art · change · creativity · new project · passion · photography · poetry · Uncategorized

Growing Wings

growing-wings1870518-prints

Even as we let go
of that which no longer serves
our hearts grow wings.

*****

I am venturing into new territory,
and have established a virtual store front with Society6:  KnutsonKreations.

I would love it if you’d check me out.  Society6 is offering an Artist Promotion through to Thursday, February 21 at midnight – 25% off and free shipping worldwide using the link above.

Creating “poetry-to-go” has been a dream of mine.  This is the beginning!

 

Humour · poetry · relationships · travel

Pre-Journey Jitters

This ride is not all that it seems to be:
this on-the-road-home, suits two,
carries more – there’s unrest onboard,
and the air crackles with trouble brewing.

Seems we’ve brought along our bad
selves, shadowy figures resembling
adolescents – the in-your-face, life’s
not right, and I-know-it-all types.

There’s insolence in one’s actions,
rebellion in the other, no tolerance
in sight – doors slam, plans alter,
chaos threatens to put us in the ditch.

Until crazy pushes the Done! signal
and we withdraw to our corners,
buckle in for the ride, focus on
pending destinations, happily

embracing anticipation, imbecilities
set aside, preferring to believe that
this adventure is leading us towards,
not running away from, the unexpected.

(Image:  quotesgram.com)

life · poetry · relationships

Breaking Free

Seems we are singularly obsessed –
we two, one story – driven to acquire,
invested in finding comfort, facing
tumultuous conditions, as if property
like a fortress will cloak our insecurity.

Look at us, disheveled, gambling on life,
average citizens, likely to fail – choosing
to recreate, question our destiny – the
dilemma: having been disgraced once
can we rise now to release, reset the dial?

What if we cut the ties; free ourselves
from disappointments – no longer feeling
like we’re coming in last – let’s ponder
intuitive moves, fun – we have been beaten
up enough by life, what is there to lose?

Have you noticed our lives have become
prisons: strategies tied to ancient agendas?
We are more twins than lovers, dwelling,
existing, double collateral damage – time
to quit this sham, fragment to find peace.

Let’s leave this house together, dress
our residence with wheels, aged as we are,
(on the other side of the lie), unclothe our
regimens, puzzle over serenity, expand;
urgency calls us to repossess our lives.

This is no lottery: lightheartedness a choice,
we make the openings for understanding,
are destined through our surrender to succumb
to a new definition of love, shed our culture,
our burdens, and formally declare a rebirth

 

Uncategorized

Day 219 “Return to Emptiness”

“We’ll give him a few more minutes, shall we?” The kindly old man seated across from me, crossed one leg over the other and sat back as if he had all the time in the world to wait.

“The thing is…I mean…,” I hung my head in shame. “I don’t think he’s coming.”

“Ah, yes.” He picked up his note pad, uncrossed and leaned forward. “I suspected as much.”

“He went away for the weekend, you see, and he hasn’t returned yet.” How could I tell him that my husband left on Friday, and this was Monday, and I hadn’t heard a word from him? “He knew about the appointment,” I scrambled to make an excuse, “he just wasn’t sure if he’d make it back on time.”

“Do you think he wanted to be here?”

The question hit me hard. Tears caught in my throat and the best I could muster was a silent shake of the head.

“I’ve been doing this job for a long time, and I really don’t see any point of beating about the bush,” the psychiatrist said reaching for a tissue. “The fact is you and I both know he never had any intention of coming here today. He’s left it in my lap to tell you the marriage is over.”

It was the first of December, and when my partner of seventeen years did return home, he confirmed the doctor’s conclusion.

“We’ll wait till after Christmas,” he declared matter-of-factly. “That way we won’t ruin the children’s holiday.”

I hadn’t seen it coming. The shock was replaced with a overwhelming numbness that spurred me into robotic overdrive. Maintain a semblance of normalcy, I kept telling myself. No one must know! Secretly, I think I was hoping that if I acted like nothing was happening, then nothing would happen.

Inside, I was a mess. I had built all my hopes and dreams around this man. Seventeen years is a long time to commit your life to another, and frankly, I didn’t know what else to do.

The days passed, and in a fog, I trudged through, looking for meaning to the madness that surrounded me.

I just want some joy in my life, I prayed. How do I feel alive again?

The answer came during an ordinary outing with my children to the local library. I loved the library, because after I’d settled the kids in with some books of their own, I could search for myself. “Read; it will help keep you distracted,” my psychiatrist had advised. No arguments there.

Abandoned on a partially empty shelf, a little book caught my eye. “Everyday Sacred” was the title and the picture was of a large, red, earthenware bowl. I picked it up and flipped to the preface. It read:

bowl

I scooped the book up, then my children, and waited anxiously for the moment to explore Sue Bender’s words.

My soul resonated with the analogy of the bowl. My bowl had suddenly been emptied, and I would have to create a whole new beginning. Bender described the spiritual act associated with a begging bowl, in which the bearers would have to go into the streets and beg for their daily meals. The lesson: to learn to accept what we are given, each day, and to cherish all offerings. (My simplified version.)

Something inside me sang. I wanted to learn to live with gratitude and the joy of beholding the sacred in everyday.

Plans for the move started to take shape. As my husband worked from home, the children and I would move out. We found a townhouse not far from their school, and I ran into an old friend who was in the process of downsizing – she furnished the house for us. It was almost as if the Universe was stepping forward to buffer the blow. While my heart still ached, and I could barely manage to eat for the stress of it all, I also felt strangely comforted. My proverbial bowl continued to flow with abundance, and I just kept giving thanks.

Moving day was drawing near and the last thing I had to do was to arrange for a new home phone. Something in that act felt final, and as I hung up from the customer service rep, I put my head down on the table before me and felt the full weight of grief. There would be no going back. My life as I’d known it was over.

Look at what it spells. I swear a little voice whispered in my ear. “What what spells?” I spoke aloud, looking around for the source, but no answer came. Convinced I had really lost it, I turned my attention back to my new phone number. I would have to memorize it.

2 – 6 – 9 – 5 were the last four digits. 2, 6, 9, 5, I repeated in my head. 2695. Could this spell something?
I checked my keypad. And there it was:

b – o- w- l.

With no steady income and three mouths to feed, I had live with what each day brought, sometimes hardship, and sometimes blessings. It was a humbling, yet soul inspiring time of my life.

* * *

It’s been seventeen years since Susan Bender’s writings came into my life, but the concept still resides with me, bringing me comfort.

Now learning to live with chronic illness, my life has been once again emptied of the sense of purpose and routine that I had become so attached to.

I have returned to emptiness, and because of it, I now have a whole vessel waiting to be filled, and each day, I take what I’ve been given, and give thanks – for once again the simplest of things have become – every day –  sacred.

(Sue Bender’s book is available on Amazon. Click here for a copy.)