Karen Edmisten is gathering Poetry Friday posts here.
I am still riding the wave of a silent retreat last weekend. I wrote about it for Slice of Life and This Photo Wants to be a Poem. Our guide, my friend Susan, gave us a small notebook. The jottings I made are feeding my poetic soul while I busily prepare for NCTE next week.
One of the meditations took place around a lotus pond.
The Lotus Pond The lotus is a flower that grows in muddy ponds and swamps. It is a symbol of spiritual growth and enlightenment. In the midst of difficult or chaotic circumstances, one can remain grounded and find inner peace and clarity.
photo by Margaret Simon, lotus flower in a sugar kettle.
Lotus Water
Mindful listening gazing every moment-change Nothing can be forced
Last Saturday I attended a silent retreat at Jefferson Island. I wrote about the retreat here. This photo is an ancient doorway to nowhere. It is set in the gardens near an old wishing well. There is not much need for context today. Meander in your mind and find this doorway. Where does it lead you? Is it a place of rest? Is it a challenge to pass through? Is it guarded, or left open?
I recently came upon a new to me form called a luc bat.
The luc bat is a Vietnamese poetic form that means “six-eight.” In fact, the poem consists of alternating lines of six and eight syllables. This poem is interesting in its rhyme scheme that renews at the end of every eight-syllable line and rhymes on the sixth syllable of both lines. You can find a graphic on the Writer’s Digest. My own model draft took longer than usual to write. Rhymezone is my friend.
Retreat Door
Today I release need– Unmet purpose to feed my worth. This ancient door will birth new sight into our earth’s strong care. Inner eyes long to share wisdom carried from there to here. Look in my new seer, a vision that is clear and pure.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
yoga under the oaks
A perfect day that started in a sweatshirt with yoga practice under a canopy of oak trees and ended with a sound bath in a Japanese tea room. We first met in the Japanese tea room where you take off your shoes and your status, all are equal. Introductions were brief, then we walked to an oak grove for yoga. My dream day had begun.
My friend and yoga instructor Susan offered a 5 hour silent retreat on Jefferson Island, a place that I’ve been to a number of times over the years, for field trips to weddings, but never to soak up the spirit of silence. This was a gift to myself that I knew I needed. That I took the time and money to do.
Noble Silence
Silence becomes noble when it is an inner silence. Inner silence makes us available for ourselves, our loved ones and the wonders of life…breathing in…I become aware of my body. Breathing out…I let go of tension in my body.
As we traveled from place to place, Susan gave us cards with spiritual messages on them like the one above. We were encouraged to contemplate their messages; however, nothing felt forced at all. I felt as though I could be myself totally and free to accept or reject any message that came my way.
I embraced the blank journal she gave us and wrote as I was inspired. One of those entries:
I’m falling in love with silence, easy love. I love the slight breeze. I love the majestic peacocks. I love being present, accepting, and open. I love the lake, the solace of pilings where birds are nesting.
I am a nest, a place of rest, a place safe and calm. Wisdom waits at the door to be discovered, molded into inner power. I am here. I own courage. I’ve conquered the darkness. God’s light is on in me.
notebook draft, Margaret Simon
The Lotus Pond The lotus is a flower that grows in muddy ponds and swamps. It is a symbol of spiritual growth and enlightenment. In the midst of chaotic circumstances, one can remain grounded and find inner peace and clarity.
My hope is that in this small post, I have passed on a peace that passes understanding. That you are feeling the knowledge and love of God (or your own inner spirit). We are all loved. We all have the silence that gives us strength. Namaste.
What is bringing you joy? In her newsletter The Good Stuff, Maggie Smith wrote about finding beauty. She called it a “beauty emergency.” An abundance of beauty is available to us everyday if we choose to notice. Even on my sickest days this summer, I could look out my window to find the great white egret who daily feeds across the bayou. Even now I can see a flash of white as he flies by. Sometimes I watch him slowly wade through the water. Something about that presence of purity renews me.
Renewal happens even if we forget to ask for it. God knows how to renew all life.
“To find a new world, maybe you have to have lost one. Maybe you have to be lost. The dance of renewal, the dance that made world, was always danced here at the edge of things, on the brink, on the foggy coast.”
― Ursula K Le Guin
I am still in the process of renewal, walking a fine line between dark and light. I have to find the strength each day to see the light, to look for it, all the while knowing darkness is close by. Illness does that to a person. The fear of it all coming back again is real. I notice the fear, name it for what it truly is, then let it go. I must do this to bring joy to the forefront. And renewal comes as I find beauty in ordinary days.
Full moon peeking out from the clouds
A colleague complained to me about an incessant vine that climbs her brick walls. “The guy has to come every 3 months to deal with it, even in this drought.” We can complain about the onslaught of weeds in the yard, or we can take pictures of them and find their beauty, their life, the way they insist on being here.
Weed in the grass insists on being noticed!
I believe that God gives us access to beauty all the time. We are meant to feel curious, to wonder about ordinary things, to be present and renewed, touched by beauty and joy.
Goldenrod, photo by Margaret Simon
Solidago*
Meadow soul soother I turn toward your day light Don’t go. Don’t go.
Margaret Simon
*scientific name for goldenrod, solidus meaning “to make whole”
Ramona Behnke is hosting the Spiritual Journey Thursday posts today at her blog, Pleasures from the Page. She asked us to write about “A Glad Heart.”
Open-hearted gladness comes after illness, where once was a window– blinds pulled up enough to see the white egret fly over water, stand and dip, stand and dip. A morning dance, or mourning dance for me, listless and weak? Strength in wings of white, angel of life or death.
Gladness through the window entered my prayer, beckoning me to fight for life, for flight. To look to the air through my despair finding the light of gratitude.
Patricia sent the Spiritual Journey bloggers (all are welcome) her topic for September: “Life at the speed of grace.” This topic is fitting for me as I have been forced to slow down to a full stop because of illness. I have moved beyond why and into acceptance. Each day in September I am posting a photo on Instagram of #Septemberbeauty.
I’ve never thought of September as a beautiful month. It’s still hot. The school year is usually moving along quickly after Labor Day. But when I stop, when I look, notice nature and my immediate surroundings, I can see beauty.
Hummingbirds come in September. Since I’m home, I can sit for a while and watch them frolic. Yesterday, the male and female at my feeder mated right before my eyes. It was like a hummingbird tornado, how they twirled in a fury dance. Then flew off in separate ways.
Patricia wrote a small poem here. I’m borrowing a line to do a quick write of my own.
Grace is Here
Grace abides here– a hummingbird mating dance a flutter of evening owl.
Grace fills me– supermarket flowers a friend tells a story.
Grace heals me– words in a poetic card light from the window.
Linda Mitchell has the Spiritual Journey on the First Thursday round up at A Word Edgewise.
When Linda chose the topic of turning for our Spiritual Journey writing this month, I thought of turning from the long, free days of summer to the short, frantic days of school. Teachers go back tomorrow. Yes! The earliest we’ve ever gone back. To say I’m not ready is an understatement. I haven’t even been to my classroom all summer. I am grateful that a colleague did my bulletin board and later today some of my former students will help me arrange my classroom. It’ll get done.
But the turning that I am focused on these days is the changing relationship I have with my children. Since the loss of my father and the Alzheimer’s of my mother, I am coming to realize that I’ve lost my advisors. The two people I turned to no matter what, who would talk, share, advise, and love me unconditionally are no longer available to me. I guess I should be praying more. I am trying to meditate more, but I am spinning a top of woeful angst.
My daughters are busy with their difficult jobs, their young children, and generally making a life for themselves. The last thing they need is a mother who needs them. But I need them. They know me the deepest and strongest (next to my husband, of course). They love me unconditionally. They show up when I ask them to. But is it fair that I turn to them for friendship now?
Last weekend I was sitting on my youngest daughter’s couch catching up on emails. Her husband was lying on the floor watching and playing with baby June, and he told her that he knows one day she will argue with him and think he’s uncool, but today she only had eyes for him. He was soaking it all up to prepare himself for the teen years.
I get a poem-of-the-day from the Poetry Foundation. I read the poem The New Speakers by Gloria Anzaldua and took a striking line from her poem to write a golden shovel.
We don’t want to be Stars but parts of constellations.
In the midday light that blinds, we play Paul Simon Radio and don’t follow the tune, fake the words. We want to be stars in the eyes of our children, but they grow, they change, the parts we play become the connecting lines of their constellations.
Margaret Simon, draft
I want to be in a constellation with my daughters. But this new relationship will take time to nurture. As all turning does, we have to move in its direction, in the centrifugal force, and let it take us where we want and need to be.
Have you ever really focused on a zinnia? They are one of the few flowers that can be grown by seed and withstand high heat. My neighbor, James Edmunds, posted the above photo of a volunteer zinnia. Volunteer means it was not planted by people. It just shows up, and usually in an odd location. I found the one below growing from a crack in a sidewalk.
Zinnia in the sidewalk by Margaret Simon
Reminds me of the Leonard Cohen lyric, “There is a crack, a crack in everything That’s how the light gets in.”
I’m also drawn to the flower in a flower of a zinnia’s center. There are multiple florets. These are important to the reproduction of the flower and most likely the cause of volunteers.
Please join me today in musing on zinnias and cracks and light and anything else that is on your mind. Leave a small poem in the comments. Encourage other writers with response comments. Thanks for being here.
Patience
Focus on the crack Feel the throb of pain Plant a tiny seed
Carol Varsalona is hosting Spiritual Journey First Thursday this month. She chose the title: Rejoice in a Sunkissed Summer Season.
“Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.”— Ralph Waldo Emerson
I am rebelling a bit against the sunkissed summer. I’ve had enough of the sun. Here in the deep south of Louisiana, the sun has been incessant. On my walk this past weekend, I had to walk from tree shade to tree shade to escape the strong beams of heat. Heat index was over 100 degrees.
Finally, relief came in rain through the night last night. The sound of the rain settled me to sleep. This morning’s walk was shaded by cloud cover. I couldn’t help but sigh a thanks-be-to-God.
Resurrection fern is green.Rainkissed Canna LilyCrepe Myrtle blossomingDragonfly drinking from a raindrop.Passion Flower vine
I feel powerless against the endlessness of climate change. I could dive into a rant, but I won’t. I’ll just leave these refreshing photos here for a respite and the thought that life will find a way. These photos are a poem. Poems are prayers. God answers prayers.
The gathering for Spiritual Journey Thursday is at Leap of Dave.
My friend-cousin-counselor-priest Annie told me to speak up. I was assigned to read the first reading on Pentecost Sunday. It was an important one, the one with all the languages spoken, the tongues of fire, the coming of the Holy Spirit. I needed to speak loud and with confidence into the nave of our historical church.
Under all the weight I am carrying, my voice is fading.
My voice diminished by hard things grief worry heavy stuff losing my way losing my voice.
Ironically, before she made the comment, I had started a playlist “I Have a Voice” based on the duet by Alicia Keys and Brandi Carlisle. She suggested I add the song “One Voice” by the Wailin’ Jennys.
This beautiful song with a simple, yet strong message: We are not alone. The message of Pentecost. Jesus says, “I will not leave you orphaned.” (John 14:18) Orphan is a lonely word. As my mother falls deeper into the depths of dementia, I lose the mother, confidante, nurse, and guiding light she once was for me. Orphaned slowly. Annie also told me this is a sacred time, a time when my mother’s hand is still soft to touch. She still calls my name. She still smiles at the sound of my voice. I am not alone. Jesus calls us: “The Spirit of truth abides in you.” (John 14:17) As my voice fades, Jesus’s spirit rises to take over, to hold me, to lift my voice to speak, to say, “I love you” again and again. I have a voice.
Margaret Simon lives on the Bayou Teche in New Iberia, Louisiana. She teaches gifted elementary students, writes poetry and children's books. Welcome to a space of peace, poetry, and personal reflection. Walk in kindness.
Reflections on the Teche 