Tell Me Something Good

When life rattles my timbers and storms down hurting so hard
that my peace gets swallowed up in mudslides of un-helpful thinking,
it’s become just shy of muscle memory,  this practice,
that throws open the windows of my heart
and lets the bad air out.

It started years ago while driving down the road with my husband,
the silence between us thick with a heavy worry.
I squeezed hard on the wheel and breathed aloud “tell me something good.”
He laughed and offered something – I don’t remember what.
Then I dug in and hurled into the space another something true – something balm to my heart.
Out louder – back and forth – we lobbed truth until the atmosphere
shifted and our thoughts settled into a clearwater place.

It became a thing,
sprung up maybe from a practice I’d been cultivating
of having a sit with God over whatever was brewing in my brain.
I’d get quiet,  drop down to that still place inside,  and begin to write out
whatever bubbled up from the deep.
Sometimes what landed on the page felt like gift and gold;
going back over the pages years later still feels like superfood for my soul.

So I have a big love for this practice.
Most of what I write comes from this place.
(big distinction between this rivery process and toxic positivity,
which feels like death
and doesn’t seem to grow a thing.
Like malnourished dirt.)

 Been growing up in my garden these past years
and feels ripe and ready to harvest.
I want to tell you something good,
to splash hope and healing all over bites of art soaked in love
and send them straight to the heart of you
where coals of hope may need breeze to flow brisk across the embers
until you’re standing up taller inside yourself,
and feeling more seen,  more included,
more brave in your breathing
for the deepest and dearest that you dare to dream.

Oh how I want to acknowledge you,
to tap into the big and seeing Love that sings over you sweet
and let it pass through my paints and pens and poetry,
then pass you the love-note
across the great big wide.
To let it land in your box like a gift from your future
calling back that the view from up ahead
is something that you’re gonna want to see
so lean into the wind
and hold tight to
the Love –
that you’re held,
and valued
and seen.

To hold the door for you to feel it,  bones and breath,
that this Love is looking and listening
to the faintest thought and thump of your heart;
that there’s no indifference to your place and pain.
To pass a note of warm embrace
and to hold space for the journey that is exactly and only yours.
With love and celebration.

(happy whisper)
Tell Me Something Good
– also the title of my book in the works
and looks to be available by Christmas.

“First I would write for you a poem
to be shouted into the teeth of a strong wind.”
– Carl Sandburg

I’m offering up these Tell Me Something Good bundles in my etsy shop,
and in a giveaway this week;
leave a comment and you’re in the hat:)
I’ll be sending a bundle out to Rebecca this week from last post’s drawing – geesh sorry it’s taken so long!

Always thanks  for coming around and acknowledging.
I appreciate your presence here.

 

sipping gentle medicine…

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Sometimes I wrestle  should I tone down the joy,
put a lid  on it because it might seem to disrespect
the pain that blanches another soul scraped on the thorns of living,
or heap on heavier the despair
or maybe just annoy like a fly
or a trite quip when someone is grieving.

I feel it too,  the ache,
my own life rocky with disappointment so sharp
that I hold it white-knuckled,  the word I chose
(my word for this year ~ anyway)
and it’s because of that heart-limp that I dig my heels in stubborn
and choose to joy all the more.

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I want to notice the flecks of softness shining in hard places
and drop quickly down,  cupping the dirt
and let it hold my gaze
until it strengthens what goes wobbly in me,
because joy is strong medicine
and when you hold her up to the light
she has the look of her mother,
courage,

and that’s why I search through the crowd for it,
make space for it,
circle it defiant,   protective,
as if it were a baby seal
stalked by men with clubs
intent on claiming it’s hide,

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because  I don’t want to let the harsh glare of living
force my eyes shut to the beauty
or steal away my joy;
it’s the gentle tug of healing balm that keeps this love alive.

I want to help grow your joy,  too,
so I’m having a giveaway this week,
some handmade joy-tending art
and handwritten love from me to you
Just leave a comment and you’re in to win.
i’ll draw a name next Easter Monday.  with joy:)

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“First,  I would like to write for you a poem
to be shouted into the teeth of a strong wind…”
-Carl Sandburg