This community has meant so much to me this month of May, a Word a Day. I don’t know how I’ll replace the routine part of my life that it has become.
It’s increased my desire to learn more about Substack, that’s for sure.
I’m also grateful for the many new friendships that I see forming. What a welcoming group of poets! I’d love to create a space to continue our friendships!
Beautiful Nancy. I love this so much. Yes. We are in this long season of watching children and grandchildren growing and moving into their bigger lives and out of the care that has been our place in their lives. It’s not quite the same and yet your poem touches my heart, a reminder that they are always with us and always will be. I’m so grateful. How precious and sacred and real. Thank you. ♥️🙂
There are similarities, the “gone” differs. But there is still a longing I feel for my living daughter that we only get to see in person a few times of the year.
I'm so sorry for your deep loss, Nancy. How wonderful that she returns to you in countless ways, and thank you for sharing this blessing in your beautiful poem.
Return to sacred sender; this letter keeps ending up at the wrong address.
Return overdue; this book has run out of pages and longs for a new ending.
Returns accepted; this item has been made to believe it’s defective, the flare ups and trauma returning like bitter boomerangs.
Return to eternal source; this “old soul” has been a square human in a round world and is weary. And yet . . .
this luscious life returns a profit of plentiful wonder, high yields of glorious YES, an abandon of abundance—so cancel my return trip, why would I want to miss this?
- a goosebump moment for me as I'm mid writing a post about ferns and the same sentiment!! (And also getting ready for a pentecost creative workshop one "fire" this evening, so your "flame" resonated too. Thank you Kaitlyn for the encouragement to keep going with my other creative projects!
Sometimes I wish I could return to the good old days. We used to say that sometimes around the dinner table, "remember that time...? Those were the good old days." And my dad would clear his throat, exaggeratedly, comedically and say " THESE are the good old days!"
And he was right, the memories we made and the resilience we built through leaning in to both scarcity and abundance, finding joy amidst pockets of pain became the good old days we would inevitably one day with to return to.
And each time, in keeping with the rhythms of life, we would wish for a return and be reminded that we were here, now, making our own good old days together.
Sometimes I wish I could return to the good old days. Then, with a smile, I remember my dad's advice to be more present in the current moment than in past remembrance. "Ahem, THESE are the good old days."
Kaitlin, thank you for today's evocative word, and your tender, beautiful poem. I'm very grateful for all the gifts you've given us during month of poetry as medicine.
I was trusting and believing because Someone I know loves me told me I could.
That Someone told me that there was more for me to discover about myself and God and that the way there was through a door of “not knowing”.
Something like this whole weird idea of believing without seeing.
It held my attention for about 2 weeks.
Then the struggle. The seeing of so many things; injustices, heartfelt pain and as you can imagine, “I can fix this” came back to life within me.
No. Worse.
“I MUST FIX THIS because no one else is and no one else cares,” returned with a vengeance, robbing me of the peace I had finally given myself over to through the door of my “Surrender”.
Yet Grace does Live Within Me. I woke to whispers this morning. Each step of my morning routine found the words, “Surrender.” “Let Go” “Return.”
The whispers got a little louder, not to be ignored, so I reached back into my journal wondering how I had come to believe that “Surrender” was the only door open to me a couple weeks ago.
Don’t give me too much credit though. I could push any other door open. The choice will always be mine but the Open Door, the one that said, clearly, “Surrender”, was still open, waiting for me.
Now I when I look at that door, I notice the words, “The Way to Return” written on that Doorpost. Was it there the first time I entered?
At first I had only seen the colors and heard the music when I peeked inside.
Now I could see the challenges lying a little bit further out. (I may never have entered in the first place had I realized!)
“Return. Return. Return.”
I hear the words like a bird’s song repeating, sweetly in my ears, moving into my heart as I take notice.
The Garden in my heart. Life unfolding around me; not good or bad, all of it Life.
What seemed Cruel in the asking is awakened once again as I simply decide to Return to that place of unknowing, that place of trust.
As I thought of return I found myself thinking of the familiar saying that you can't step into the same river twice and perhaps, wandered off the beaten path
There used to be a lever that I would whack
with hurried abandon
when I reached the end of the line
eager for my thoughts not to be interrupted
by the mechanics.
What luxury to find the key
to smoother composition
and a pinkie that could find
Return.
But oh, the joy, when words came in uninterrupted freedom across the page and far beyond in streams of unhinged wanderings.
Then one day the confines of grammar loosed themselves as well
and prose turned into verse.
Return became a way to enter
the deeper mysteries of the source.
I can hear your joy in this clever poem. What a delight to read it!
Such a cool poem!
Love this!!! The pinkie ease. Oh yes!
I love this!
Return, I whisper…
please return.
But you are gone.
And yet I still find you,
in the whisper of the wind,
in the dancing rainbows in our kitchen.
I find you in the early dawn hours
in my dreams.
You are still there
hovering around me
at all times of the day.
You were never really gone…
You keep returning every day.
Dear Kaitlin,
This community has meant so much to me this month of May, a Word a Day. I don’t know how I’ll replace the routine part of my life that it has become.
It’s increased my desire to learn more about Substack, that’s for sure.
I’m also grateful for the many new friendships that I see forming. What a welcoming group of poets! I’d love to create a space to continue our friendships!
With love and heartfelt gratitude,
Fauna 🌹🥹🥰
Beautiful Nancy. I love this so much. Yes. We are in this long season of watching children and grandchildren growing and moving into their bigger lives and out of the care that has been our place in their lives. It’s not quite the same and yet your poem touches my heart, a reminder that they are always with us and always will be. I’m so grateful. How precious and sacred and real. Thank you. ♥️🙂
Fauna, thank for letting me know that this poem spoke to you.
I didn’t see your note about your daughter, Nancy, until after I shared. I am so very sorry. Not the same at all!!
Your poem is so beautiful. Thank you for sharing your heart.
There are similarities, the “gone” differs. But there is still a longing I feel for my living daughter that we only get to see in person a few times of the year.
Loss carries so many layers, doesn’t it? Thank you for sharing yours with us so we can hold this space with you
Thank you for the picture of loss found.
Its been 2+ years since my middle daughter's death and yet she continues to return in countless ways.
I am so sorry for your loss, Nancy. As a mother myself, it is hard to imagine that kind of heartbreak. Blessings to you.
Thank you, Korie.
I'm so sorry for your deep loss, Nancy. How wonderful that she returns to you in countless ways, and thank you for sharing this blessing in your beautiful poem.
Thank you, Elaine.
Beautiful, Nancy. Thank you for evoking memories of loved ones we've lost but who return with signs of their enduring presence.
Return to sacred sender; this letter keeps ending up at the wrong address.
Return overdue; this book has run out of pages and longs for a new ending.
Returns accepted; this item has been made to believe it’s defective, the flare ups and trauma returning like bitter boomerangs.
Return to eternal source; this “old soul” has been a square human in a round world and is weary. And yet . . .
this luscious life returns a profit of plentiful wonder, high yields of glorious YES, an abandon of abundance—so cancel my return trip, why would I want to miss this?
oh to live with plentiful wonder in the abandon of abundance - YES!
Yes indeed! 😃
"high yields of glorious YES" - YES!
Love this so much!
Thank you, Kristen!
I return to the same lessons
again and again, hoping
one of these days they might sink in
far enough that I can give it a rest,
like life is a test and I'm so afraid of failing
I stay up cramming instead of stopping
to take a breath, and I think we all know
how that trope usually ends.
Beautiful
I return again
to the chair
on the porch
with a view
of the water,
seeking nothing
but time out of time,
freedom from striving,
the peaceful calm
that stays with me
at heart until
I return here again.
Ahhhhh… yes…. 💛
unfurled from the
Holy Spiral that
created you
- a goosebump moment for me as I'm mid writing a post about ferns and the same sentiment!! (And also getting ready for a pentecost creative workshop one "fire" this evening, so your "flame" resonated too. Thank you Kaitlyn for the encouragement to keep going with my other creative projects!
Indeed Shalom
Salmon swim out to sea and back up rivers
Geese traverse the longitudinal seasons
And I return to the familiar rhythms
Of ordinary time each summer.
Kaitlin, this is so tender, flourishing in the soil that made you. Thank you for this beauty.
Returning
like something that has been lost
a coin
a sheep
a child.
Wherever I am
may I remember
there is Someone
searching for
me
and ready to throw a party
when I'm
found.
Oh the sweet surrender to being searched for! Beautiful.
Thank you Jeanette.
Return
Sometimes I wish I could return to the good old days. We used to say that sometimes around the dinner table, "remember that time...? Those were the good old days." And my dad would clear his throat, exaggeratedly, comedically and say " THESE are the good old days!"
And he was right, the memories we made and the resilience we built through leaning in to both scarcity and abundance, finding joy amidst pockets of pain became the good old days we would inevitably one day with to return to.
And each time, in keeping with the rhythms of life, we would wish for a return and be reminded that we were here, now, making our own good old days together.
Sometimes I wish I could return to the good old days. Then, with a smile, I remember my dad's advice to be more present in the current moment than in past remembrance. "Ahem, THESE are the good old days."
Kaitlin, thank you for today's evocative word, and your tender, beautiful poem. I'm very grateful for all the gifts you've given us during month of poetry as medicine.
RETURN
/
Return to the ferns, the mosses, and the trees.
Take no devices or distractions.
Bring only perception and intuition.
/
Follow your heart to its cabin,
The hidden place at the base
of the elder Western Red Cedar.
/
Sink deep and stay long.
/
Look
Listen
Smell
Taste
Touch
/
Return to yourself.
/
Be in no hurry to leave this sacred space.
/
But when your heart knows
It’s time to return
To the daily path that you walk —
/
Gently press your hand to the ground,
Kiss the Earth with a prayer,
Then rise up, whole and renewed.
I was doing so well with Surrender.
I was trusting and believing because Someone I know loves me told me I could.
That Someone told me that there was more for me to discover about myself and God and that the way there was through a door of “not knowing”.
Something like this whole weird idea of believing without seeing.
It held my attention for about 2 weeks.
Then the struggle. The seeing of so many things; injustices, heartfelt pain and as you can imagine, “I can fix this” came back to life within me.
No. Worse.
“I MUST FIX THIS because no one else is and no one else cares,” returned with a vengeance, robbing me of the peace I had finally given myself over to through the door of my “Surrender”.
Yet Grace does Live Within Me. I woke to whispers this morning. Each step of my morning routine found the words, “Surrender.” “Let Go” “Return.”
The whispers got a little louder, not to be ignored, so I reached back into my journal wondering how I had come to believe that “Surrender” was the only door open to me a couple weeks ago.
Don’t give me too much credit though. I could push any other door open. The choice will always be mine but the Open Door, the one that said, clearly, “Surrender”, was still open, waiting for me.
Now I when I look at that door, I notice the words, “The Way to Return” written on that Doorpost. Was it there the first time I entered?
At first I had only seen the colors and heard the music when I peeked inside.
Now I could see the challenges lying a little bit further out. (I may never have entered in the first place had I realized!)
“Return. Return. Return.”
I hear the words like a bird’s song repeating, sweetly in my ears, moving into my heart as I take notice.
The Garden in my heart. Life unfolding around me; not good or bad, all of it Life.
What seemed Cruel in the asking is awakened once again as I simply decide to Return to that place of unknowing, that place of trust.
Challenges daring me to see things differently.
I think.
No. I believe.
And as I believe, I see.
I Return.
Oh! Lesson for today!
Remember less can be more. Write for me first then what and if I want to share.
RETURN to what I wrote.
Next time! ♥️
return
remember you are dust
and to dust you will return
that will occur soon enough
what do we return before then
return thanks for all our blessings
even the smallest ones
return forgiveness to those who have wrong us
even those we don't like
return love into the dialogue filled with hate
even if we want to respond nastily
return blessings to a world in need
even if it is "may God bless you and keep you"
(and don't forget to return your library books)
Kaitlin, so beautiful and grounding
Return
to what
what
is it even possible
what
do we leave behind
get back
are we stepping foot
into
a labyrinth
or
a maze
As I thought of return I found myself thinking of the familiar saying that you can't step into the same river twice and perhaps, wandered off the beaten path
Travelling the long journey to the place that my heart calls home
The wild place full of heather and grasses
Surrounded by the sea
The smell the salt water with the seaweed
The colour of the sand against the russet rocks
The corncrake in the long grass singing its rasping song
The short nights and ruby red sunrises
The rain that comes in stair rods and soaks the clothes
The wind that howls is mournful song across the island
The place my heart calls home is in ruins now
It once was beautiful, full of kindness
The place that your soul can reside
With wild flowers growing in its grounds.
People walk through it not aware of the power
The healing that is in this ground
BUT
If you stop and still your mind
Sit awhile in the space
Let time stand still
Be touched by the spirits
It will become home
And you will always return
Ahhh, sounds like the nunnery on Iona to me!
A thin place indeed💜