Up early today and welcomed into the day by this fine writing! It is a joy to share poetry, to further this conversation of poems, which you do so expertly and lovingly every week. It is beyond count at this point how many poets I have dug into after reading ordinary plots on a Sunday morning. What a gift we receive every week!
"Have you ever had two palms cradle your cheeks when you needed them most?" YES!! This tenderness changed the course of my life. (The man who bestowed it has now been my husband for 30+ years).
"...whose every knot
guards a hushed cymbal of water." Gorgeous.
There is so much to consider in all of this holding. Or so much it has made me consider anyway. And it occurs to me that when confronted with a person grieving and you are confounded by what to say, or not, that "you have so much to hold" would be a way of acknowledging the weight of their grief, and perhaps offering something that brings forth that you understand what it is to hold so much weight and that you're there but without saying all of those words that just cannot do much in that situation.
As always Devin, thank you so much for this in-depth study...it gives me pause and time for reflection on a gray rainy Sunday morning when it should be cold and snowing...
This beautiful reflection reminded me also of a poem by Andrea Gibson, especially these lines:
That every falling leaf is a tiny kite
with a string too small to see, held
by the part of me in charge
of making beauty
out of grief.
I'm fortunate to live in a place where the season of falling leaves lasts a little longer than most, and I think I'll join this game, from afar, without any intention of keeping score. If the past year was filled with immeasurable grief, both seen and unseen, I pray the year to come is filled with more than enough holding to carry us through it. Your writing-and all poetry, really-gives me hope.
The other day, my daughter said, while we were walking up the stairs, “I wish you had three arms so you could hold more” — I wonder how many more leaves you could catch with three hands
When I work with my Reiki clients I often encourage them to open to the energy and let go of whatever holding is creating such tension and anxiety in their bodies. We have a natural tendency toward all sorts of holding- holding back, holding forth, holding on, holding and waiting for the next thing. This poem and discussion has opened my view of holding to include all the good things we can hold- love, tenderness, joy, compassion, holding space for each other. My narrative suggestions in a session will now include a recognition of these as well.
Up early today and welcomed into the day by this fine writing! It is a joy to share poetry, to further this conversation of poems, which you do so expertly and lovingly every week. It is beyond count at this point how many poets I have dug into after reading ordinary plots on a Sunday morning. What a gift we receive every week!
What a wonderful game. I love it!
"Have you ever had two palms cradle your cheeks when you needed them most?" YES!! This tenderness changed the course of my life. (The man who bestowed it has now been my husband for 30+ years).
"...whose every knot
guards a hushed cymbal of water." Gorgeous.
There is so much to consider in all of this holding. Or so much it has made me consider anyway. And it occurs to me that when confronted with a person grieving and you are confounded by what to say, or not, that "you have so much to hold" would be a way of acknowledging the weight of their grief, and perhaps offering something that brings forth that you understand what it is to hold so much weight and that you're there but without saying all of those words that just cannot do much in that situation.
As always Devin, thank you so much for this in-depth study...it gives me pause and time for reflection on a gray rainy Sunday morning when it should be cold and snowing...
Thank you for this beautiful meditation on holding ~ wonderful way to begin a Sunday ❤️
This beautiful reflection reminded me also of a poem by Andrea Gibson, especially these lines:
That every falling leaf is a tiny kite
with a string too small to see, held
by the part of me in charge
of making beauty
out of grief.
I'm fortunate to live in a place where the season of falling leaves lasts a little longer than most, and I think I'll join this game, from afar, without any intention of keeping score. If the past year was filled with immeasurable grief, both seen and unseen, I pray the year to come is filled with more than enough holding to carry us through it. Your writing-and all poetry, really-gives me hope.
The other day, my daughter said, while we were walking up the stairs, “I wish you had three arms so you could hold more” — I wonder how many more leaves you could catch with three hands
What a lovely post to begin my day.
When I work with my Reiki clients I often encourage them to open to the energy and let go of whatever holding is creating such tension and anxiety in their bodies. We have a natural tendency toward all sorts of holding- holding back, holding forth, holding on, holding and waiting for the next thing. This poem and discussion has opened my view of holding to include all the good things we can hold- love, tenderness, joy, compassion, holding space for each other. My narrative suggestions in a session will now include a recognition of these as well.
❣️Thank you!
Beautiful.
I admit, I'm curious about how this leaf catching game came to be!