This year I began writing about my current threshold, transitioning from a career to creative oriented life, another of life’s letting go to let come. A few posts ago, I framed it as the shift from ambition to meaning, and shared some internal signposts that pointed the direction to this new path.
Since then I’ve gotten a good bill of heart health. And while my crown and bite are still off a bit (the metaphor isn’t lost), I’m optimistic this will resolve in right time. I’m feeling rested, waking with sweet anticipation for the day like I did those mornings when I lived in Germany for three months, five years ago. I’ve taken up with a flamenco teacher whose “deconstructed” approach to this complex dance form fits better now at this point in my practice. I celebrated my echoing day in this new eldering decade. And to celebrate a dear friend’s new decade, I finally found the way into creating the artwork for a story she had written a few years back. Ta Da…I finished and sent in for a first draft read my collection of love letters to poets. Right now, I’m participating in a global online dream walker’s course, reviving a practice I know bears fruit, and a couple of weeks ago I attended a most lovely workshop on poetry and photography hosted by local writer-poet, Shawna Lemay.
During the winter interim after registering for BeComing, I read some of Shawna’s work, her novel, Rumi and the Red Hand Bag (an alluring title with a deep fondness for both) and her latest collection of poetry, Asking. There, she introduced me to the “poem-essay,” a form that totally synchs with my way of thinking and writing. And not a page turned without feeling a quickening of recognition, a jolt to my senses that here is another who is kindred. When during the workshop, I wrote and recited my quick reflection to her prompt Wabi Sabi, she looked across the room in recognition. Sources of appreciation and inspiration discovered. We draw from the same well. Again the evidence of an earlier realization: everything I need for a life well-lived lies in my own backyard.
Now, a couple of months later, a new invitation to consider this person I am becoming, in response to taking self portraits to see what is evoked, to dreaming images of light and shadow:
Who is this person I am becoming?
Feet that carry me along the path
Made only by its walking to
God. Knows. Where.
It’s been said that by looking at one’s shadow
We come to see the face
We are before
We. Are. Born.
A spider crawls upon my hand
To write a web of possibility
To catch a moment of illumination.
(Not a poem essay, instead a form borrowed from Alice Walker in her collection, Absolute Trust in the Goodness of the Earth.)