I plunge my hands into the soil
and tug on the long white bindweed roots
that cling to the cool damp dark.
Never once have I pulled the whole plant.
Always, the bindweed comes back.
Once I might have longed for a weed-free
world. How did I not see the bindweed
for what it is—a chance to touch
again and again what humbles me, and
to learn with my hands the art of acceptance
so my hands might teach my heart.
Posts Tagged ‘touch’
Practice
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged acceptance, bindweed, garden, hands, practice, touch, weeding on June 20, 2024| 2 Comments »
One Caress
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged aging, beauty, hands, love, touch on June 8, 2024| 4 Comments »
touching you
even these old scarred hands
become wings
One Way She’s Shaped Me
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged connection, foot, friendship, humility, Kayleen Asbo, touch on March 1, 2024| 6 Comments »
for Kayleen Asbo
With hands that have played Bach
on the finest pianos in Europe,
hands that have written poems
and love letters and treatises on art,
with precious, skilled, talented hands
she lifted my foot to her lap
and smoothed oil into the cold, rough skin,
kneading and pressing deep circles
into my arches, squeezing my toes
(once deemed by a boyfriend
“the ugliest toes I’ve ever seen”).
And she made me feel beautiful.
I remember how all of me softened,
even those voices that sometimes rage,
you’re not good enough.
How could those voices stand a chance
against such a gift of touch?
Her hands said, you are not alone.
Her hands said, you belong.
Her hands said, you are treasure to me.
And the day was gray; her hands were strong.
I was less woman, more clay.
With hands that coax music
from sorrow and fear,
she made me into song.
*
Exploring Dante with Guides for your Head and Your Heart
March 7, April 4, May 2 10 a.m. – 2:30 p.m. Mountain Time
Zoom (recordings available)
Oh friends, if you weren’t able to join us today for an ecstatic hour of exploring Dante’s Divine Comedy, don’t worry–here’s the replay. It’s free–a preview of a three-part class that begins next Thursday and runs the first Thursday of the month for three months. The classes themselves with be spacious–with lots of time to listen to composer, pianist and cultural historian Kayleen Asbo lead us through the art, music, history and mythology that informs Dante’s life and writing. Then I will help you explore the truth of your heart and how this centuries-old story might have something valuable for you in times of loss, struggle, elation. It’s a story of connection, of how we help each other, how we become most wholly ourselves. Join the big conversation as we Find Our Way Out of Hell to the Shores of Acceptance (Inferno, March 7); Climb the Mountain of Hope (Purgatory, April 4) and Come Home to Ourselves in Paradise (Paradiso, May 2). Each session has a 30-minute break in the middle. Recordings available to all registrants. Sliding scale. Scholarships available. To register, click here. You do not need to have read Divine Comedy–in fact, we suggest you read it AFTER the class so you have more tools for understanding and appreciating it.
Day Seven ICU
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged healing, icu, massage, miracle, mom, touch on October 18, 2023| 21 Comments »
She lets me rub oil into her skin,
massaging it slowly into her feet
till they’re supple and warm
and the skin almost shines,
swelling gone.
She sighs in pleasure
instead of pain.
The room smells of lavender.
Lanky afternoon light
lopes through the slats
to replace the fluorescence
of the ICU.
It’s quiet.
No nurse. No doctor.
No beep to alert us her oxygen is low.
How seldom I let myself
move this slow.
I smooth her arches,
slip my fingers through her toes.
We play this little piggy goes home,
and this little piggy goes home,
and this little piggy and this little piggy
and this little piggy go whee whee whee
all the way home.
Is it strange I love this moment
in a place neither of us wants to be.
The business outside this room
will last forever.
And here we are, so alive
we slip right into the miracle.
*
Dear Friends,
thank you again for all the support, all the kind notes, all the prayers and love and healing energy. I can’t respond to them, but I read them all and let them go in … all the way in. I read mom a bunch of the notes today–and they warmed her, too. In the ICU, it seems time goes fast and healing goes slow. Mom’s improving, at last. I see a path out, albeit a long one. Wishing you all deep peace and ease in your own bodies.
From Too Far Away
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged healing, love, nearness, parenting, touch on October 8, 2023| 12 Comments »
To hold you the way
the shore holds
the river, this is how
I want to hold you—
that present, the way
skin holds the sweet
peach, the way lungs hold
air—that tender, that
gentle, that tight. Instead,
I hold you now
the way sky holds clouds—
too spacious, too distant,
too far, far away.
I want whisper near, breath
to ear, nigh as lullaby, want
cradle close, praise
close, soothe close, love
close, as if touch could make
everything right, want dream
close, promise close, close
as prayer, close as your
tear to my cheek.
Holding Your Heart
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged connection, heart, love, touch, tree on August 29, 2023| 7 Comments »
I want to trace the rings of your heart
the way I would trace tree rings—
not to count them
but to honor each season of you.
I want to touch my fingertips
to your scars, want to learn
your heart’s stories, find clues
of how you became who you are.
I want to press my palms
to your heart and praise
how it is we grow,
even in disaster, even in drought,
want to praise the dark center,
the time-thick bark, the record
of the ordinary days. I want
to chart the thin slivers of your wounds
and let my hands speak love,
want to tell you in a language
of quiet touch, I see you.
The Grown Daughter
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged daughter, mother, sleep, touch, waking on June 23, 2023| 7 Comments »
Before my eyes are open,
I reach across the bed
to find my mother’s arm
atop the comforter
still heavy with sleep.
I settle my fingers there
like a butterfly landing
on a flower the same color
as its wings. Grateful
for this simple proof
she is here, soft and breathing
beside me, I fall back asleep,
my hand still touching her.
Long after we wake,
I still feel it in my hand,
not her arm itself,
but the reaching.
Before the Wings Appear
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged daughter, dreams, mother, sleep, touch, vulnerability on June 3, 2023| 5 Comments »
for my daughter
“Snuggle,” she said,
a two-syllable passport
to another world—
the world in which
she is more dream
than mask, more breath
than task, her softness
inviting my softness,
and I slipped beside
her dream-scented body
and curled myself
into her shape,
one arm draped
across her weight,
and matched my inhale
to her inhale, matched
my every exhale to hers
and listened as once again
sleep took her,
and she was not curious,
not smart, not funny,
not brave, but so deeply
herself, and how could I not
fall deeper in love,
a pilgrim in this realm
of sweet defenselessness,
the silken luff of our breaths
weaving around us
like a cocoon.
Wordlessly
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged grief, holding, marriage, touch on April 27, 2023| 12 Comments »
With such gentleness,
he stood behind me
and held me as I wept,
held me the way a pond holds a lotus,
the way a scarf holds perfume,
the way a man who has lost his child
holds the mother of the child,
his hands so light on my hands
as our fingers laced into a tender weave,
held me the way the pericardium holds the heart,
the way the eye holds a tear
then lets it slip away.
After Peeling the Beets
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged alone, beets, connection, love, mess, stain, touch, vegetable on January 22, 2023| 6 Comments »
I resist peeling beets,
hate wearing their red tint
on my hands,
but today, the thought
of sweet roasted beets
was enough to make me
overcome my reticence.
Later, I notice it is impossible
to feel separate and alone
when my hands wear the evidence
of what they have touched.
I find myself wishing
everyone could see on my skin
how my life has been marked by you,
how everywhere we touched
I wear the stain of love.