I have listened to Carolyn Myss’ recordings for a number of years. And though I don’t share all of her beliefs the same as she believes them, I have always had a deep awe of her ability to connect the dots from a myriad of spiritual, religious, and, philosophical learnings and weave them into cohesive teachings about managing the empowerment and disempowerment of our lives.
During her teachings of ‘Sacred Contracts’ and archetypal patterns, she relates the poet Emily Dickinson to the embodiment of the ‘Nature Child’ and ‘Lover’ archetypes. Now, I have never read any of Emily Dickinson, yet. And this being the internet age I could access the Googles, harvest a poem to back this point, and make myself appear to be quite the expert. But I won’t. Because I am not an expert; I am not an expert in art, poetry, writing …or anything else for that matter. Being an expert is not my goal here.
I write as a way of talking to myself. Of understanding.
My poetry exists because my mind is a swirl of words and possibilities, and I am riddled with distractibility. But, as I started to write my blog I found that rhyming slows my thoughts. The rhyme gives anchor from one word to the next, letting me organize my thoughts and point to some beauty I see or rhythm I am feeling. Not because I am trying to be a poet.
Since it was never my intention to become a writer, poet or anything of that sort I have never truly applied myself to the craft or culture. I did try at different times in my life to appreciate these things, but it never fit, the culture was a bit too correct and serious about itself. It pinched my soul for no good benefit.
But then some curious characters who do love these things got my attention, and I found myself drawn in and exposed to poets and writers whose words I actually resonated with.
Like Mary Oliver. Oh how I understand those words! Or maybe I don’t. But the way I read them makes me feel like someone out there understands how I see the world.
As I was recently re-listening to Carolyn Myss talk about how Emily Dickinson’s poems were breathtaking love letters to nature, I thought to myself; “Ah, like Mary Oliver.” as I remembered how this poem struck me in the gut, because she could perfectly describe the rapturous feeling of all those leaves.
I completely understood that!
I am extremely hesitant to want or claim the roles of writer, artist, or poet; because it all carries a lot of cultural and social expectations, an archetypal baggage that I am uncertain I want to carry.
But I do think that I can easily claim the roles of ‘nature child’ and ‘lover’. And ‘dot connector’ I live to connect dots. There are so many interesting dots to connect …and reconnect in this world.
I DON’T WANT TO BE DEMURE OR RESPECTABLE
From Blue Horses by Mary Oliver. Copyright 2014 by Mary Oliver.
I don’t want to be demure or respectable.
I was that way, asleep, for years.
That way, you forget too many important things.
How the little stones, even if you can’t hear them, are singing.
How the river can’t wait to get to the ocean and the sky, it’s been there before.
What traveling is that!
It is a joy to imagine such distances.
(Photo: Darla Dunn Bradford)
I could skip sleep for the next hundred years.
There is a fire in the lashes of my eyes.
It doesn’t matter where I am, it could be a small room.
The glimmer of gold Böhme saw on the kitchen pot
was missed by everyone else in the house.
Maybe the fire in my lashes is a reflection of that.
Why do I have so many thoughts, they are driving me crazy.
Why am I always going anywhere, instead of somewhere?
Listen to me or not, it hardly matters.
I’m not trying to be wise, that would be foolish.
I’m just chattering.
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