Tag Archives: gratitude

Unwrapping Gratitude

18 May

 

 

 

Rain on the roof.
Sunday morning
always feels like unwrapping
gratitude
for the thought behind a gift.
Can one fall in love with
simply folding back paper,
uncurling ribbon,
lifting the lid?
What part of the heart
becomes coldquiet
and breathbone still
at loving the giving,
and the Giver
when the box only holds
more space?

 

On April 15, 2018 at 7:15 p.m., my neighborhood was hit by a F3 tornado.

I hid in the basement with my dog Clarence on the phone with my mother who prayed for us. It was the scariest two minutes of my life. The weeks after have been the most lonely of this journey. Having to learn how to deal with insurance and contractors and clean up while still working two jobs, has been emotionally hard. Many people helped me, though, in the first difficult week. 

I lost my roof and a lot of the exterior was damaged. Water came in and damaged plaster. The trees featured with the last few poems are now gone. I lost all the large old trees in my yard, including the holly which was the subject of one of my first poems featured here. I drug tree parts 12 hours a day, for five days, till the remainder was too big to move.. 

This house was built in 1924 and for the length of this blog I can say that I have been trying to avoid it.  It seems ironically funny that I felt like Dorothy at the beginning of this journey and now to be delivered firmly and resolutely home by a tornado is too much synchrony to ignore. 

What this means is that this first difficult journey is now truly over.

I’m healed. I’ve expanded and explored. I have become much much more than I ever was before.

I write . . . almost as much as I breathe. Art and Dance continue to unfold.  And yoga has made its way into trauma sensitive teaching. I hold deep gratefulness now for this time even though it was not my choice. 

In almost every way, my life is infinitely better than it was before. I’ve shed people, possessions, and parts of myself that no longer serve and filled it with what brings well being.

But there is one open spot. And perhaps rebuilding and remodeling this house once again, erasing much of what was before, will deliver me to a new point in the meadow. It’s been six and a half years. I blinked and it passed. Now that the wind has carried the scaffolding of the journey away, I am here standing at the threshold of home. 

I trust that I am being given what I need when I need it. That the lessons I am learning about my own house might bring what will fill that open spot. I am grateful for it all.

One day, I know I will be grateful for so much space.

Extra Longer

5 Nov

 

 

Things I hope you will love
extra longer:

Sitting in dark velvet quiet,
popcornpeeringready,
another world flickering and blue in front of you
both hand in hand,
remember the feel of rough fingers
like the bended fold
of a thick linen envelope.
Entwine arm in arm.
Save the date of the moment and
linger longer
than you might,
one moment maybe
just for me.

When the shower
cascades in percussive rounds
like a trembling cahone
off the rock of his beloved body,
listen a little longer
to water
singing the curve
of a road often traveled
by your once hot heart.
Catch the last note of the
stream like the intoning bell
calling All to notice
notice
notice
the moment,
each your gift.

Gather one drop
for me.

By the nape of his neck,
let your eyes fall like autumn shadow
over the dark slope
of tender openness,
let your view drape across
muscle bending toward the heat of collar
and brave bone.
Lean in.
Place your mouth there
extra longer,
tasting the gratitude in sweatmaking.
Roll onto a nightslept pillow
full of scent and salted musk,
breath him
in like a Second Coming.
He’ll return.
He always does.
Have you noticed,
not?

So when your hand finds the moss
covered cage of sinew and heart beat beneath
listen a little longer
for the rest of us;
our longing hovers above you like
a haint blue porch ceiling
whispering,
whispering,
Don’t you dare forget a miracle.
Cause you carry dreampromise
in your limbs and loving
like an autumn wind warning
the fury of frost
and lost leaves.

On Gratitude. On Faith. On Love.

10 May

Recently, I have been musing about the meaning of faith and the seeds of its growth: gratitude and love. This first public v-log has me wandering through how the writing of this blog and the journey it contains has given me an amazing gift. It’s a bit slow and reflective and I am not promising any entertaining value. But in the telling of it, I discuss treasure surprisingly discovered without a map. I don’t know if I will ever offer one of these again in the future; its personal. But this once felt right.

Be Well.

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