here

this week, i have been leaning into rest. i have been reading (just for fun) and working in bed while she naps and even napping once or twice. jon and i went on an impromptu valentine's day date (the babysitter had come over so i could work, but instead jon picked me up and we had an early dinner...it felt like breaking the rules in the best of ways). i have been trying to get to bed earlier. and i've been trying to observe myself with a more compassionate focus.

i am noticing that life feels softer when i rest more. i feel softer. i am more likely to move through my day with kindness and love (toward myself, toward others). it seems so obvious but it simply is hard for me to remember some days (and weeks it seems). 

tonight, i am thinking about how the remembering feels like a dance of getting to know myself again and again. and i choose to see this as a beautiful gift i give myself. because there will be days full of overwhelm and misunderstandings and forgotten deadlines and unexpected bumps in the road. but i will keep reaching for compassion, and i will try to remember that rest is so often the answer.

the poem that is pasted into my journal in the photo above is "love after love" by derek walcott. it is about remembering yourself. i keep it in constant rotation over here. i invite you to add it to your self-care toolbox. you can read all of this poem over here.

oh these poems

this teacher's toolboxes

At Create Magic, we spent time in the world of words and poetry. Watching my students devour their word lists and play and write and laugh and share their truths was such a gift. Poetry heals. Yes. Yes. Yes.

And their poems...their poems took my breath away. I keep visiting their sites to read them again and again. Here are a few:

the light keepers
here
a girl
this girl she
there is a moment 

And the posts from my fellow teachers about the retreat have truly warmed my heart. You can read more over at Mindy's site and then at Viv's. 

*****

If you live in the Pacific Northwest and are wishing for a day filled with an invitation to find your inner poet and to spend time noticing your senses and the world around you and to take an adventure in self-portraiture (on the page and behind the camera lens) and to create a journal to house all your discoveries, consider joining me for Creative Self-Care here in Tacoma on October 29. An incredible group of women is gathering for this one-day workshop, and we would love to have you come along. Find out more here.

words

words written on a window . susan wooldridge workshop . fall 2010 be present retreat 
(steal a few and write your own poem. dare you.) 

A year ago, I was in the midst of the Fall Be Present Retreat while being days away from Ellie Jane's open-heart surgery. A year ago, I sat in a room in Frog Creek Lodge surrounded by so many souls living with their hearts wide open, souls who would teach me so much, souls who would become friends. A year ago, a dear friend came along on the retreat to support me and take care of Ellie Jane. A year ago, I had no idea what the first few weeks in October might bring. A year ago, I wrote these words during Susan Wooldridge's poetry workshop.

*****

parched bones

outside, i am a tree's sturdy blueprint
inside, i am a swollen canyon of january choices

outside, i am a balanced seasaw of chocolate happiness
inside, i am shattering, shifting parched bones

outside, i am a mute, screeching fire 
inside, i am sunlight's twirling laughter

inside, i am breath
i am space
i am light

*****

I am over here getting ready for Create Magic, the last Be Present Retreat this year. As I was bustling about a few minutes ago looking for safety pins in the random places they might be hanging out in this messy wondrous house of ours, I came across this poem written on the back of a page from a draft of one of Susan's writing projects. It was tucked in a drawer that was also housing receipts from 2009 and 2010 (don't tell the new accountant), adorably small pink tags I used for price tags when doing craft shows a few years back, polka dotted ribbon, a scale for mail, random bits of tissue paper, about $10 in change, safety pins, and a few other "why do I still have this?" little things.

And before I head off to bed, I just really need to tell someone this: I love poetry. Big.

come back to me...

sunset self-portrait . gearhart, oregon . august 20, 2010

I come from quiet, storming stardust
I come from skipping stones on seven rivers
I come from reflected, reaching purple mountains
I come from the unafraid, soaring shadow of the heron's wing
I come from the moaning, oming whales

Shadow, bring me exploding courage
Bring me stretching, inward roots
Shadow, bring me sun-centered source

Come back to me stardust, fill me with delight
Come back to me skipping, plopping stones, bring me the stories
Come back to me
Shadow
Come back to me

*****

This evening, I spent time with a group of incredible women at a local doula meeting. I was the guest speaker, and they gave me the gift of letting me share some of my stories and then indulging me when I asked if we could write some poetry. My body is still vibrating a bit with the beauty that reveals itself when women share their stories and unearth the poems that live inside them.

As I drove home, I felt called to find a legal pad that sits under the pile of many things beside my bed. This paper houses the poems I have written at several workshops and the words that pushed me to begin this blog. As I read the poem above that I wrote in a 2008 workshop with (the goddess of life who is) Susan Wooldridge, I am struck by the truths it holds and deeply wish that someone had whispered my own words to me a year ago. There is beauty to be found in revisiting our writing and seeing ourselves reflected. In this moment, I am grateful to my younger self for her wisdom and bravery that would hold her through all that was to come.

the kindred project: day 4 (poetry)

The Kindred Project: 12 Days of Light and Yes is about sharing our stories of light and hope. The moments where we said "yes" to choosing beauty in the midst of it all. The moments where we stood in our own light. The moments where we saw someone else choose hope. The moments where another became our teacher and where we taught ourselves. Read more about the project and share your own stories in this post. During these 12 days, I am sharing a few of the lights along my path that have pushed me and taught me and held me in the midsts of it all. 

*****

shelf of poetry . march 2011

i want to say this as simply as possible. i want to chip away at the words until i am left with a simple answer to a question i am often asked: why poetry?

poetry holds up a mirror and forces me to see truth. it makes me laugh out loud in the middle of a bookstore in portland, oregon. it invites those pinpick tears that force me to remember something i thought i had let go. it holds me while i weep. it makes me just uncomfortable enough to know i must look closer. it dances and dips and turns and stretches and lives.

poetry lives big. 
(poetry saves me from myself.)

if you are sitting in your corner and wondering how to begin your relationship with poetry or perhaps you already have one and are always looking for more poems to collect...well, i invite you dare you to start here (each link below is to a poem by this list of some of my favorite poets), today, right now:

mary oliver (after you read that poem, head over to oprah.com to watch a video with ms. oliver being interviewed by maria shriver)
william stafford (more of his poetry can be found here)
david whyte (he teaches me again and again. if you have the chance to hear him speak. do it. until then, visit him on his site.)
hafiz (translated by daniel ladinsky. you should have the gift on your shelf.)
billy collins (includes collins reading his poem)
maya angelou (see dr. angelou read her poem here. soak it up.)
elizabeth bishop (read this one aloud...well, read them all aloud but for sure this one)
may sarton (how i wish i could arrive at her house for tea and ask her to read this one. [you should also read her journals. in fact, we should read them together this summer.])
marge piercy (and this one about the day her mother died...yes...read this one too)
carl sandberg (the first poem that got me thinking back in fourth grade...took a long break after that)
nikki giovanni (the women and the men is a favorite collection)
david lehman (and many other poems of lehman's have been shared on the writer's almanac and can be found here)
sharon olds (her poems often have a bit of grit and push me [teach me] big time)

and you reading this? please share any other poets who you enjoy in the comments...maybe you will even want to share a story about how poetry speaks to you in your life.

wednesday night poem notes...

photo collaboration with miss geek inc, week 9
click to see larger

circling, shifting, begging
seeking heat
yearning to be touched and twirled and taken
my face tips up
the sun warms my eyelids

yes

*****

in this spot, i used to share poetry on thursdays...i miss it sometimes (well, a lot of the time actually), so it made me smile when LK let me know that she is hosting a day of sharing words today. i am taking part in the fun just in time. to visit other participants, head over to LK's.

and, i also invite you to spend some time with the poetry of li-young lee. his poetry speaks to my core. you can read several of his poems here. ("persimmons" took my breath away one day in 2006. you should read it. right now.)

have any poets wandered into your world lately?

(love)

looking up in st. patrick's park, indiana. 8.3.08

She Responded

The birds' favorite songs
You do not hear,

For their most flamboyant music takes place
When their wings are stretched
Above the trees

And they are smoking the opium
Of pure freedom.

It is healthy for the prisoner
To have faith

That one day he will again move about
Wherever he wants,
Feel the wondrous grit of life—
Less structured,

Find all wounds, debts stamped canceled,
Paid.

I once asked a bird,
"How is it that you fly in this gravity
Of darkness?"

She responded,
"Love lifts
Me."

-Hafiz, from The Gift, translations by Daniel Ladinsky

twirling inside

the plate of the car in front of diane, susan, and me at barnes and noble sunday evening.

i spent the weekend twirling inside friendship, community, and words, lucky enough to spend an afternoon with a friend then an evening with two goddesses and a day writing and listening to poetry and another evening of laughter, words, and truths...

i. love. poetry.

i took another workshop with susan wooldridge. when asked why i was there that day, i said that taking her workshop last year helped me to find another layer of my authentic voice.

yes. yes. yes.

some words i wrote on sunday:

i am a baby blue fifth chakra'd studebaker convertible
i am the fourth from the landing brown-carpeted step on garland circle
i am ignored red lips stroking your hair
i am tangerine fringe tickling the top of her silver damasked living room
i am the comma following the disappearing, webspinning secrets
i am the coocooing echo
i am clutter
i am mending

diane begins the workshops she hosts in a small one-room"house" on her property. we sat in a circle and the air seemed to crackle with all that was about to happen in a little workshop filled with words as people shared why they were here and a bit of their hopes. the sacredness of a circle of women. in this case, women i had never met until that day. i am ready to go back to diane's for a workshop as soon as i can. (you should join me.)

susan invites such a sense of safety and openness in her workshops. listening to the words of others is partly what makes the experience feel like such a sacred one. all day monday, their phrases kept running through my mind. such beauty and truth in their words. you can get to know a person you have just met by listening to their response to prompts like: "i am" "my soul says" "i know" "my mother says" "write one line about the prom"

fantastic.

i. love. poetry.

in just a bit, after i finish packing and somehow complete one more load of laundry, i will leave again. this time i am headed to artfest.

another opportunity to twirl inside friendship, joy, beauty, words, color, community.

i am blessed.
so very blessed.

today, i am sending you, yes you reading this, love, peace, and poetry.
and i invite you to go read a poem. go on. then come back here and tell me about it.
i dare you.

blessings,
liz

PS if you have sent me an email recently, sorry i have not replied. i will when i return. thanks for understanding.

home

The return

You are
the sliver of blue behind the grey
the yellow stripe on the crocus
the pungent plum tree blossoms
the insistent call of the plump chickadee
the arching green tulip leaves

Today,
I whisper prayers of gratitude
to Spring
as she awakens
and brings
you

perspective

the sun shines;
her heart opens (slightly).

*******

tonight,
i take a breath
and another
and i read this again
and again

my sacred life sunday.