Sometimes, the things that help the most with self care are the things we’ve forgotten that we loved to do or make.
What have you forgotten?
As I continue to search for avenues of self-care whether he is at home, or on work-ups or deployed, whether the kids are screaming or playing happily in the back yard, whether the house is a mess or looks like Martha Stewart’s (ok that never happens)…
Two things I keep returning to are poetry and the moments of my childhood when I was outside and feeling completely alive. Maybe that was playing deep into the dusk with my feet sinking deep into the green grass. Or maybe it was standing by the pond near my house watching the rain fall.
This poem came in a moment when I stopped and took a moment for that self-care. I slipped outside on a raining evening and these words came:
I remember standing on the dock
of our pond
Soaking—drenched watching the rain pour down.
The water, usually placid, chopped up by
Bomb-drops of water
Making thousands of ripple circles upon the surface
Each sporadic and distinct but giving way
To new separate and distinct circles
That were all somehow rippling into one another
In an energy nothing short of madness
But made visual in beautiful precision.
Magic—the meeting of energy and freeze frame
The surface changing each and every second
As new waves of raindrops pounded down
I stood at once quiet and completely opened up
Ripped wide to the dance of creation around me
Connecting me to the dance of creation within
I remember the world making sense in those moments
A quiet momentary kind of sense.
My mind conscious only to the sound of the rain
And the ripples lapping and pooling
Into one another
In ever changing glory
I stood there so young. Feeling
So very old and wise.
Now some twenty years later as I
Listen to the rain fall
I muse that it is a kind of wisdom
That I have missed.
Rarely stilling long enough
Or turning my face to the rain drops
And ripples all around me with enough presence
To see the ever changing stage of the water
Or to know the knowing
Found in Raindrops on a pond.
What have you forgotten?
As I continue to search for avenues of self-care whether he is at home, or on work-ups or deployed, whether the kids are screaming or playing happily in the back yard, whether the house is a mess or looks like Martha Stewart’s (ok that never happens)…
Two things I keep returning to are poetry and the moments of my childhood when I was outside and feeling completely alive. Maybe that was playing deep into the dusk with my feet sinking deep into the green grass. Or maybe it was standing by the pond near my house watching the rain fall.
This poem came in a moment when I stopped and took a moment for that self-care. I slipped outside on a raining evening and these words came:
I remember standing on the dock
of our pond
Soaking—drenched watching the rain pour down.
The water, usually placid, chopped up by
Bomb-drops of water
Making thousands of ripple circles upon the surface
Each sporadic and distinct but giving way
To new separate and distinct circles
That were all somehow rippling into one another
In an energy nothing short of madness
But made visual in beautiful precision.
Magic—the meeting of energy and freeze frame
The surface changing each and every second
As new waves of raindrops pounded down
I stood at once quiet and completely opened up
Ripped wide to the dance of creation around me
Connecting me to the dance of creation within
I remember the world making sense in those moments
A quiet momentary kind of sense.
My mind conscious only to the sound of the rain
And the ripples lapping and pooling
Into one another
In ever changing glory
I stood there so young. Feeling
So very old and wise.
Now some twenty years later as I
Listen to the rain fall
I muse that it is a kind of wisdom
That I have missed.
Rarely stilling long enough
Or turning my face to the rain drops
And ripples all around me with enough presence
To see the ever changing stage of the water
Or to know the knowing
Found in Raindrops on a pond.
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