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Day Four: Wilderness

~ Saoirse Charis-Graves ~ 2 Comments

a poem a day in the month of may
(The Liminality Journal: Kaitlin Curtice)

In the wilderness
I hear the voice of wisdom,
the One who sees me.

***

No cars, no convenience stores,
no latest episodes to consume.

Stones, and tiny alpine flowers,
a rugged Bristlecone pine,
scarred by wind and sun.

A broad, flat rock
for spreading out
beneath the startling blue sky.

I am a stranger in this place,
come from hardness,
seeking refuge, an escape
from all the noise
I’ve left behind.

I wait.

I stand in the sun’s light,
eyes closed, 
breathing. 

A voice whispers in my ear,
calls my name,
offers the tender embrace
of one who loves me, sees me. 

“I am here.” 

We wander in the wilderness,
together in the quiet,
comfort for the wounds I carry,
honey for my soul.

Day Three: Frost

~ Saoirse Charis-Graves ~ Leave a comment

a poem a day in the month of may
(The Liminality Journal: Kaitlin Curtice)

White crystals etched in 
wood, in stone, in tiny tufts 
of new grass, in me.

***

Warm air caught
in the chill
of what lies beneath.

A temporary frost.

As the warmth of day
seeps into the ground
the etchings disappear,
a bit of damp left behind
until that, too, is gone.

A pattern etched
in my heart,
the chill of fear
and shame and guilt —
and loneliness.

I breathe,
await the warmth of 
“being with,”
of trusting.

I am not alone.
I am beloved.

Day Two: Sunlight

~ Saoirse Charis-Graves ~ Leave a comment

a poem a day in the month of may
(The Liminality Journal: Kaitlin Curtice)

It would be better to write about sunlight
in the sunlight,
than in the gray overcast skies of afternoon.

But I remember
how the light changes as I wake
and consider moving downstairs.

And once there, how the light
stirs the birds to sing,
calling to one another,
“I am here!”

I remember the warmth
on the back of my very old dog,
how he stands, his head up
as his hips relax.

The sunlight in morning
smells fresh,
invites me into the day,
reminds me to notice —

*now*

because in the next minute
something shifts
and we are into the mix
of-it-all.

Day One: Sustainability

~ Saoirse Charis-Graves ~ 2 Comments

a poem a day in the month of may
The Liminality Journal — Kaitlin Curtice

It’s the little bits.
Sustain-ability is
done in small, slow steps.

Having turned 71 last month, I’ve been focussed on “a year of healthy living.” I’m not counting steps or calories. I do not own a scale for checking my weight. I’m not looking at macros or banning carbs. (My system, however, does not tolerate dairy or gluten.)

I do check the pedometer on my Apple Watch but not because I’ve set a goal for a certain number of steps. It’s more like checking my pulse. More a question for me to monitor: How am I doing with movement so far today?

I am also keeping a food journal. Time of day, general description of what I’ve consumed, precipitating event, sensations in my body, thoughts, feelings. Not attempting to change anything. Just noticing what’s happening and look for patterns. I’ve discovered much of my eating is unconscious, without actually tasting or enjoying the food. And that’s something I aim to change, as my intention for healthy living is to enjoy the food I eat and feel good afterwards. 

I’m also logging other health factors, mainly because I want to support my body in living a good life over the next few years … because I’ve finally learned that caring for myself matters … because I’ve finally learned I am worthy of love, no matter what. 

It seems that caring about myself in these small moments of movement and savoring my food and supporting my body are part of living well. Of loving myself well. Now and in the time to come.

New Morning

~ Saoirse Charis-Graves ~ 1 Comment

First, the joy of a new morning.

Pay attention, 
My waking dream says,
Pay attention.

Notice the bird singing,
The morning’s particular glow,
The closeness of the dog-body
Resting on the hard wood floor
Because you are near.

Then, the news.

Another city,
More death, more injury,
More bullets piercing skin,
Piercing hearts,
Piercing lives.

Another broken human
Taking what cannot be given,
Bullet velocity screaming
His pain.

A new mourning.

Fluffy snow & singing birds

~ Saoirse Charis-Graves ~ 1 Comment

I’ve been wandering this morning. In and through and around words, thoughts, imaginings.

There’s a part of me that is feeling dreamy, not unmoored but also not anchored. I feel drawn to many things … a book, a blog, a podcast, a poem, a list of unfinished tasks, the promise of time spent making art …

We had a snowstorm last night. I was outside, walking back from our early morning meditation in another building, seeing neighbors scooping up snow. While I am always appreciative of the labor of my neighbors in clearing snow from our pathways, I noticed the ease with which they were tossing the snow up into central piles. This was not wet, heavy snow but rather light and fluffy. As I took all of that in, I heard a bird singing in a nearby tree.

Fluffy snow and singing birds. There might be a haiku in that. We’ll see.

I notice in the midst of the wandering, I feel happy. Light, like the fluffy snow. Joyful, like the singing bird. My heart feels both peaceful and jubilant.

Sometimes, I imagine peace as the cessation of anxiety. Calm in the midst of worry. Today, I think peace is this moment.

Snowflakes fall slowly,
Drifting onto fluffy piles,
Nearby, a bird sings.

steadfast

~ Saoirse Charis-Graves ~ Leave a comment

I took note of a “Breath Prayer” by Cole Arthur Riley. She describes a breath prayer as: an ancient practice that connects short, memorable phrases with deep breathing. [Note: I’d highly recommend Cole’s book, now out in paperback, titled “This Here Flesh.” It’s transformative.]

INHALE: I am not who I was.
EXHALE: I will honor my becoming.

I am not who I was.

I do not reject my past. At best, I hope to honor who I was, remember what it took to survive, to remain in a world where I’d lost what I thought was the anchor of my being. And to learn from it. Recognize that who I became in order to survive was brave and determined to forge my own path. I learned to stay. Maybe not always gracefully. There’s a reason I was labeled as a “rebel” by some of my teachers, why I was blackballed from Honor Society. I did not suffer fools gladly. Nor did I tolerate anything or anyone that tried to diminish me. Today, I understand the price I paid for my rebellion. But really, I admire the spirit of that girl. So, no, I don’t reject who I was. I simply understand that in my survival, I devised a strategy that in the long run disrupted my ability to forge the connection I so deeply desired. Love me, I dare you!! Defiance works on one level as protection but not in the soft underbelly of love. And so I found myself “safe” but often alone.

I will honor my becoming.

Finding a home in myself has been a process of becoming vulnerable, of risking ultimate exposure to what I most fear, of trusting I am no longer that young girl who had no choice but to “armor up” in the face of dragons. Finding a home in my own body has been — and still is — difficult. In reality, it’s as easy as stopping to breathe and to notice. Not.Hard. Five minutes max, most of the time.

However, this body is so programmed to work hard, to find the “should” in every moment … I should be good, I should look good, I should do better.

Even more difficult has been discerning how to care for this being I am in the process of becoming. To do the regular things of daily life, like making my bed, sweeping the floor, washing the dishes. Finding and keeping a home for myself because I care about the person who lives here has been a life-long struggle. Now, after months of work (and a fair chunk of my savings), everything has a place where it belongs. Taking the time to “tidy up” and keep things in their place is still an unfolding process. Clearing out the clutter — really, the detritus of an unlived life — was the beginning. Taking the time to be with myself, to love the-one-I-am-becoming enough to sweep up the leavings of life — that’s an everyday practice.

It takes a willingness to stop and notice, without judgement, what is happening in this moment. To notice what is happening in my body. To breathe as I notice. To honor what is.

Can I be steadfast,
unwavering, resolute
in this care-of-self?

May it be so.