Poetry

Searching for Safe Harbor

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I’m rowing in rough waters though it’s a waste of my precious energy.  The waves are strong, the current powerful and I am too weak to fight it any longer.

But I’m looking for a coast.  A harbor.  A place of safety to wait out the storm. To recuperate.  To perhaps find paradise.  I try to guide the boat in the direction the waves break assuming the shore is in that direction.

I no longer know where I am.

The boat is gray weathered wood and perhaps not seaworthy any longer. I’ve been out here a good long time.  There used to be days of a becalming.  Flat water and I could see the dolphins jump and play.  I could see the seabirds swoop and dive into the azure deep.  I could hear the whales and see the starfish on the ocean floor.

Now it is just water the color of the boat.  In turmoil and rage and beating rain.

Oh, for the skies to clear.  For the tide ruled by the moon to guide me to safe harbor and smooth sand.  To palm trees and brightly colored birds.  To friendly souls who will take me in and tend my wounds.

For I am wounded in the places you can’t see. My pride is wounded.  My soul.  My innermost me.  This has been the storm of a lifetime.  I didn’t see it coming though perhaps I should have.  I was just out here in my boat when the sea roughened and the skies darkened. 

The ancient ones had told me to take care when I took the boat out.  They told me the sea was not my friend.  They told me it would beat me down and that I should stay where I was and prepare for the inevitable storm. To live with storm shutters and lanterns near a lighthouse. To light a fire in my hearth and pray for the lost.

But blue skies and frothy white-capped swells called to me.  I imagined the wonders and I took off.  Alone and poorly provisioned. I am the lost. 

It has been a journey.  One with no destination of my planning other than to seek wonders.  And I have seen them.  For that I should be grateful.  I have seen things that others only dream of.  I have been captain and crew.  Jailor and prisoner.  Now I am fighting for what’s left of me.  For the real me – the one that got pushed aside while I rowed and bailed water.

I am looking for safe harbor.  Smooth sand.  A warm sun to turn my face to.  A friend to tend my wounds, give me nourishment, and help me find the hope that was my inner compass for so long.

Pray for me. I am lost.

An open letter to my 7 am writing group

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NOTE: I belong to a writing group that meets every morning on Zoom, at 7 a.m., except for Saturdays, when we meet at 8 a.m. We also meet on holidays, Sundays, and weekdays. This group has been my sanctuary—my safe space to grow as a writer.

Dear Ones:

“The universe provides” It always has—goes along with “this too shall pass.”

I understand it’s common with many artists, writers included, that those closest to them are the least interested in their work.  The “that’s nice, honey” phenomenon.  With one notable exception, this has been true for me.  My family couldn’t give a flying fig about my two books, the two I’m working on, or my blog.

They accept that I’m a writer and take some pride in telling people that, but have no interest in actually reading or even hearing about my passion projects.  And so, the universe conspired until I found my tribe. 

I get encouragement from the most unlikely places. 

It tickles me pink that somewhere in Malaysia, some teacher uses one of my blog posts in his or her English class.  I reposted e.e. cummings’s in time of daffodils – a favorite of mine with one of my photos of my beloved daffodils. 

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Eutony

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Eutony. Some words just roll around your mouth like a well-loved piece of candy – sweet and pleasant – a delight and a treat.  There’s dazzle, for one.  And delightful, for that matter.  Tummy is a yummy word.  And raspberry.  But the best word – actually phrase – is salon de belleza.  It’s Spanish for beauty salon.  I learned it in junior high or maybe high school.  From its introduction to me to now, I like to roll it around in my mouth.  Long and slow–salon de belleza.  Of course, a Spanish speaker would say it much faster, but I like to linger over all those vowels.  Linger – now there’s another word. 

Sadly, I don’t have much opportunity to work salon de belleza into daily conversation.  Pity. 

I like the word envelope.  Not envelope.  Envelope.  And then there’s the verb envelope.  Autonomy is fun and anthropological uses all the muscles in your face – I’m convinced of it though I have no proof.

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Mirror, Mirror

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Photo by Tuva Mathilde Løland on Unsplash

Mirror mirror on the wall, show me a secret, not if I’m short, not if I’m tall.
Mirror mirror on the wall,
Give me the insight to love, to love one to love all.

They used to scry with bodies of water – peer at their reflection until their psyche, or the spirits, were revealed and spoke to them in the language of prophecy or riddles.  And then mirrors were used.

Something happens when you look deep into a mirror.  Deep.  Beyond the reflection.  Beyond the need for a hairbrush.  Beyond the application of lipstick.

Gaze into your looking glass and see what you can see.  Alice stepped through.  You can too.  There’s another world in there.  It may look like this one or not. Animals might talk. So might trees.  The dead might gather with messages of love or ones of warning.  You might see a secret path and the way out of a problem that wasn’t there before.

Perhaps the glass will waver and mists swirl.  What do you want to learn from the mirror?

I want to learn that my body is a small part of who I am.  That beyond my body, into my innermost being, there exists purpose that goes beyond pain and limitations.  That my body is temporary and my spirit eternal. I want to realize that though my body is failing, I am not.  I am well along the path to wisdom.

My innermost self, the me that I protect from this place called reality is not the illusion.  The refection is.  The Bible says Through a Glass Darkly. 

Yes. 

You must look closely. Gaze into your eyes.  We’ve been told they are windows to the soul.  We can see another’s thoughts in their eyes.  Witness their emotions even if we don’t know why, even if we don’t understand why.  We can detect anger.  Impatience. Love.  Joy.  Boredom.  Eyes reveal.

Look at your own.  Fall into them.  Beyond the color – blue, brown, green, hazel. What do your own eyes tell you?

If you see pain, love yourself more.  If you see anger, love others more.  If you see impatience, give yourself grace. If you see joy, give it away. If you see resolve, follow through.

Mirror mirror on the wall. . .