Walking in my Name

Believing what I was named
Believing what others choose to tell me
I sculpted my life

Chiseling the large heavy form of possibilities
into limitations of empty space

Space collided with doubts
with limitations
within recoiling actions

Shrinking
Tired
Turned inside out
I leave now

Seeking the form
not heavy but full
not limited but expansive

Walking in my name
His calling of me
To carry what I can
To will myself my life
within His

Walking in my Name

Revisited

You are back He said
Yes, is is me again she said

I have been knocking on your door He said
I have had the door locked she said

You are one with me He said
I have considered you different she said

I have told you over and over He said
I never thought your words were for me  she said

I am glad you are back He said
Yes, I begin to understand she said

What is it?  He asked
That I am at peace by your side, that you my
ocean are within and that my heart
repeats and repeats
echoing your words to the
waking universe she announced

Go then He said
I shall she said
Adding as she knelt and touched His surface
I will come back soon
Please keep knocking
The door is now unlocked

Go in peace He said

Furious

The majesty of the beach awaits
Is it enough?

Wanting more
I strike the match
over and over
the match stick breaks

Striking, breakage
relishing sticks to twigs
to nests of breakage in the sand

Fueled by rapid
knitting and purling of
frenzied persistance to
bring forth light

I forget to look
to the fuel given
in ardent relief
The fuel of the sun of life
of the Goddess within

Striking serves no purpose now
Except I remember
Remembering more is not
necessary
Looking around
Looking on high
My High is reached
not in furious repetitive
motion
but in lack
thereof

Furious unraveling
the wool lays resting
for every inch to be seen , appreciated
and adored

With gratitude I met this morning
With gratitude You teach me lessons
With gratitude I am laid forth in my glory
which belongs to the woven strand of mankind
and all nature

The Crossroads

Here again
In different form
Same streets

Same signposts
Slathered with words
words over words
Perceptions over actions and fate
What is different this time?

The signposts are not black and white
They all glisten with the iridescence of the
dragonfly's wing
flying multi directionally
within it's slighted days of life

The signposts are dimensional this time
Allowing shadows to form and
highlights to rise and radiate in all directions

The posts constructed of bamboo
resilient, flexible and quickly grow
no time constraints

This time
The crossroads harbor no angst

I glide on their surface in faith 
Knowing that 
momentum has its place and time
Knowing that the messages molded 
within the wind will caress my front and my back
Hover over me, under me and around me

These crossroads relay names of the same streets

This time my bilingual language of Divine and self
harbors no fear

These crossroads bear no cross
A simple bridge to the next univeral adventure
Crossing and shifting in perfect grace

SOAPing

Bathing, a cleansing ritual, right?  Huh?
Yes, sometimes we remember underneath the warm layers covering us, the warm early memories of bath. In the corner of the tub, teetering on its slippery surface, the plastic Johnson's Baby Shampoo with it's No More Tears formula projecting the full flavor of fun in bathing.  A ritual that could turn dangerous if it's intentions were not pure and clear.
Rituals are like that.   We can do the same activity over and over again on modus indifference or modus gratitude ala observance.

As a child the towel lay close by with the toys of the day being tossed about under and over the surface of warm tender kissed soap.  Some soap in form of bubbles, other forms creating pictures on the surface, like chalk on the sidewalk with a wind morphing them into other shapes.   Monsters appeared in the soap, a hiding place for a duck or a opening to slap the sillyness out of my body onto mom or whatever surface was still dry.

No tears with a bath. Only anticipation of creative warmth, renewal and wrapping up the day to nesting of dreams and fresh linens.  Okay, sometimes we got the towel of our wet sibling, but no fights over that!

As time evolved and my life with it, showers soaped me down with antibacterial soap and non existent bubbles. Gel soap made things even faster. No need to rub my hands together to produce the bubbles that would remove my scum.  Hospital hygiene and efficiency lead the way. No time to linger, just get the move on. The day was dawning not waning.  Change the course.

Sometimes the end of the day lead me back to the water in a reclining pose, only after all chores were done and mental lists for the next day piled so high I could not see over it.
Water droned my mind in steady form as I awaited a full tub before slipping in.  Fragrance forgone, except for an occassional candle of luxury. Candles now a luxury? Where had I been?  Draining away the day was now the motto.  Cursing it down the drain not wanting the same course to have its way with me.
         Notes of Fragrance.  Notes of Remembrance.  Notes of Cleansing.
        Within the medical profession there are notes called SOAP notes.

In my early years of being a physical therapist SOAP notes were the daily grind of reporting on the progress of the patient and the overview of treatment.  SOAP notes were written by hand and today our health care providers scurry to record without dictation or a single breath.The patient, the assessment was complete in an instant.
( Concise clinical contents of computers complete and colorless.)

SOAP notes stand for:

Subjective
Objective
Assessment
Planning

This is the clinical and medicinal way of viewing life. We do it ritually. Where is the joy?

SOAPing in younger years was a pleasure.  It was a ritual.  It was renewing. It was something we looked forward to , remembering its warmth its connection, its comfort, its timeless nature.

I have decided to make an addedum to my present day SOAP notes.  Keeping the SOAP notes in place but adding a few more nuanaces to its package labeled S O A P. Remembering ritual has its place in the daily routine, not simply for routine but for healing, happiness and joy.

SOAP Notes Addedum to label : All ingredients 100% pure, No tears formula

Seize Opportunites Allow Peace
Spread Optimism Around Pessimism
Spark Overtures Above Perceptions
Send Ovations Align Progress
Seek Others Anoint Prosperity
See Over Anothers' Projections

SOAPing, Lathering and Rinsing what lingers, washing and weighting things and ideas that are unnecessary for revival and change.

PRECAUTION FOR USAGE
STAY OPEN, ADVENTURES PREVAIL
P.S. Especially while bathing


















        

Autumnal Baptism

Finding a damp spot
Amidst the sunny shards of light

Sliding into my Adirondack chair
The closing of the summer treatise
The embarking of the shorter days
I linger


Retrieving peace with projection
of laboring
the frosted wood to the hearth
of layers of clothes binding me
into my winter cocoon

Facing the newly risen sun
the front of my body releases and unwinds
absorbing each ultraviolet morsel
they fan out like flaked coconut
so sweet, so light and tender

This dusting of warmth wedges me
deeper into the chair

I dare not nestle too deep
The chair has already raised its grain
from the dew and sun beaten summer months
Its legs grow socks of mossy lichen and dampness
draws its tendrils northward

My back is cool with whispers of wind sweeping
from the surface of the lake
The sloshing of waves by wind
Not from the wakes of the boaters or the children's
laughter long lost from the shore

I am sandwiched in the thoughts
I am sandwiched between warmth and coolness

Memories of past
Anticipation of tomorrow
Baptism, my immersions
Between seasons leaves me barren in motion

I will emerge in the spring
Wash the Adirondack chair and oil its separation
in preparation of lounging , conversation and laughter

For now, my chair and I rest
Between seasons in autumnal
bouyant posture
Between layers of expectation

Annie

She waited patiently for my readiness
to learn
to learn something new
but really to learn about living again

She teaches patiently with a heart
to love
to love colors, environment
but to be your own self loving creature

She reads and writes patiently in her rocker on the porch
to expand
to expand
but to not demand of herself or others

She laughs with abandon
She dances with abandon
She mentors with abandon

She is always there, patiently with her heart
to listen
to listen
and to know that perfect word
       at the perfect time

Yes, there are angels on the earth
dressed up to look like people
Annie Angel

She just hangs around and shows up
in perfect timing

I want to be just like her!!!

The Grass Was Short

The grass was short
Just groomed, fresh of an intense green
I liked it, short and neat and well cared for
Like a ball field
or a putting green

On our backs as we held
 each other through
the tempest sky

The green grass, closely cropped
on this good sunny day
ringed with flowers of magenta

The smell was filled
with freshness and playfulness
No drought in sight

Stager Lee could be heard whispering
"the moon was mellow and the leaves
came tumbling down"

Against my back as I lay
on the ground whispering into the clouds
everything I believed
They whispered back
"I know"

All is well
On the 18th hole as it should be

The sun was shining
The grass was short




                          This poem is the contribution of 12 people who responded to my request of what the phrase The Grass Was Short represented to them.  Co creation and imagination ensued.
Thank you!   The phrase " The sun was shining, the grass was short.".. was spoken to me by a friend.  I asked him if it came from his grandmother and he said no, he just made it on the spot  as his reminisced about his grandmother's house and then his visit to the same neighbor hood years later.     It struck me how tending a place, both physical and in the mind bring us together again and again.   So here is to the 12 that shared your memory of a place and time and touch.

I would love to write more collaborative poetry.
        Thanks to all.  Blessings and love, Susan

The Web

I am caught in this web
of lies I have been spinning
by myself

Spinning so furiously
that I have forgotten
I am a spider

Throwing lines like a fisherman
on turbulent waters
or gathering wash from a clothesline
as a pending storm hovers silently
over the next hill

The web has caught nothing
but whirls aimlessly
from a thin thread of ideas

If I settle it catches the sunlight
laden with dewy colors

If I slow down
I balance on its tensile threads

If I pray
others come to help me
finish this work of art
in record time and with novel
creative patterns

Refining this web
not with lofty ideas but with silver silence
of celestial grace and prayer

Oh I love being a Daddy Long Leg's Spider!!

PRE-LUNCH OR PREREQUISITE

Partaking of the Soul food

presented

Participation of the community
given

Protected and Provided = Providence

At God's table no requirements are
required

Simply presence
No RSVP
needed

Simply presence

Participation is receiving
Receiving His Grace
                His Gifts
                His Love

Pre-lunch

I am hungry already

Love, Susan

Stagnant Waters of Truth

Under the stagnant water
A world exists

It does not appear
on the surface

It does not prepare
you for the its underside

Creatures dance
Colors swirl
Chaotic balance thrives

Who is to say what
surface is real?
Who is to say what one
perceives stagnation to be?

Only Faith brings the
surface of Truth to
the forefront

Only His guiding eyes
Lead you where you
need to be

Let the tears
The water
The heavenly rain wash over you
Dotting the stagnant waters
with
New Life
New Opportunites
and
Christ's Renewal

My Soul

I never asked Him before
I assumed his silence
was pure and etherial


I assumed that only in
turmoil might She whisper
my name


How could I have
underestimated my soul's presence
to guide me
and reveal to me in moments ?


I thank you for showing up, dear soul
in the ways you have
and know that I do not have 
to make it on my own any more


You are my own
You are my home
    My Soul

TREES of COCREATION

They understand
They forgive
They loom over us with
protection, no demands


We notice with awe
but only occasionally 
We see their base but 
forget what they catch
and procure for us


They remind us of our own
season, yet demand nothing
They hold our soil
our roots in solitude


One bears no more importance
than the other
from scrub to Redwood
each doing what is does best


Protect, Give Breath and Remembrance
to us  "timbered" in ISNESS

When Someone

When someone opens the door for you
gratitude blooms


You knew you could do it yourself
yet the compassion overwhelms


You cannot wait to deliver that feeling
to the next person
catching them in act of reaching for the door




When someone looks in your eyes
and truly listens, to the small and large
things in your life
gratitude blooms


You have told those stories to yourself
over and over in your mind
but now they seem simple and seamless
Stories melt away and being-ness wells up




When someone expects nothing of you
gratitude blooms
Each day presents another flower seed
flourishing in the garden of life
and radiant colors and dull textures coexist
It does not matter




When you are that someone
you shall find that someone
it is all gratitude flourishing and flourishing

Redirecting

It is said the more you resist, the more things stay the same.  I have worried(resisted).
 I have tried harder to change things( resisted).  I have become angry when others let me down (resisted).   It has also been said if you give , the more you receive.

Last week was the pinnacle of acknowledging those phrases into action.  I dedicated myself not to find employment right now, but volunteer my time.  I was invited into two homes to "do my stuff".  I returned home to find a realtor next door needing color consult for her new client's home.  I again got to volunteer my expertise and also pick the color for the new owner's front door. I hope they will like it as much as I do. I will see the new color outside my kitchen window!

Last week I also read a dialogue in Conversations With God.   Reactive and Creative.
The only things that separates the words from each other is the placement of the letter C.

Isn't that odd... when reactive we let little in for creativity.  When we are creative we are in the flow, not pushing and resisting but allowing.

More opportunities arose to read my poems last week,  a chance to connect with a fellow from Oxford, England that consented to letting me use one of his photos for my upcoming book of poetry.  It is no coincidence that the title for that book  will be Awakening Within Seasons.

With gratitude I am awakening to more possibilites and not always in the form I expected.

May your summer be one of the Big C or Big See and let your creativity arise and flow with your pure essence.

Pinnacle

Reaching
Grasping
The pinnacle was
within reach
not procurred

Unsettled and lacking
the whispy image remained
the flag waving
the summit almost reached

I saw it
I felt it
It was elusive

The pinnacle is Now
Forgetting I was here now
I slipped further down
the mountain side
in the dust of slippery soil

Remembering each moment
is the pinnacle

Remembering each struggle
each person, each heartfelt moment brings
me closer to You

The height is here
The pinnacle is now
No more sliding
There is nothing to climb Now

Across the Playing Field

Walk me?

They came walking across the field
another obstacle to avoid

I hesitated
Make contact?
Pretend I did not exist?
Make myself invisible?
Shrink within as I had done for so many years?

Both parties continued
My border collie advancing to discover her young lab
on the playing field                                
I retreated to the side lines
Someone might remember me and glide a ball over                        
 I would not be in the way of the real action.  Like Life.
What would I say anyway?

This was different.. Her dog in youthful frolic
begged to meet us
Her dog knew no stranger ,
only oneness with another dog.
Her owner smiled. I smiled back.
We both retreated a bit then headed towards each other.
The dogs played in unsymmetrical balance... attack and retreat with total JOY

Our own conversation grew.  No arrogance, No separation.  Sometimes a smile.
Sometimes a head nod.  Within minutes we too found a new friend.
A friend whose previous attacks no longer served them.  An understanding
that it is perspective of all life.   A gentleness in the gregariousness of life and happenstance.
Yes, we both found JOY.

We had no expectation to meet.  Our expectation was to tire out our dogs.
The field was flooded with JOY

Wonder filled and grateful we all left the field together.  Now we cannot wait to have the dogs drag us  back again!

We are blessed!        Dedicated to R and A... You know who you R!  :)

Rounding the Corner

I write in my sweaty workout clothes after the early fall walk with my dog Radley.  Through my grief, my inner exploration and reinvention of self, my dog has been my " steady".  Not only did he sleep and follow me around, he rode on long rides, waiting endlessly at times to eat and be walked.  He listened to me talking aloud to myself and made no mind of it.

Radley also changed gears and began shaking uncontrollably a month before my cancer diagnosis this past year.  I took him to the vet to get him checked out for it  and then he rode me with for another mammogram and the diagnosis. After surgery he remained with me on my bed until I arose, whether 8am or 11am. Some dog.

Now we both are back to " normal", rounding the corner of summer into fall, feeling the breeze and the crispness begin to creep in as well.

I am thankful to feel so good today after so many years of struggling to "be me" since the loss of my spouse and the loss of my so called life or existence. 

  Thanks Radley, so sticking by me , in thick and thin and walking the lines!  We are in the homestretch and it feels GOOD. 

Unravelling of Life...My Sweater

The sweater clothed me

It sheltered me daily
It covered my wounds
It kept me safe
It was comfortable

The occasional yarns that dangled
or sprout forth
Were quickly yanked away or shorn down
No need for them.  What I had
clothed me

One day Father Jim hugged me
A priest on a airplane ride
I was always afraid of priests

His Mr. Rogers sweater was pilled and
heavily laden with miscolored shreds
from travels
 bumping up
against rough surfaces, forests of stray colors
and threads lay pocketed

My gleaming bracelet within the hug
caught his sweater
As I struggled to release it , the threads on his sweater pulled longer
He stood still in my struggle
Non engaged, yet engaged in my folly of struggle

I stopped.  The bracelet released.
The yarn retreated.  Another point on his road mapped
sweater

My sweater
It covered only wounds...my healing was not visible
My sweater
It was safe... but not engaging with others
My sweater
It was comfortable.... from what I knew of the past
  Yes.It was comfortable.... I let no one in, nor let new things sprout

So now... a new sweater... certainly!

Now I notice it's imperfections and am in awe of the perfection in us all when we rest
in our heavenly grace and uniqueness.
No need to struggle... All the threads are woven together. Unravel your perfection! You will find your wounds healed!!!

My Muse

He appeared on my right

He appeared as a light
An airy spectacle
in an ordinary space

He was elusive and
remains that way
Trying to catch him
he only smiles and charms
Dangling
 a portion
of what lies dormant in me

Must I turn over and over again
to grasp that which is within?
Must I covet that which I already posses?

My muse, My God
How great thou Art