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. "

 

... 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