Starting here, I want to remember
the spaciousness that emerges in me
when my heart knows itself as an expression
of the one great heart. In those moments,
when the I slips away and the we is all,
when love is unbound from the walls
of my chest and expands across mountains
and deserts and oceans and returns
with the peaks and tide in each breath,
then the rightest parts of my being unclench
themselves, as if all the bars of the inner prison
dissolve and what’s left is freedom
to love beyond judgment, beyond should
and should not, beyond how my one small heart
is capable of loving. I remember the first time
I felt love carry me through a moment
I knew I could not meet alone. Since that time,
I am learning to trust that the heart of all hearts
can rise up in any moment to illumine the path
I do not yet see is possible. Since that time,
I am still surprised but not surprised when
the spaciousness opens me again
to loving what feels impossible to love.
Posts Tagged ‘surrender’
The Possible
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged loss of the separate self, love, spaciousness, surrender on July 20, 2026| Leave a Comment »
After I Fell in the Canyon of Grief
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged acceptance, canyon, falling, grace, grief, surrender on January 7, 2026| 10 Comments »
we discover that falling in the canyon is our initiation
—Mark Nepo, “The Life After Tears”
I didn’t land. I fell and I fell and I fell.
At first as I plummeted, I feared the landing,
imagining an imminent crash. Then,
I fell through nights and middays. Fell through
kitchen floors and highways. Fell through
birthdays and Saturdays. Fell until the sense
of groundlessness was so familiar it no longer
felt like peril. I don’t know when I stopped falling.
There was no splat. No splash. No crushing of bones.
No sense of arrival. In fact, I am not certain
I am done with my falling. But I do know now
the falling is not something to be feared.
Not that we grow wings. This is not about flying.
It’s about falling. About meeting the gravity
and feeling its force and letting it carry me
in ways I have never before let myself be carried.
Now I know that the canyon of grief is
just another name for living the fullest life.
The reward for the falling is to no longer
expect a reward. The reward of falling is to
learn to not resist the falling. The reward of falling
is to feel how grace falls with us as if holding
our hand, like a teacher, like a friend.
Give Up Rosemerry, He Wrote in His Letter
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged identity, letting go, surrender on January 4, 2026| Leave a Comment »
with thanks to Zhim
In fact, he didn’t write my name.
In fact, he wrote his own.
Inserting my own name came naturally.
Give up Rosemerry.
How thrilling the sentence became.
“A balancing counterweight,” he wrote,
“for a being who has extreme passion.”
The words swirl in me like a storm.
On a day when the news is of conquering,
this simple direction toward surrender.
I become a student of snow.
Give up Rosemerry. Give up.
What beauty arrives as I let go?
Carving the Pumpkins
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged gratefulness, halloween, pumpkin, surrender on October 26, 2025| 4 Comments »
We plunge our bare hands into our pumpkins
and pull out seeds and strings and thick orange
goo; we scrape at the walls with grapefruit
spoons and all the while as we scoop at the earth-
scented mess, I never once think how I was dreading
this, this annual ritual I’m supposed to enjoy, but don’t.
But tonight it’s as if the part of me in charge of delight
has taken over and I remember I want nothing more
than to be exactly here on the floor with my girl
and my husband, sawing a giant smile into my pumpkin,
fueled by a gratefulness so honest it shines like a votive
through whatever inside me is hollow.
After Four Hours of Driving, We Arrive at What Google Maps Said Would Be a Park
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged acceptance, driving, laughter, map, surrender on October 2, 2025| 3 Comments »
There is no park.
Still, we park at the edge
of the road and look out
over the Hudson
beyond the thick trees,
inhale the yellowing
scent of autumn,
reach our arms up to the sky,
play chase around the car,
and laugh the whole time,
at first in disbelief,
and at last in surrender.
One more chance to meet
the world that is here
instead of the world
we expect. One more chance
find ourselves grateful
to be exactly where we are.
New Cinepoem from Risking Love
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cinepoem, Risking Love, surrender on September 4, 2025| Leave a Comment »
What happens when we fall in love with the world without trying to change it? Can we? This poem was written from a first line offered by Mirabai Starr.
“The Medicine of Surrender” is the thirteenth track on RISKING LOVE, a spoken-word album that explores how we might fall more deeply in love with the world as it is, even when that seems impossible.
RISKING LOVE audio by Steve Law. Video by Holiday Mathis. Please, watch the video (above) and share it. We made this for you!
To purchase RISKING LOVE, visit here. Spotify: here. Deezer: here. Pandora: here. Apple Music: here. YouTube Music: here
Video and Audio Releases from RISKING LOVE to Date
Safety Net
The Precious Matter of Love
I Want an Interlude with Mr. Clean
Into the Questions
For the One Who Is Gone
In Case You Don’t Know Already
The Long Marriage
The Broken Heart Goes Dancing
Still Here
Self-Portrait as Tuning Fork
Because My Heart Is Where You Now Dwell
No Longer Empty-Handed
The Medicine of Surrender
When We’re All the Way Out of the Way
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged April Fools, ecstasy, showing up, surrender on March 31, 2025| 15 Comments »
We show up, burn brightly, live passionately and hold nothing back and when the moment is over, when our work is done, we step back and let go.
—Rolf Gates
This moment, too, is surrender, this blazing,
this bliss-ache, this bright-chime of being,
this showing up heartbare with no shred held back,
this feral unselving, this radiant loss
of all knowing, this wild unhiding
where anything can happen next,
this, too, is surrender. Not like the soulquaking
gut-fall of grief, only just like it, no foothold
except on the needle-tip point of what is,
that place where there is no story, no self,
no yes, no no, no safety, no promises, and
all is being, yes, this, too, is surrender,
this opening beyond self, this radiant obliteration,
unfathomed unfurling, trust-flaring, now-flaming,
instructionless grace, this ecstatic exploding
that always and never arrives.
*
Oh friends … Rumi said, “Be a fool,” and also suggested “be helpless, dumbfounded, unable to say yes or no … crazed, lying in a zero circle, mute …” …
And so … happy April Fool’s. Perhaps not the fool where you try to trick people, more the fool where you are “surrendered to beauty.”
Design
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged canyon, reverence, self, surrender on March 30, 2025| 11 Comments »
Imagine the self as a canyon in the making,
once solid, and then, ongoingly,
made more spacious, shaped by water,
by wind, by forces beyond its control.
Whatever is sacred, I feel it in canyons,
these earthen temples to surrender—
such holy architecture
with their deep and ancient silence,
with their steep and crumbling walls.
How sacred the angle of light
as it enters from the rim and slants
through the belly of air.
Sacred, too, the shadows,
like those most secret parts of ourselves
that never see light.
When I think of the self as a canyon,
it is easier to believe I, too,
can be made more spacious
through surrender, the shape of my life
an ever-changing record of where I resist
and where I release,
oh this practice I am still learning
to trust, this erosion of self
into reverence.
The Minimum
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged breathing, spring, surrender, worry on March 25, 2025| 1 Comment »
Even when worry wrecks us,
leaving us broken on the shores
of the life we had,
even when we have been wrung
like rags, even when we
are brittle, snappish things,
even then the scent of spring
can reach us with its notes
of damp soil, sharp pine,
and sun-warmed grass,
the air clean and slightly sweet.
We don’t need to open
our eyes. Don’t need to try.
All that is asked of us: breathe.
Stage 4
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cancer, honesty, Kyra Kopestonksky, music, surrender on January 29, 2025| 6 Comments »
for K
Let this darkness be a bell tower and you the bell. As you ring, what batters you becomes your strength.
—Rainer Maria Rilke, trans. J. Macy and A. Barrows, “Sonnets to Orpheus II, 29”
Oh friend, as life batters you,
again, you make music—
not the music you’ve practiced,
not the gentle strains of hope
you longed to share,
but a naked ringing.
Oh, how you teach me.
There is so much goodness
in fear when it is shared truly—
not the innocence of a lullaby,
but the brutal shine of a gong.
How essential and urgent it is,
your song, my bell.
You change my ideas of what
it means to be strong—
not that we don’t get battered,
but that we let ourselves feel
and meet such moments
unrelentingly, beautifully real.
From the Sauna
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Finland, heat, resistance, sauna, surrender on December 31, 2024| 1 Comment »
As the sweat beads on my chest,
I ask my daughter to ladle water
over the rocks. Steam rises
to fill our lungs and heat our skin.
My lips move to whisper
Ihanaa löylyä, “beautiful steam,”
but it is my Finnish host mother’s voice
I hear. She taught me, too, to crave it,
to love it, to long for the shock
of its intensity, helped me practice
learning to desire what is good
for the body, though it is uncomfortable.
Ihanaa löylyä, I say to my daughter
as she gasps from the heat.
She repeats it in Finnish, in English.
Beautiful steam, though her syllables
lack conviction. The steam is,
I trust, doing its good sauna work—
cleansing the body, relaxing
the mind. Now it’s natural
to want it, even as I struggle
to stay with the heat. Sweat rolls down
my cheeks. I praise it, call it beautiful—
the steam, the feeling, yes, but also
this learning to love what is sometimes
not easy at first to love.
I Was Swept Away
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged broom, cliche, dust, force, surrender on December 2, 2024| 2 Comments »
I was swept away,
he said, and I imagined
the size of the broom
that could gather me up
as if I were so much dust,
which I am. I imagined
whose great hand
would wield that broom.
And what else might
get caught up in that sweep?
And would I feel joy, or sheer terror,
or both, as I was whisked
from the world I know?
I was swept away, he said,
and what part of me longed
to hide beneath the couch,
fearful of such unmooring?
And what part of me
was jealous of him,
that darn near threw itself
into the path of that broom
just to feel that deeply moved,
that unable to resist the force,
that unable to do anything
but say yes to the world
and ride on that trajectory,
waving good bye to whoever
it was I thought I once knew.
When Everything Has Been Stripped Away
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged grief, ice floe, loss, surrender on December 1, 2024| 5 Comments »
It’s like when the ice floe
moves through the river bed
ripping out any ice
winter has set, until
the whole channel is
roil and rush and wild
upheaval. I remember
what that was like
after he died—
when hours, days,
whole months, were
stripped of all skin
and all that was left
was the naked, beating heart.
I thought that was what it meant
to be stripped, but then,
I remember the first time
I knew for sure if I could have
my boy back, I wouldn’t.
Not if the world stayed the same.
It was a useless bargain,
anyway. But I knew
it was selfish to wish
him back to this world
to ease my own pain.
That was the moment
my whole emptied being
understood there was
more to lose. And I don’t know
if we could say that I chose it
or that life chose it for me.
I was standing in the drive
beneath the evergreen tree.
Everything changed then
when even my useless desire
to bargain with death
was stripped from me.
Today as the ice floe
tears through the canyon,
I listen as it alters
the landscape. Trunks of trees
bash against the rocks.
The rocks themselves tumble
in cold, thick waves.
Nothing to be done,
save surrender to the tumult.
Inside me, my heart beats, untamed.
Yes, I think. That is
exactly what it was like.
Though It’s Messy
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged brother, election, love, oppostion, sibling, sister, surrender on November 13, 2024| 4 Comments »
I don’t know why we were fighting,
my brother and I, we were always fighting,
but he was already bigger than I, stronger, too,
so I did what I could and yanked hard
on a hank of his hair, twisting my fist
to increase the tension and cause him more pain.
He howled, and I delighted in his howl,
loving my cruelty, wanting to hurt him
as much as I felt he’d hurt me.
Even now, though I cannot recall
what he did or said, I remember the rise
of indignation, that hot flood of righteousness,
that cruel joy in feeling I was giving him back
what he deserved. Oh young version of me,
you would not believe me now when I tell you
you will both surrender your battling to forge
a fierce and loyal love. Not that you don’t disagree.
You are still so opposite in almost every way,
every way save one—your certainty
you can love each other through anything.
Through elections, through divorce,
through the death of a child, through the death
of your father, the loss of your hope.
You can love each other even when
you’re furious with each other,
when you both know the other is wrong.
Believe me, sweetheart,
the world only gets smaller.
The stakes only get higher. God, it’s messy,
so much worse than mean words,
so much more than pulled hair.
The story only gets larger.
We are all each other has.
The Un-Journey
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged birthday, day, journey, surrender on September 17, 2024| 8 Comments »
—for Hannah
Sometimes a day,
like a mountain,
has no road,
no route,
no trail,
no map,
no right way,
no signs,
no directions,
no guide,
no promises,
no cairns,
no place
to arrive.
Sometimes
the only
step
to take
is not
to take
a step.
How humbled,
how human
we are then.
Naked as birth.
Raw. Unmasked.
So far from
any path
we might
wish to set.
Such a terrible
generous day
to conceive:
when nothing
is asked of us
but to be
the dust
that is
breathed.
Beyond Sight
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged control, dream, god, hand, surrender, trust on August 26, 2024| 5 Comments »
All around me, the world
was normal—people eating dinner
or walking down the street—
but my world?
Some massive, invisible hand
kept capturing me, then
tossing me into the air.
And I’d somersault
and fall and be caught,
then placed upright again
on the ground. All night
it went on like this.
I’d be walking and then
I’d be flying and then
I’d be falling and then
I’d be caught, until finally,
by morning, we couldn’t say
that it wasn’t disconcerting,
but we could say I
had become more fluent
in this strange upheaval.
We could say I
had begun to trust
the same hand that tossed me
would catch me.
We could say that when
I woke up, I was still myself
and nothing felt the same.
And though my feet
never left the ground today,
I was tossed.
And then I was caught.
Even now, I almost feel them
around my chest,
those great fingers
as they set me on my feet again.
Beyond Quiet
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged kindfisher, noise, peace, quiet, surrender on February 24, 2024| 6 Comments »
From bare branch to bare branch
Clark’s nutcrackers weave the dry tick
of their call through morning—
as if sticks are rattling,
as if stones are clattering—
and whatever part of me
that is longing for quiet
is invited into the racket.
I say I want peace,
but what the heart really wants
is to know itself
as part of everything,
to belong to the world
of grinding and trilling,
scolding and chattering,
to knit itself into this raucous day,
strident and so alive.
The Medicine of Surrender
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged medicine, surrender, what is on January 19, 2024| 19 Comments »
comes with no spoonful of sugar.
No promises, no back up plans,
no returns, no insurance.
The medicine of surrender
never tastes the way you expect,
never tastes the same next time,
seldom has the hoped for effect.
And if there were some part of you
that thought it might not be affected,
that thought it might hold back,
that part is most likely the first part
to be flooded with the relentless
truth of what is. Oh surrender.
The surest medicine that exists.
There are infinite side effects.
Wonder. Freedom. Rawness.
It’s like opening the dictionary
to the word heaven. Or obliteration.
And knowing it’s the same thing.
It’s like playing spin the bottle with life,
and you French kiss whatever you get.
It’s the only remedy that can help you
be whole. The only real medicine there is.
Thank You & a Poem of Surrender
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged amusement park, choice, family, grief, rollercoaster, surrender on August 14, 2023| 21 Comments »
Dear Friends,
It has been two years today since I wrote you to say that we had a family emergency and it would be some time before I wrote again. Several weeks after that I wrote to explain my son Finn, nearly 17, had chosen to take his life. And it was several weeks after that before I began writing the daily poems again. During these two years, I have received so much love, and I thank you. I thank every one of you who has lit a candle, said a prayer, thought good thoughts, did something nice for someone else who was grieving. I thank every one of you who held me and my family in your hearts. I am so grateful. As it is, it’s been the hardest thing I have ever done–meeting this loss. I honor every other person who has lost a beloved. I honor every other heart that has grieved. It is so hard, and without an enormous upswelling of love, I don’t know how anyone would do it. Your words, your thoughts, your blessings have carried me, and I thank you. Thank you for all the letters and notes today and this week–I read every single one out loud. I thank every one of you by name. I am sorry that I am not able to write everyone back individually–your words matter to me. It matters to me that you reach back. It matters to me that you let me know the poems matter to you. Thank you. Thank you. I can’t imagine doing this without your support.
Today our family decided to honor Finn’s life by going to the amusement park where we had a lot of fun as he was growing up–and one of my friends pointed out after we’d made our plan, “Life’s a rollercoaster,” and isn’t that an apt metaphor.
As you ride your own rollercoasters, friends, I wish that you, too, feel carried by love. I wish that peace finds you and makes a home in you.
with love,
Rosemerry
Riding Rollercoasters on a Difficult Day
The moment we entered the queue
for The Boomerang, we already knew
we’d be turned upside down and whirled around,
and by the time our chests were restrained
in our seats, we knew we’d consented to free fall,
to be shaken and twisted and then do it all again
backwards, but it wasn’t until the ride began,
clackity, clackity, clackity, clackity, clackity
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
it was only then, when we laughed
the whole time we screamed,
it was only then we surrendered.