Not only all around us
are the leaves letting go,
but inside us, too, so much
is falling. All those fluttersome
dreams we thought would last
forever. Imagine that. There
was a time we believed
that summer would never end.
We truly believed it. No one
could have convinced us then
of a thing called autumn.
And here it is. For hours
today I could have grieved
the leaves as they released—
gold and more gold and innumerable
shades of brown. But I did not.
Funny how the world goes on
despite all this falling. Funny
how beautiful it is to me now,
the empty branches, the adamant wind, the dank
scent of the world as it changes.
Posts Tagged ‘letting go’
And When October Goes
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged autumn, change, leaves, letting go, poem, poetry on October 21, 2013| 1 Comment »
And What Is It that Fuels the One Who Thinks She Is Thinking
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged auxin, letting go, plant cell, poem, poetry, unknowing, wanting on October 4, 2013| 1 Comment »
On the spiritual path, there’s nothing to get, and everything to get rid of. Obviously, the first thing to let go of is trying to ‘get’ love, and instead to give it. That’s the secret of the spiritual path. How can we give ourselves? By not holding back. By not wanting for ourselves. If we want to be loved, we are looking for a support system. If we want to love, we are looking for spiritual growth.
– Ayya Khema, “What Love Is,” Tricycle Magazine
Forgive me for wanting, dear.
I have wanted so much. Your eyes,
for instance. Your hands. Your arms.
Your thoughts. I have wanted your name.
Your time. Your words. I have wanted
your now. Your yes. Your forgiveness.
Yesterday I read about dying wood cells,
how they dissolve themselves as they die,
leaving their cellulose walls as infinitesimal
tubes in the stems and veins of the leaves.
And water pushes through the tubes
and nourishes the plant. It’s elegant,
this dying, this giving at the end.
There’s more. The dying cells
in fact release a hormone that fuels new growth.
And the growth leads to death, and death
leads to growth and on and on it goes.
What I’m saying is what if thoughts are like plant cells,
and as they die, they leave more space.
And what we once thought we knew for certain
becomes an empty frame. And the new thoughts
flow in like water and become us as we grow.
Thoughts such as there is nothing to get
and everything to let go.
the fine print
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged allowing, letting go, love, poem on September 5, 2013| 1 Comment »
he will hurt you and you will hurt him. you will want to pull out all your hair. you won’t have to. it will begin to fall out on its own. you will find blame and then come to see that everything that frustrates and angers you will point back to you. there are days this will feel like freedom. you will see all the lines you drew around the way you think that things should be. you will lose the energy to redraw them. this is what is meant by love. it will consume you and you will lose every idea you ever had about what love is. you will lose any ideas you come up with as replacements. you will fall into tenderness you never dreamt of and keep falling. everything you thought was a handhold will slip by you or disappear. you will lose yourself and think this is a blessing. you will be blessed and you will be blessed. you will remember not reading the fine print, signing your name with a flourish of free flowing ink. you will forget how to regret. there are no returns. you will fall into love beyond imagining.
Unsolvable Equation
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged kindergarten, letting go, love, parenting, poem on September 3, 2013| 3 Comments »
full
the
heart
that
holds
the
girl
and
more
full
(how?)
the
heart
that
lets
her
go
That Time of Light
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged letting go, life, light, love, opening, poem, poetry on June 12, 2013| 5 Comments »
What could be more
important today
than falling in love?
Look at you, with
your list of reasons,
your itemizations,
your tallies, your shoulds,
your predictions.
Walk away from
your accountings
and smell the river.
See the water ouzel
flit and bob spritely
from stone to stone,
as if traveling
from heart to heart.
Look at her diving
beneath the surface.
You don’t need
a poet to tell you
that’s a fine metaphor.
You don’t need
to squint your eyes
or tilt your head sideways
to see this is
the right time of light
for loving. Everything
is golden, my god,
even you, you
with your lists,
your inventories,
your records.
You don’t even have
to lose them
to be beautiful.
There you are,
golden, chosen
by the light, reports
and shoulds and all.
And still, such a hard sell,
this falling in love
business, as if
it will hurt, well,
you’re right about
that. Everything
you love outside
yourself will be
lost. You will break
and it will be a mess
but you will be
in good company.
Even those lists
you say you love
will leave you.
Might as well
give them a toss
on your own.
The river will take
them, no questions
asked. And in this
light, imagine
how they will shine
as they ride the waves
around the bend.
But in a light
like this it’s only
a matter of time
before you notice
how everything
shines, and surrounded
by so much beauty,
even the muck wears
a glimmer, what is
there to do but break?
God it’s messy already,
we’ve only just started,
might as well follow
that ouzel in the river
and cold as it is
dive right in.
One Morning
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged allowing, community, letting go, peace, poem, poetry on June 11, 2013| 3 Comments »
One morning
we will wake up
and forget to build
that wall we’ve been building,
the one between us
the one we’ve been building
for years, perhaps
out of some sense
of right and boundary,
perhaps out of habit.
One morning
we will wake up
and let our empty hands
hang empty at our sides.
Perhaps they will rise,
as empty things
sometimes do
when blown
by the wind.
Perhaps they simply
will not remember
how to grasp, how to rage.
One morning
we will wake up
and we will have
misplaced all our theories
about why and how
and who did what
to whom, we will have mislaid
all our timelines
of when and plans of what
and we will not scramble
to write the plans and theories anew.
On that morning,
not much else
will have changed.
Whatever is blooming
will still be in bloom.
Whatever is wilting
will wilt. There will be fields
to plow and trains
to load and children
to feed and work to do.
On that morning,
in every action, we will
feel the urge to say thank you,
we will follow the urge to bow.
A Little Shadow Tag
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Journey of the Heart, letting go, light, poem, poetry, Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, shadow, women's spiritual poetry on May 9, 2013| 1 Comment »
How to make peace with your shadow side? Perhaps a game of shadow tag. Two years ago, I wrote this poem, published today in Journey of the Heart, an exploration of shadow and light. This blog of Women’s Spiritual Poetry continues to make my heart sing–so many fine poems and wonderful poets on the site to explore.
Now We’re Talking
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged forgiveness, letting go, love, poem, poetry, wanting on May 7, 2013| 4 Comments »
I want to hear that you have forgiven me.
I want to hear that you see how we sail
on the water of our mistakes.
I do not know how to sail, love,
and I get sick at sea,
but here we are
like two drunks
in a tiny boat
with no map
and big waves
and darling,
we might just
go back in that sea,
I’m not saying we won’t,
but for this moment,
it all seems so funny,
so funny, we have no life vests,
no oars, and the sail has holes,
We’re surrounded by water
we cannot drink, and I don’t
see any land, but here we
are, darling, here we are,
with just the right weather
for me to forget that there’s anything
I think I need to hear.
How We Try to Shape Things
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged daughter, empowerment, letting go, mothering, poem, poetry on May 5, 2013| 2 Comments »
There are no arms
on the woman in the picture,
the one my daughter
drew and handed to me,
saying, “Mommy, this is you.”
She was so proud, her eyes
so alive, and the green crayon lines
show a woman with long hair,
long legs and a big lopsided smile.
And no arms.
It is not that I mind being elbowless,
but my friend Jack once told me
that children who draw people with no arms
are disempowered, and there
are studies to prove it, he said,
how their lack of agency
lasts into adulthood.
I want to show her, “Here,
darling, here is where the arms go.”
But instead I say, “The green lines
look strong. And her smile
makes me smile.” I kiss her,
and tell her thank you,
and she squeezes me, her two small
arms so strong, I notice, even when
they let me go.
Chasing Lizards with Finn
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged catching, letting go, owning, parenting, poem, poetry on April 28, 2013| 1 Comment »
C’mon mom, he says,
let’s find another,
and for an hour
we scour the slot canyon walls
for another lizard to chase.
I point out two here
on the blonde rock.
One here on the red shelf.
I can’t help but hope
they escape.
I don’t have to hope
too hard.
The boy is clumsy
with his two legs,
his lack of tail.
The lizards evolved
in this vertical world.
They scale the walls or find
the smallest cracks
where even tiny fingers
cannot reach.
How many things
have I chased
for the pleasure
of chasing? Some strange
joy in the unattaining of things.
And how many things
have I caught
and reveled in the catching
and soonly forgot.
Finn wedges himself
in the chimney of rock
and reaches for the tail
that slips beyond his hands.
The sky, has it ever been
this blue? I let it catch me
here between the mormon tea
and the warm, red sand.
From an Old Thought
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Chinese Proverb, connection, destiny, letting go on March 3, 2013| 4 Comments »
The Chinese believe
in a thin red thread
that connects everyone
to everyone else
they are destined to meet.
I don’t know that I
believe in the thread,
but I do believe in luck.
Red luck, green luck,
transparent luck. But
if there is a thread
that I followed to you,
I hope we are now
hopelessly tangled,
twined and tethered,
no chance of losing
each other. I know,
I know, I’m supposed
to let go, to release,
set free, liberate.
But is it so wrong
for me to let go
and at the same time
pray that the red thread
I don’t believe in
will never break?
Moment of Grace
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged emptiness, letting go, name, poem, poetry on January 29, 2013| 3 Comments »
Sometimes a person’s name
becomes so heavy around her neck
that the gravity of it pulls her down,
down into the snow drift, so far down,
syllables wrapped around buried stones,
that she cleaves it from her, expecting
blood, but there is only a sweet
emptiness where the name once was.
Such levity, she nearly floats above
the white bank. But you know what
happens to an empty space. Don’t
tell her. She is talking with the birds now,
and the sky. And the space
behind the sky.
The Price of Right
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged letting go, love, peace, poem, Right, sonnet, unknowing on January 27, 2013| 3 Comments »
So much grace available, but how we receive it depends on what we can let go of.
—Joi Sharp
Inside the place where we are right, the rain
can never fall. Inside the place where we
are right, the leaves fall yellowed off the trees.
No breeze. No bells. No peaches. We explain.
We judge, contend, defend and claim, maintain
our certainty. And meanwhile, we don’t see
the lilacs wilting, grasses browning, bees
without their hives, lost crows, the sunset drained.
But sometimes in this shrinking cage of right
wings in a doubt. A question. Nothing’s clear.
And see how soon the crows return, a slight
of breeze, a scent of rain. I’ll meet you here,
this open place, exposed, unclosed. How light
spills in as our defenses disappear.
Of Leaves and Ideas
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged allowing, autumn, fall, freedom, letting go, poem, poetry on October 3, 2012| 3 Comments »
so small
the weight
and yet
too much
to hold
and so
it falls
not that
it is
not lovely
not that
it is
not wanted
not that
we could
force the
liberation
just that
it is
time
for it
to fall
Crawdadding with Finn
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged crawdad, letting go, love, nature, pain, parenting, poem, poetry on September 18, 2012| 3 Comments »
All objects in existence are wildly in love.
—Meister Eckhart
Always, they claw at the world.
They can’t help it. They were given
two pincers and hard, hard shells.
They ripen into harder shells,
their clasp become more powerful.
They hurt more the larger they are.
This does not look to me like love.
I think of Eckhart’s saying as I stand beside the pond.
But my boy, he holds them in his open palm,
lets them pinch his thumb, his eyes
widen in pain, and he gently extracts them,
throws them back. And does it again.
This, now this looks like love, I think,
watching the water for the skitter,
the settling, the mirror of the pond as it stills.
Trying to Make Myself Relax
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged allowing, letting go, not trying, poem, poetry, surrender, trying on September 13, 2012| 2 Comments »
It’s like trying
to fall asleep.
Nothing to be done
except lay there
and let sleep
come do the work.
But who wants
to hear that?
We want to know
what to do.
One tiny pill.
Ten easy steps.
Three simple tips.
But nothing to do?
Immediately
the mind says,
okay, I will
not try even harder.
This is when,
I would guess,
the soul is laughing
its best belly laugh, watching
the mind grasping
at how not to grasp.
But there is grace.
And there is exhaustion.
Both work in our favor.
Sometimes it happens,
I wear myself out,
and too tired to pull out
any more tricks,
I notice that I
have forgotten
to remember to
struggle, and how
easy it is then
to see god in everything,
even the anger,
even the clench,
forgetting even
to despise frustration,
forgetting even
not to try.
Release
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged allowing, flow, letting go, poem, river, surrender on September 12, 2012| 3 Comments »
Something softens when we enter the flow.
—Joi Sharp
Not that I didn’t try to find the shore.
I scraped at the stones, grasping as I passed,
clawing until my fingers bled. Not that I didn’t try
to stall in the eddy where I spiraled down,
down. I tried. I tried. What if, instead, I had
fallen in love with the angry swirl, fallen in
love with the waves’ white froth, fallen in love
with the chill, the roil. It did not last, the chaos. It delivered
me to the warm quiet water that also did not last.
At one point, though, it happened, through no effort
of my own, the small unvoice in me began to whisper,
world I love you, world I love you, world I love
you I said to the rocks, to the shore, to the heron
standing in the center of the stream as I passed.
Nine Dismantlings
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged allowing, growing, haiku, letting go, not knowing, poem, receptivity on August 9, 2012| 2 Comments »
my hammer, my nails
what good are they now
the whole roof collapsed
*
doe in the meadow
my thoughts in the meadow
one of these is quiet
**
so much to learn
about
not knowing
***
not by the shoulders
but by the soul
life shakes me
****
hands bloody
tearing down a wall
that isn’t even there
*****
doe in the meadow
my thoughts in the meadow
one of these is quiet
******
at the same time
the tree grows
toward darkness, toward light
*******
so open my hands
not holding
my hammer, my nails
*********
surrounded by rubble
still I beg Love, keep having
your way with me
Walking with Michelle, I Would Stop and Hold Her Forever If I Could
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged friendship, letting go, loss, love, nothing, poem, poetry on June 3, 2012| 2 Comments »
Our steps interlocked,
Michelle asks me, “What do you need,”
and it occurs to me that everything
I love can and will be taken from me.
The wind that fills the sail
will eventually shred it.
The child who curves her body
into the breast will wean, will grow,
will leave. It is not true that I need nothing,
Oh Maslow, you gave us the map,
but an affinity with nothing is
perhaps what I need.
Learning to Listen
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged connection, letting go, love, naked, poem, poetry, relationship, unity on May 9, 2012| 6 Comments »
Like every day
today
we wake up
naked
regardless how
many layers
we wear.
All day
we’re naked,
trying our best
to pretend
that we
are not.
There are those
who hear
right through
the shirts
the hats
the coats,
who hear
the words that
every heart
is beating
under vests,
and v-neck tees—
hold me,
hold me,
hold me,
let me
go.