Blackberries.... recent life in poetry...
Sunday I went to the Quaker meeting here in Arcata... and I was nastalgic and recalling my first quaker meeting (several years ago at that very meeting house... afterwards I wrote this:
"After the meeting I continued wandering and stumbled upon some stunningly ripe blackberries. It was an amazing moment, feeling spiritually filled by the berries; not unlike the surprise fulfillment that comes from my church sampling.
When I got back into town I had an insatiable urge to write, after not talking for an hour I had a lot to say to myself. Needless to say I had a very full day. "
When I got back into town I had an insatiable urge to write, after not talking for an hour I had a lot to say to myself. Needless to say I had a very full day. "
... which struck a chord due to my recent spiritual focus on blackberries... Also, I was pretty in awe because I realized that meeting shaped my life in a direct way that I would not have guessed at the time. Because I liked that meeting I went to other quaker meetings. The meeting I regularly attended in Ohio is where I met Marie, who told me about the Lutheran Volunteer Corps (her granddaughter lived in the house I live in last year). So the day left me amazed at how little decisions have consequences and ripple effects beyond those that are obvious. The poem also visits the question I have been trying to discern- Should I move to Arcata after LVC?
After the meeting this week I wrote:
*******
Riding through the sunny morning
past the stream
I once walked beside
... I go to that day,
when I had been first quieted..
when I had been so less formed
a day basked in bright light and slowness
when the blackberries first drew me to their vines
when my rambling was just beginning
I look back and I can follow the
spiderweb string that has floated so
delicately and woven so beautifully
my story.
I know that if that day would have been different
I might not today stand where I do...
but as it was and is, I have arrived here
via many circles
and there is weaving yet to be done
before I call this place my home.
*****
I do the dishes
because it's the least I can do
to share gratitude for the abundance
that has been provided.
I do the dishes
to think of every other soul
who is elbow deep in suds at this moment
to pray with them
to honor these things that feed us.
I do the dishes
because peace was born in the kitchen
and it isn't always pretty, glorious, or amazing,
but each day it must be reborn again.
...and then there are dishes.
*****
I come to the ocean for the tides to draw my tears out to their union
for the soothing of the rocking waves
for the acceptance of the sand
which molds to me
for the strange sensation of being home
with water that is so vast
to collect sand in every nook of my belongings
to be dazzled by the daytime stars, twinkling on the crests
so that sand constellations will scatter on the pages of my journal
... to feel like its okay that I've not figured out any of this yet.
*****
(this poem is in refence to Arcata)
Some whisper calling me back
to that place that broke my heart open
to the hearts that embraced me
both in summer and winter solstice
in harvest and in sowing
the place that steals my breath
a place I can fall in love with,
a place I have no choie but to long for
so that if I go, I might no longer say
I am searching for a home
because I've been sewing seeds there all along
It is scary to go for what your heart desires
scary to hold your breath and dive in
for you might hit an unforseen rock
and never look at the water the same again
but to invite such imperfection
is the bravest move we might make.
******
(This poem is in refernce to the recent boy, who I have reached a conclusion with...)
You were a ray of joyful sun
and I deeply adored that.
Never afraid to be present...
so much so that you might not
have realized that you were even that way...
But I did-
I saw the future in your carpenter hands
holding me
my heart drawing out your reflections on life
communicating in communion
Wildly learning to love one another,
I with my rambling and you with your roots
would we ultimately complement one another?
no real way to tell
anymore.
I mourne us like the fall.
Teach me to let go with grace and
let the beauty color my memory
rather than the sadness of parting.
conclusion's sigh.
*******
So, there it is... recent times of my heart. Overall, I'm feeling incredably sentimental... and suprised I've not been writing a lot of songs lately... I've just been writing small poems instead. I wonder if the folks in my life in Seattle will be able to tell what a journey my heart has been on recently. I know that I must be gentle on myself during that transition.
Grateful List:
-perfect last dates (or not even a date?)- that include playing at the skate park, just running around and jumping... four leaf clover hunting and adventuring through free piles... and of course the awkward drawn out final farewell hug and lingering
-adventures of the heart (which are never in short supply)
-coffee shop music
-(stop me now, I've gone totally mushy!)
-enough food, water, and air to live each day
-dishes!
-friends
-redwoods
-the ocean
-hot chocolate
-music
-a break from the city (perhaps I will aim to leave at least once every 6 weeks or so)
-smiling kids
-leftovers
posted by Megan at CCAT @ 6:39 PM
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