Poem · Poetry

A Proper Sorting and Tossing

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.

Copyright@Cynthia Cady Stanton, June 2022

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
Uncategorized

A Deeper Listening

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.

Copyright@cynthiacadystanton.com, Jan. 2022

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Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

Unceasing Prayer

 

Lately, the weight of the world

seems to hold me to my bed

upon waking.

Entering the day requires

an unfamiliar courage.

But even as I lay under

the comfort of my covers,

trying not to face the universal worry,

I know how to be lifted…

 

I remember to pause.

I look out the window and

my eyes gaze in wonder

at the trees in the morning sky.

I bow inwardly to the beauty of their sparkle.

If the grip in my chest still remains –

threatening to take away wonder and joy,

I place my hands on my heart

and breathe.

I remember to offer myself

love and care.

This anxiety is not about me.

I can let it go.

Then, I look to my right and smile.

My love is at rest and peaceful.

I am reminded to celebrate all the love in my life.

My heart is soothed and 

begins to open to the morning.

 

This is how to start the day

when the world is in pain.

If we practice the art of

transcendance, 

and remind ourselves

of what is true and real,

we can step into the Presence 

that we are.

So today, I set my intention to 

continue in this way

moment by moment,

mindful of what I choose to see.

 

As I take the covers off,

and step onto the floor,

I lift up my voice and say,

“thank you.”

I gratefully move forward.

Later, if I catch myself 

again in the grip of worry,

veering off track,

I lift up a prayer.

I give voice to what is good.

I deepen my gaze and do the work.

This way, darkness and fear

don’t win.

And I am free to love generously.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, April 2020, during the Covid 19 Pandemic.

Regardless of the subject matter, this is the only thing worth teaching; how to uncover the original center and live from there once restored.  Mark Nepo

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Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

Home

 

My heart is at a loss as it

searches for a home –

even as I sit here, even as I sit here in

the comfort of this place.

 

My heart is at a loss as it

reaches for a peace – 

a peace that calms my restless soul, a soul

that cannot settle in this mess.

 

My heart is at a loss as it

feels strangled by new limits,

limits that are new and have descended in a

tidal wave, a wave that overwhelms me.

 

My heart is at a loss as it dreams of

better days, as it dreams of better days filled with

comfort and touch, the touch that heals and soothes,

and plays with long-lost freedom.

 

This is the home I am in, a home that

holds the fears and worries, a home

that keeps me safe from harm, still. Though my heart is

a tangle which longs to loosen, it is my home, it

is my home. 

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, March, 2020black-home-area-rug-2950003

Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

Nevertheless, Spring Forth!

 

The weight is heavy – 

this boulder on top of you.

It came out of nowhere!

You are stuck.

Never before have you felt such a hard, unrelenting blockage.

This rock is cold.

This pain is real.

It is time to hunker down

and see who is with you –

to be reminded that you are not alone.

Your roots reach to touch others

who share your dilemma,

your pain.

As the seeds within you

fight for survival,

you dare to stretch. 

You find another.

Together, your reach is stronger.

Together, you find a community –

one that works together

to search the cold surfaces 

to find the cracks.

For, no matter how hard the rock is,

it is no match

for the faith of a community

that seeks the light.

Your strength is in knowing that

the light is always there.

It cannot be extinguished –

no matter how big or daunting

the rock is.

 

Therefore, bloom!

Do not give up.

Reach for the light together.

Crack that rock apart

and let the strength within

spring forth!

You have it in you –

for you were born to find the light.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2020

Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

Here I Stand

 

I lift up my eyes

and I look around.

There is blessedness here…

and it was there, too.

I see differently now –

my distorted vision finally giving way to clarity.

The work of letting go

has been harder than expected.

But now I can see that

the grip is the giver of pain

and its loosening,

is grace received.

So here I stand 

at the bank of the river of gladness.

I am finally ready to move toward yes.

I let go again, and

surrender to the divine flow.

All is well as I learn

the nature of floating.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2019

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Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

That Part of Me

 

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.

 

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2019

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

 

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Poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

When Life is Hard

 

When life is hard,

and each day a challenge,

look for the soft places

beneath and below.

Uncover what is there

and be comforted.

 

When each day is an effort,

relax your muscles

and decide on purpose

to seek what frees.

Do more of that.

 

When the weight on your shoulders

is slowing you down,

go slow.

It is okay to rest.

Share your load and 

ask for help.

 

Listen to the whispers of God –

for you are being directed to learn 

something important.

Perhaps this is the time you finally understand that

joy can be found 

in the pain

             when you change your thinking.

 

Everyone gets lessons along the way…

Now is your time

to blossom in winter.

So, take comfort in the crocus 

which perseveres through 

hard frozen ground

to rise and shine,

transcending into Spring.

For you are the crocus.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2019

bloom-blossom-crocus-33115

Poem · Poetry

Big Girl Pants

I noticed her struggle.

It was one of those days when

the burden of work, life, and

responsibility 

made her bow low,

even as she quickly moved about.

She was weary –

maybe even in pain,

her eyes with the dark circles below which

appear regularly now,

despite daily application

of concealer.

She kept going,

kept producing,

despite her burden.

                  I’ve got my big girl pants on, she said.

I could empathize

because I get tired, too.

I understand how hard it is to stop

and just be –

to observe the blessings

along the way.

Perhaps one of the perks 

of getting old

is that as responsibilities

and requirements

fall away,

we can finally 

rest.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018

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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

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