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Posts Tagged ‘dropping our stories’

From Where, This Inner Spring?

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on January 21, 2024| 14 Comments »

Midwinter, the snow on the roof is melting.
Not just a trickle, but a steady pour.
Inside, I feel it, too, a thawing,
a surprising liquescence
as stories about myself
I thought were true
become less solid, less icy,
more current, more flow.
I didn’t even know I was frozen.
I didn’t know I’d created walls
until this unexpected inner spring
arrived out of season
and offered me a glimpse of freedom.
How vast a day is without those stories.
Was it always possible, this openness?
Perhaps we cannot know it
without first experiencing constriction.
Outside, it is melting,
though I know soon the cold will come again.
Inside me, it is melting,
a whole world of ice turning to rivulet.
I fall in love with the sound of melting.
Drip. Drip. Drip.

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Just Another Yarn

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on August 16, 2013| 4 Comments »

Some days the stories
are thin, precious gossamer,
so glittersome, so smooth
that we weave them
and weave them and
follow them through
and spin them and spin
until we are thoroughly
unable to move, so wrapped
in those beautiful strands.
And it is nearly impossible
to imagine the stories aren’t true.
After all, who is doing the telling?

But the strands start to pull and restrict
and tug, and the story lines crisscross
and bind. And it’s harder to breathe
with this tangle of plot and who did what
to whom and how and how else it should have been.

Don’t be too quick to throw them away,
says my teacher. They are a gift, she says.

I follow one once upon a time
and notice how hard it is to let it go.
I know this story by heart, by blood,
by word, by dream, by now.
And slowly, more tenderly than
I might have thought,
I feel the gauze begin to loosen

until I can feel it’s more painful
to hold on to the thread
then to let it drop away.
And still I hold on and watch
as another gossamer strand
begins to swirl. I can laugh
at the impulse to grab at it
even as I reach for it with my hand.

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