I dream that I am teaching again, and having assigned the class independent work, I am spending time connecting with each student to see if they are grasping the material. It’s my favourite part of teaching, and I wake up wondering if I’ll ever have that feeling again. So rewarding.
It is bittersweet, growing old. Many of life’s goals have been achieved, and yet, the desire for more still exists. At least, it does for me. I’m just not sure what to do about it.
The times I waited –
restless and raging
deliberately put on hold
dismissed, degraded, ignored.
Why did I put up with that?
Was I so afraid I’d lose it all?
So uncertain about a future?
How the children came to me
need in their eyes, little arms
begging to be embraced,
and I too blinded to reach out
fixated on the anger, powerless,
immersed myself in distractions
could not respond to their pleading
while my own inner child was doing the same
How I’d let other people’s agendas
override mine – their need to be rescued
or fixed, or to ride on my successes –
boundaries never a strong suit
my own desires so far buried
as to be practically nonexistent
How I’d avoid confrontation
never the top dog – hiding
rather than facing the bullies
in my sight – my loyalty,
my friendship a given
seldom valued by even me
How I took on the discards of others
let men dictate my life –
sorting through their carelessness
like spoon feeding adolescents
Perpetually in mother mode.
I am standing on a threshold
no doubt others will not like
Where I matter now
and love takes precedence
and my inner child shines,
and my priorities are front facing
and loyalty an earned gift
Where men are called to account
and women upheld and valued.
I am proud of who I am,
forgive all the ways I’ve put me down
and chose to radiate
Love guiding this new light.
(Self portrait by me )
As a child, I knew no limits, setting out on adventures with never a fear for how I’d find my way back home.
Now, nestled in my home, I limit myself to certainties, fearful of risks.
Some days, I wonder about that child, and how it would feel to wander freely, and it makes me smile.
The body may be hindered, but the imagination remains forever young.
(Post originally appeared on One Woman’s Quest II, May 2022)
One day it’s so mild that I don’t bother with a coat, the next we wake up to snow on the ground. The plants pushing up through the soil seem a little more patient than me – as if they are humouring nature’s fickleness.
I’m ready for clear change.
A pair of finches just flew by, one chasing the other. Another sign of spring. Maybe I just need to follow their lead and ignore the blasted white stuff.
This collage says it all, don’t you think.
(Photo collage mine)
I know that abyss –
swallowed up as I was
punch-drunk on darkness
Bled as I emerged,
each reach a scrape –
there was release too
Revived now, I honour
that passage, recognize
the making of a woman.
(Making of a Woman first appeared here, December 2021. Image: self portrait in ink)
Hunger churning,
excitement building,
heart expanding…
Breathing the thrill,
opening to possibility,
Spirit revealing…
Receiving blessings,
clarifying vision,
will engaging
Trusting process,
believing in self,
creativity soaring
Grounding in reality,
feeling the stir-
change is happening.
(Image my own)
To lounge
perched oblivious
nature vs domesticity
decision in limbo
I call upon the rains
pray for cleansing
this too-worn skin
eager to shed
I welcome the Divine
sweet messages
of birdsong
serenading
It’s fear that draws me
away from Nature’s charm
a creeping compulsion
that I don’t belong
I am hungry
swallow my prayers whole
wallow in the acidic burn
of betrayal’s ashes
I am greedy in my misery
will stuff myself
with expectation
and forgo pleasure
What am I but baggage?
A burden
locked in my shame
A side show
whose lethargy renders me
incompetent
Illness is a thief
have lost what is sacred
choking on the feathers
of the song that once fed me.
Passion the cloth
that contains me
Time a transformer
if only I surrender
I’ll grow a new skin
confident and fearsome
am I not afterall
reptilian born?
(Art my own)
Odd, this gift of solitude. Perched canal side, I affirm my connection to the earth, and offer thanks. Late afternoon sun casts a glow on the foliage across the way, lighting up the mirror-still water. Vibrant reflections.
Two winters ago, I fought to breathe as temperatures fell below zero. Impassible walkways trapped me indoors. Depression fought for possession. Hope struggles in imposed isolation.
“There are no absolutes in life,” a professor once told me, and I think of that now –
how just when it feels as if one sentence has been handed down, sealed, an opening appears. I am fortunate, savour the moment.
Heron’s watchful stride
invites reflection, respect –
Winter’s solitude.
(Image my own.)
Paddle to the edge –
life has falling off points, and
I am curious –
Defy fear and leap, or freeze?
Faith armours brave, takes a chance.
(Image mine)
One Woman's Quest 