a compilation

I’ve been busy.

Busy with early morning trips to the market where the women know me only as Daba Sarr and I speak only Wolof,
busy with walks through now-familiar streets to run errands or pick up something sweet to eat,
busy making plans with sisters and meeting up ‘at that one corner where we bought beignets together’,
busy dancing and moving to the rhythm and not caring how absolutely ridiculous it looks as you are surrounded by people you now recognize and know by name and greet with kisses on the cheek,
busy holding honest conversations and speaking out truths and listening deeply and learning throughout,
busy standing alongside a sister in the kitchen as we work together work in unison on behalf of the family,
busy, I find, just living and loving and learning Senegal, this family, myself.

And so my writing hasn’t been formal, but throughout the busy-ness I have made a priority time to center, to calm, to consider by reading poetry, reflecting, putting pen to paper, even if in small quantities and random spurts. Below is a collection of that priority, in the form of lists, poems, words, ramblings. When I read through, to me this compilation — of thoughts, of things that rang true, of pure emotion, of me — shows more deeply, in its informality, my life and self as it is in Senegal.

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26 November 2013

The Ponds by Mary Oliver

Every year
The lilies
Are so perfect
I can hardly believe

their lapping light crowding
the black,
mid-summer ponds.
Nobody could count all of
them –

the muskrats swimming
can reach out and touch
only so many, they are that
rife and wild.

But what in this world
is perfect?

I bend closer and see
now this one is clearly
lopsided –
and that one wears an orange
blight –
and this one is a glossy cheek

half nibbled away –
and that one is a slumped
purse
full of its own
unstoppable decay.

Still, what I want in my life
is to be willing
to be dazzled –
to cast aside the weight of
facts

and maybe even
to float a little
above this difficult world
I want to believe I am looking

into the white fire of a great
mystery.
I want to believe that the imperfections are nothing –
that the light is everything –
that it is more than the sum of each flawed blossom rising
and fading. And I do.

And shouldn’t we all?

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29 November 2013

I write with what I have. Look out over this ocean and feel the magnitude of blessing, of gratitude.

I woke up in Senegal today. Last night I watched the stars over the lulling and strong ocean just as on the other side, my family was sitting down to eat and say grace. Tonight I will celebrate again, this time with a family who has begun to feel so much a home to me.

I’ve never meant the words “happy thanksgiving” in such a way as this before. Family in all of its forms.

It’s amazing how happy thankfulness can make one.
Hold onto it, remember this, keep this feeling, don’t let go of this grace.

Feel it all, let it be.

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3 December 2013

Lost by David Wagoner

Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.

GOOD HUMAN TO DO:
– postcards to my sisters
– get over myself and write the email, take charge of your future
– write
o thanksgiving/living out grace
o beliefs
o coming home
– make time for poetry
– listen
– finish a book

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4 December 2013

The Power of Vulnerability by Brene Brown, TED Talk

– “In order for connection to happen, we have to allow ourselves to be seen, really seen.”

– “wholehearted people living from this deep sense of worthiness”

– “I know that vulnerability is the core of shame and fear and our struggle for worthiness but it appears that it is also the birthplace of joy, of creativity, of belonging, of love”

– “I’m just so grateful, because to feel this vulnerable means that I’m alive”

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7 December 2013

I am enough. I am strong.

And I need to learn how to walk with strong skin that can still let people in, can still let people see me, and vulnerably so. Because I have to remember that there is strength in being able to tell others we are weak.

I just want to be one of those sure people. And I think I’m becoming that person. And then there are days when comments are said from others that are unknown to hurt, unknown to strike a chord, hit a nerve, knock you down a bit.

Part of being enough is being kind to your imperfections, of accepting what is in your now, however messy and emotional and unkempt.

What I realize, though, is that I’m happy. I’m content. I’m working through all of the hard and sometimes it gives me secret tears and a lot of need for air and quiet, but I’m in a good place, a solid place.

I’m leaning into vulnerability, feeling it all, letting it be.

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8 December 2013

This is the time when I’m working through it all.

One year ago Friday, Pat died. I remember it all so clearly, thinking this is the time to step up and carry others, wondering how could I ease the pain in that house.
I want to embody Maggie’s strength. I can’t post on facebook groups or mourn as her closest friends and family must, but I can work to embody her spirit and give a little Maggie to the world, and that can happen every day.

And I think yesterday I did that. I took weakness and found strength, I let myself feel ‘enough’, I climbed big rocks and laughed and felt it all, took what was in front of me and tried to live out kindness to others. And I’m proud of that.

And so I want Maggie’s name on my wrist to remind me of that – that I am capable of embodying her strength, of giving some Maggie to the world.

I’m realizing just how much this place has allowed me to heal, allowed me to grow. I am a different, better, stronger, more Maggie-like person than I was on September 8. And I want to keep growing forward.

And sitting here, looking out over this ocean, feeling the love of family and Maggie’s name on my wrist, I feel a strange, new assurance that I am capable of doing so.

And that enlivens me.

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

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9 December 2013
Everyone keeps saying it, I’m just now seeing it, feeling it. I’m happy.

But more than that, I’m content. I am feeling it all – the fun, the rough, the raw and open vulnerable, the smiles, the lump in the throat, the deep and challenging thinking – I am feeling it all, sharing it all, accepting it all. And I am content.

This is life; it is messy and difficult and there will be struggle, but there will also be joy and grace and connection. There will be learning and growth and a fullness of heart.

Feeling it all, letting it be…. I am at a deeper contentedness in this moment, and I am grateful for that.

The Lives of the Heart by Jane Hirshfield

Are ligneous, muscular, chemical.
Wear birch-colored feathers,
green tunnels of horse-tail reed.
Wear calcified spirals, Fibonacccian spheres.
Are edible; are glassy; are clay; blue schist.
Can be burned as tallow, as coal,
can be skinned for garnets, for shoes.
Cast shadows or light;
shuffle; snort; cry out in passion.
Are salt, are bitter,
tear sweet grass with their teeth.
Step silently into blue needle-fall at dawn.
Thrash in the net until hit.
Rise up as cities, as serpentined magma, as maples,
Hiss lava-red into the sea.
Leave the strange kiss of their bodies
in Burgess Shale. Can be found, can be lost,
can be carried, broken, sung.
Lie dormant until they are opened by ice,
by drought. Go blind in the service of lace.
Are starving, are sated, indifferent, curious, mad.
Are stamped out in plastic, in tin.
Are stubborn, are careful, are slipshod,
are strung on the blue backs of flies
on the black backs of cows.
Wander the vacant whale-roads, the white thickets
heavy with slaughter.
Wander the fragrant carpets of alpine flowers.
Not one is not held in the arms of the rest, to blossom.
Not one is not given to ecstasy’s lions.
Not one does not grieve.
Each of them opens and closes, closes and opens
the heavy gate – violent, serene, consenting, suffering it all.

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13 December 2013

Death is Nothing at All by Henry Scott Holland

Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away to the next room
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other,
that, we still are.

Call me by my old familiar name.
Speak to me in the easy way.
Which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word
that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effect.
Without the trace of a shadow on it.

Life means all that it has ever meant.
It is the same that it ever was.
There is absolute unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind
because I am out of sight?

I am but waiting for you.
For an interval.
Somewhere. Very near.
Just around the corner.

All is well.

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15 December 2013

“Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe
No less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.”

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18 December 2013

I like rainy days, especially here, because they remind me of imperfection, remind me of the refreshing feeling of a cooling off, a letting down of barriers, a release.

I like that anywhere, around the world, I am able to create a rainy day space – a space, curled into a blanket, coffee mug in hand, pen to paper, cool and clean air floating, silence and stillness and rest in the atmosphere and just so much peace and contentedness in my soul.

My big, gold-covered, lovingly gaudy chair pushed to the terrace doorway so I can be just on the edge of the drizzle but still hear the hushed sounds of rainy day life around me and then the rain slowly picks up again, the small taps on the rooftops become louder and the breeze rushes with more strength and I could be anywhere – in the woods of Bass Lake, running through glorious red mud in Chulaimbo, cozied and looking out the window of family home – anywhere and still feel this calm, this centeredness of forced resting place, this clarity of reminder that the world encompasses both sun and rain and in all of that, tends toward beautiful.

And sometimes, in moments such as this, I get overwhelmed by how much I want to live.

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19 December 2013

One must think toward thankfulness. And I am so thankful. So thankful sometimes it feels like my heart can’t hold it all and tears push their way over my eyelids and I find it hard to do anything other than tilt my head up to the sky, let my eyes close in feeling, and take in the world’s rush of air.

Think toward thankfulness.

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22 December 2013

Adventure feels good on my skin. Being unsure, asking for assistance, wandering blind and feeling insecure, going forward, forging conversation, pushing one’s self, doing what’s needed, saying ‘we’ll see’, looking out the window, taking it all in, choosing to feel sure. It all feels good on my skin.

There’s a healing side to adventure, too. And oddly I realize just these 24 hours have taught me so much about myself, and that learning should always be seen as good.

I’ve learned about my capacity for adventure. I’ve learned about my desire to make the most, to smile and to laugh it off. I’ve learned I was taught the lesson of conversation and small things. I’ve learned there are still parts of me that act out of fear, which don’t take all that I could in the face of unknown. I’ve learned a new kind of physical vulnerability. I’ve learned my desire not to deny relationship and the importance of those full, honest and true relationships I hold so dearly in my life.

Adventure feels good on my skin.

I’ve learned a lot in these 24 hours.

“I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.”