Mom kept a cedar chest
made during the 1940s.
It was a time capsule of hidden treasures
I, unfortunately, never got to meet my mom’s mother.
I only had stories, pictures, and the
cedar chest’s contents
My most treasured item was
my grandmother’s maternity dresses.
She had two from the forties
– one brown, one blue –
both with the same floral pattern
The telltale sign it was meant
for an expecting woman was the picture
of a stork on the tag inside
The dresses were soft and well-kept
How I wanted to try on that dress!
And to my delight, my mom gave me permission!
The dress slipped easily over my head
and hung comfortably on my shoulders
I pranced around the house
My one connection to the one
who carried my mom
I began to wear the dresses to school
with my sandals or my Docs.
I walked everywhere
to and from school,
through downtown,
to my afterschool job
And my grandmother went with me.
I imagined her at my age
17, walking through downtown Arctic
How few things change.
I imagined her life, full of potential
that moment when you’re still a girl
before falling in love
before expectation
and married life
She was with me
and I was with her
as we walked miles through town together
I still have that dress
it will always be a treasured item
Nowadays, I am less carefree
to wear it about my daily life
But maybe one day
I can take it out, touch it
with my hands, slip it over my head
and prance around, once again
[ Happy birthday, Mom! This poem is for you!! ]
Tag: potential
It is not dark or full of shadow
It is not dark or full of shadow
the light illuminates
the hidden parts,
buried treasures
just beneath the surface
What jewels do you have
hidden, just out of view?
forgotten
or pushed to the edge of the frame
and it falls away from our
consciousness.
our good intentions
literally laid to rest
It can be dirty.
hard work has its labors
beneath the dirt and grime
the jewel lies in the hands
of the beholder
I am that spark of light
a jewel hidden behind
the sparkle of your eye
It is not cold or dark here
a warm, moist soil
Nourished and ready to
flourish
to become
what was just a seed of potential
Loving hands parted
the soft earth
to make a bed for me
And I lay down
like rose petals’ sweet scents
peppering the rich soil
And in these fertile conditions
I bloom
I become
I am
Of soup, weaver and stone
O’ these remarkable hands
strong arms that embrace
the day has now marched forth
the belly grumbles its demands
of soup.
I weave the ingredients
chopped carrots, celery and onion
sized just right
not too big and chunky
but a delightful bite
spoonful upon spoonful.
Of Soup, Weaver and Stone
The hearth I place upon the kettle,
the pot and ladle.
You turn on with little effort
a forceful gas
a pop ignites a flame.
I marvel the alchemy
of what was many parts
too big to consume
marinates and softens.
The scent permeates to each room’s walls
a heartiness
a potential promise
of a full belly
with gobs of soft fresh bread
baked by unknown hands
now in mine I consume.
The blank page is my refuge (part 2)
The blank canvas The blank page The clutter-free desk The cleared-off cooking space. The beginning of something not yet created. The infinite potential The spark of creativity or action. To create something And fill up that space with something new That never existed. And that’s why I return again and again to the page: To a clean space, To make/create something. It is the meaning of life. If we are all creative, It’s the perfect medium to create. I can set the tone of my day, Which sets the tone of my Creative, connected life. On full moons, I always have vivid dreams And creative insight. I capture it here. The page holds all of my fears And creative dreams. It makes my creativity a reality. It is a give and take. A creative relationship That I take action toward And life works. It works for me. I feel light And in a mastery of my life.
Buried Treasure
There was a car on fire last week. A red Hyandai Sante Fe. The entire front engine was engulfed in flames. It was stopped on the highway In the lane I typically travel on my morning commute. The traffic was at a standstill. Slowly the lanes began to merge over. I passed the fiery carnage. The flames were so hot, I could feel them Licking and heating up my driver side window. I couldn’t look to see if there was a person trapped. It was peculiar and strange. As the cars started trickling back onto the empty highway, I felt a sense of belonging with the other cars and trucks. We all just witnessed that. Now we’re trying to get back to our commutes, Back to reality, But we all shared an experience. Though we may never meet and talk about it. As individuals in our culture and society, we feel immune to the real world. Our cars give us a sense of self-importance. This experience made me realize that even sharing the road Denotes a connection. We may keep distracted with work, devices, and busyness Claiming busy as a badge of honor. We’re all busy. But how do you live? What lights you up when the workload fades into the background For just a moment? No longer surrounded by grasping or striving, What else is there to discover? Do you have a buried treasure of your own Just waiting for you to be still enough To observe its shine and discover its potential?
What’s good?
“What’s the good word?” Anthony, my coworker, asked. I paused a beat. Took a breath and thought: what is good right now; right at this moment?
“The sun is out today,“ I said casually. It had been a rainy stretch of days.
“There you go! I knew you had something good to say instead of the grumpy replies I usually get: same shit different day.“
We then talked about framing our perceptions and choosing. Do we choose to see the positive or the negative?
When we’re caught up in the negative chatter, it can feel hopeless. Like we don’t really have a choice. Life is just happening to us and all around us. And we’re just helplessly bouncing around at whatever life throws at us.
It can be hard to change that framework when you’re in the depths of a hurried life, feeling unfulfilled, and sensing lack at every facet of life. Hearing and seeing it as true and never asking if this is all there really is? Is there really not enough?
Scarcity abounds when the media is filled with images depicting lack.
“The world is on fire,“ Jeff said to me in the evening right before bed.
Is it really?
This year the Colorado River and Hoover Dam is dangerously low. Lack of water. Drought. Too many people tapping into a limited resource. Last year California was literally on fire with the great evergreens near Yosemite ignited and raging.
How do we put out the fire? Why is it either raging or empty? Where is the middle? The balance? It must be here somewhere.
In the end, it all comes back to perception. How will I perceive today?
Today I choose to see abundance as my creative words flow. I appreciate my breath, my A/C during this heat wave, my loves enjoying their summer. There’s enough to go to summer camp and take our vacation.
If we look for the good: What can I appreciate now? What is lovely and beautiful? What is the meaning and lesson without being bogged down with the nitty-gritty cycle of scarcity and lack?
I can see potential. Problem-solving becomes easier. And I don’t feel so alone in my suffering or joy.
Healing Insights 