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
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

This is It

The cat purring in my lap

while the birds sing their morning song…

My heartbeat,

strong and regular,

sending the vibration of vitality everywhere –

to my very fingertips and toes,

opening my eyes,

and lighting up my taste buds.

It travels past

all the aches and pains,

those spots that distract and annoy.

The pain cannot stop its movement,

but is touched by its energy –

kissed by the whispers of hope.

               One day you won’t need this pain…

The promise of a new day

is the reliable reboot given every morning.

Perhaps this is the day

I will finally see,

not only with my eyes,

but with my whole being,

that

                 this is it.

No more will I wait

for my turn,

holding back and waiting

for that perfect moment

                that never comes.

Life is here now,

and ever so fleeting.

It passes before me,

it beats within me,

it connects me 

to all that matters.

Life lives on through me

even when I am pressing the brakes.

It moves forward,

with or without me.

This is it –

the blessings are here.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, 2018

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