transition

season shift, glimpsing the unseen

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I return to the theme of the season shift, which I am almost through, I think. Today was a treat day to a spa with friends – a rare event – but of course it meant soaking and cleansing in hot pools and bubble pools and terribly cold water pools, and scrubbing through (apparently) Japanese cleansing rituals and soaking weary feet.

I am more or less always on an inner alert for poetics and watery moments always evoke for me the feeling of baptism; death and birth. It is surprising how often in my life moments of transition coincide with moments of immersion.

The other women discussed lying on the sofa, which I could see was an eminently suitable choice for the weary restedness of a post-spa afternoon. But I felt alert, restless. I did not want to lie down indoors. Some kind of inner part of me is alive and suddenly feels renewed after a long trudge of weary tasks.

My being is vibrating and I am so relieved, as a kind of deadness kept threatening to take hold. I tried to reassure myself that this deadness was a mere effect of exhaustion, but I was afraid.

Returning home I didn’t know what to do. There are mountains of undone chores still, neglected as a result of too many work deadlines, too much travel. Food has run out, supplies have dwindled, friends languish unanswered.

Something deeper than a desire for progress overtook me, a calling, and, as it happens, into the still-furnished garden. One more day.

But where I sat yesterday looking back, today I sit in the present. I sit in the cleansed state of my spa self and feel the old things washed away, and me all new, fragile and yet available and alert. Available to new joys and pleasures, available to new adventures, available to deep wrestling and struggle, available to the future self of my being that is always drawing me forwards, through thick and thin, to her accomplishment.

The glimpse of the unseen is not a vision in the true sense; it is a sensation, a potency. It is where hope lies for the austerity of winter and the confusions of longings yet unfulfilled. It is a resonance of self that I inhabit when playing the piano, or listening to myself play; somehow this mood of self, this certain space, holds wonders for me; I can feel them, although I have no idea how to reach them, or how they will take form.

season shift

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Here in northern Europe there is an undeniable season shift.

I am not always good in seasonal transitions. Sometimes I drag my heels, severely reluctant to embrace something new, even spring. Perhaps especially spring with its vulnerability and newnesses.

A few weeks ago I went though an episode of not-enough-summer panic. This happens to me when the sunny days of summer have not amounted to enough to banish the severity of winter from my being, something that is more pressing when winters cling on into April and even May. This year it was more ferocious because of working relentlessly in June, so that my actual summer felt like it did not start til mid-July whereupon it coincided with wild winds and tempestuous days and finding myself ill in the only sunny ones.

Anyhow, as is the way of things, the panic turned out to be completely unfounded because I recovered to find myself tipped into a month of seeming endless sunshine, festivals, picnics, swimming and holiday. I am replenished in deep places and have a moment to contemplate autumn.

Somehow my replenishment seems to be contested. It really is there, I am certain, but doubts seem to circle around. I want to give myself over to autumn, to the thrills small – new stationery, new fashions redolent of school uniform – and large – wild projects, startling insights, new initiatives.

I am finding my way into the right position to surf the wave of autumn. My ambitions feel like they wildly outstrip the meagreness of chronological time, a perennial dilemma. But, as I tell myself, it is all in the positioning. So I write my way into this approach and that, testing things.

I want to embrace and delight in this season from the deep contentment, from a peaceful inner order. It feels like a kind of maturity and a sign of my own new inner harmony.

So I have been clearing some spaces and taking care of things and not letting new projects run away with themselves, but serve the older yet equally important places of consolidation and honouring existing commitments.

And writing my way into the right inner posture, taming myself.

Waiting

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I am waiting
for spring to emerge
from the pavement
laid for
work, business, invoicing,
fee discussions and
constant demand.

I am waiting
for cracks to widen
suddenly and maybe
even causing
horror filled with wonder
as I fall in-
side out.

I am waiting
for you and for them,
and for looking back
bewildered on
the past order,
full of tired and
worn-in happiness.

Note: This poem is from the ‘poetry retreat series’.  We read ‘I am Waiting’ by Lawrence Ferlinghetti and were asked to write a poem in six minutes about something we were waiting for. This is unfinished and I would like to go back to it and bring the image of ‘breaking through’ into greater clarity and power.

end of year

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The year is ending.
It is time to say goodbye:

To missed opportunities
(new ones will come),
to old patterns of friendship,
to stages of life
that I may not know have gone forever.

It is time to say thank you
for each delight:

Quiet evenings playing the piano,
noisy evenings with friends,
a new neighbourhood pub,
a delivery of beautiful clothes,
chatter of small children,
wisdom of older relatives.

It is time to ask for forgiveness:

For moments when I did not
reach out a hand of friendship
or of grace.
For sniping comments in asides,
for shortcuts,
and holding backs.

It is a time to let go:

To release expectations of others,
to shake off expectations from myself,
to accept what was not accomplished,
to let tears carry away loss,
to set down burdens of false responsibility
to shed the hopes of the old year.

It is time to turn around:

To open up to new hope,
to summon energy and courage,
to breathe in delight,
to laugh in anticipation.

It is time to welcome:

New adventures, new beginnings,
new people and new seasons of old friendships,
challenges bigger than ourselves,
darkness we must face and overcome,
every opportunity to bring beauty,
to offer kindness,
to overlook a fault.

It is time to step forward:

Into what we do not yet know,
into what we have not yet seen,
into what we maybe glimpse from a distance,
into what we know and long for, or even dread,
into each new day, a gift,

It is time to beckon and embrace
who we will become.

things I want to tell my children but might forget – at the station

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At the station

While walking in the street is fun, sometimes we will want to go on a longer journey.  We might go to visit London, or cousins, or go to see something interesting in a place nearby.

A train journey is one of my favourite things.  To take a train, you have to go to a station.  A station is an almost magical place.  In a station, trains come and go, all bound for different destinations.  Some are going to small places nearby, some are going to big places far away.  But the fact that so many trains are coming and going makes a station full of opportunity and potential and mystery.  You could take a train to a place you have planned to go, or you could just turn up to the station one day and take a train anywhere you like.  Trains are arriving and departing all the time, so an adventure is always just around the corner.

Not only this, but at stations lots of important things are happening.  People are saying goodbye to people they love, or welcoming back people who have been away for a long time, or they are waiting for visitors to come, or they are going to important work meetings or holidays or interviews.  Sometimes people are not there for a specific reason, but just to travel about and see the world.  This is called exploring and it is one of the best reasons of all.

In a station, you can also find things like things to read, things to eat and things to use if you happened to have forgotten something important.  There are people there whose jobs are to help people to find the right train, and the right ticket.

In fact, when you get to a station, the first thing you need to do is to check you have your tickets.  Sometimes you book these in advance, sometimes you go to the ticket counter.  If you decide to queue for a ticket, make sure you go in the queue saying ‘tickets for today’; otherwise you might have to queue twice.  You need to make a decision whether you want to return on a particular train, or whether you want to be at liberty to return any time you like.  These decisions will determine the price of your ticket.

Once you have your ticket, you might need to buy some things.  I sometimes buy something to read, and often tissues and maybe water.  Some people buy things to eat on the train, but when we are traveling together, I will always make us a picnic.  Having a picnic on the train is one of the most fun things to do in the world.

To get to the train you need to put your ticket into the machine at the ticket barrier, and find the right platform.  If you pick the wrong platform, the chances are you will take the wrong train accidentally.  This has actually happened to me and I can report that it is quite time-consuming to take the wrong train.  It is also important to concentrate on the time so that you don’t miss your train.  This is easier by yourself than with others.  Once you are on the right train to the right place at the right time, it is the moment to concentrate on finding a place to sit.  At a table is best for picnics, but this is not always possible.  Right now I also like to pick a quiet carriage but when we travel together, we will probably picnic an ordinary carriage, where you can laugh and joke and don’t have to be extra quiet.

Once the train departs, the next adventure begins.