ahead appears

clear and illuminated

for the distance.

It’s never ending

but in the good way –

the way that comforts.

The invitation to proceed

feels safe and important.

In the right light,

the wounded places within

become fertile ground

which, when thoughtfully nurtured,

produce fresh verdant growth

that is quite beautiful.

Noticing this deepens

my breathing and presence

in my life.

In the right light,

the dim of dusk

brings a glow

which kisses everything.

The quality of this light

forms speech which calls to me…

“Come on home, Sweet One. You have done well.

It is time to rest now. Tomorrow we begin again together.”

The light can change everything. — Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com

If light is in your heart, you will find your way home.
Rumi

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Always With You

April 24, 2020 becomingandbeholding1 Comment

Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

Mosaic Moments

September 13, 2019September 13, 2019 becomingandbeholding2 Comments

Transitions increase a felt wistfulness.

We look back

and long for

what worked before.

Those pieces of us that

like routine and

the comfort of the predictable –

well, those parts feel sharp

in such seasons –

the edges hurt.

And yet, there is the buzz –

the bubbling energy of the new,

of possibility.

There are new faces to greet,

new tasks to learn and

fresh ways to open the heart

and to be.

Life is

as life does-

and its mysteries inspire and instruct.

Its best when

there is a mix of things

for the creative touch of God is genius

and multi-dimensional.

So, even when loss

is the larger piece at the time,

there will always be the sparkle

and felt presence

of grace, of love … even joy.

When awake,

we can wonder at and

give thanks for

the whole design of it all.

We see our piece in the creation.

Gratitude for Anne Lamott and her coining of the term, “mosaic moments” in her recent book, Almost Everything.

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 Gathering

September 17, 2018 becomingandbeholding4 Comments

A walk along the shore

would soothe

as would

the vision of you

reaching towards me.

Why can love feel

so elusive?

Your broken places

touch mine

and we are so far apart.

I lift up all the questions,

all the loss –

and present them to the heavens.

My offering is

an act of surrender

and faith.

This gathering of my heart

and the recognition of its movement

brings me to the place

beyond the beyond –

it reminds me

of my need for God

and what is real.

There is comfort in the lifting, and

I am blessed with

a new lightness of being

which enables movement

foreward.

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

Still You

October 28, 2017 becomingandbeholding2 Comments

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.

Image created by my sister, Martha Harris

Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

Breathing Rare Air

September 6, 2017September 6, 2017 becomingandbeholdingLeave a comment

“I don’t think you can see it,”
said my love one day
during one of our connecting moments
when he gently dared
to pull away my self-imposed blinders.
“You are too close to it.”

He may be right.
Maybe I don’t see it,
this reality that few get to be in.

I work in a strange land,
a land of life
and a land of death.
The terrain is sometimes rocky and treacherous,
sometimes peaceful,
always momentous.
Every day I am in the midst
of the end
and the beginning,
all wrapped up in the movement of breath
and the wrenching of hearts.
I get to witness this,
over and over.
And my love does not see
how I can do this.

I breathe rare air.
It is the air of final breaths,
filled with spaces, longing, regrets,
love and letting go.
On a daily basis,
I am next to bodies as they sputter to a stop.
I take in the worn faces and the withered forms
barely taking up space.
I breathe this rare air.
The air of souls bursting to be free.
I hear the sounds
and smell the smells.
I breathe rare air.

You may wonder what this does to me,
this rarified experience.
I wonder, too.
Is this death I witness contagious?
Will my disappearing act be hastened
because I am seemingly comfortable
in this strange land?

I think not.

If anything,
entering this territory on a daily basis
is an invitation.
A chance to truly see.
With eyes wide open to what lies ahead,
there is no pretending.
No glossing over or dodging the truth.
I will end one day,
or, at least my body will.
There is no covering this over
with any effort to avert it,
whether it is in being as healthy as I can be,
or in avoiding what needs attending
before it is too late.

No.

Working with the dying
and breathing this rare air,
has opened me up in ways
beyond my comprehension.
I am being changed.
How could I not be?
All I know now
is that with each inhale of this experience,
my tightly bound heart
unwraps a little more.
I am softening.
And here is the nub of it:
I am getting a head start
on letting go
of all that does not matter.
I am being schooled in death bed academics
and I intend to be a straight A student.
So, maybe working with the dying
and breathing this rare air
IS contagious
because in learning to let go now,
and do the work before me,
my death can be more beautiful
when my time comes,
and my loved ones
more at peace.