I am the mother I am, but not mothering my child, but myself. I would remind myself that perfection is false and humility is real. All of us are fragile, fallible and forgivable. And I am allowed to be coddled, to fail and I will always be loved and forgiven. I am not only the child of my hard parents, who were afraid of life, but I am also the child of the wild Divine, who calls out to us to live, to dance, to sing, and to love everyone, even myself.
The last year and a half, two years have been especially difficult. The death of my beloved husband has left me feeling adrift, alone, and anxious. It was a second marriage for me and a third for him. He was 22 years my senior, so I knew in my head that it was likely I would outlive him but my heart felt like somehow we would have many more years together. We spent most waking hours together. He was such a good friend! I think the voice I speak to myself is the one that has lived for 66 years, that has experienced love as something shared, that has experienced the gift of companionship of like minds, that felt what it was to know that the relationship is the gift you give to each other.
“Of course you are sad! You feel alone because you are alone. I think I would say it’s okay to feel all the ways you do, to be patient with yourself as you wake each day and try to keep living. Take little steps as you can. Be patient with yourself.”
Thank you Pádraig for the gift of Poetry Unbound and this newsletter. I have enjoyed reading other people’s comments. Often the poems and the comments have touched me so deeply and helped me navigate this difficult time.
I would go back to my younger, more intense, more attached self and tell her: You can control only your thoughts and actions, never the outcome. Do your bit with honesty and good intent. Yes, for sure give matters your best effort, so there are no regrets for not having tried enough. But then walk away. Don’t linger on in the hope of influencing outcomes. Let the universe’s plan unfold, and let destiny take its course. For you cannot control results any more than you can control your birth or death. And whatever happens when it happens, is what should happen then, in the grand scheme of things. You might not see it now, because you are too attached to your own narrow perspective. But when you look back in time (like I do now), you will realize it all makes sense. Shed tears but don’t let your heart shatter. Take care, stay happy and in gratitude.
During covid lockdown, I loved getting voice notes from friends. I'd listen back to my own recorded reply to check for mistakes. My voice seemed to be more comforting, engaging, kinder from the speaker of a phone. This is how I would choose to speak to myself. What would it say? It would probably comment on the weather or pile of laundry, or some mundane every day thing that connects us all.
Firstly, I am a Luddite and don’t see any zoom links for your book launch… Will you be posting them later or am I missing something?
Secondly, I just wanted to tell you what joy/inspiration/wonder/giddiness! your work has brought to my life since discovering you, way back when, on Krista‘s show. I have listened deeply to every poem you have disseminated, and have discovered so many poets as a result. You have a gift, and an ability to reach heights, in a poem that I am unsure the poets themselves have reached. I have found such Solace in going back into Poetry Unbound again and again to hear some of my favorites and hear your dulcet tones !😀. Thank you for bringing your gifts to the world and sharing so generously.
I wish for you all that you deserve!
As my scouse Dad would say, T ‘da well…😅 Jane from Montreal
Good morning! And thank you for this prompt, it's fantastic.
I think that if my younger self caught a glimpse of me now, he would think I had turned into something a lot colder than previously expected. However, I would want to encourage him to face reality in a more graceful way. Accepting that sometimes you just have to grow up early and that's something you will be able to handle. I would tell him that even in a grief for childhood it’s important to stay steady because despite your circumstances, we will be able to handle the reality of what happens to us with grace. It’s okay to be late. It’s okay that you are sick for a while because I was here the whole time for you to wake up and get back on your feet. I won’t rush you because adults shouldn’t drag children past their abilities too soon. Once you’re able to stand I will be just around every corner to lead you forward. Sure, I’m winging it too, but I’m a little surer of foot than I used to be.
What voice would I choose to speak with, and what’s one thing that voice would say? Me speaking to me speaking back to me. There is a short series of podcasts called the Long Time Academy, six episodes in total with a few reflective exercises along the way. And one of the first exercises asks you to reflect upon the oldest person you knew when you were a child, and the youngest person you know now. And to reflect upon when the oldest person was 9, and when the youngest person will be 100. And in this way you frame a 200 year present for yourself - in every sense of that powerful word.
This is a long-winded way of introducing the fact that some years ago, I framed my own life present by writing a letter to my 11 year old self, replying to that letter, and also receiving a letter from my 80 year old self. I read back over those letters in response to this week’s prompt from Pádraig. My sense of it is that there is a voice waiting to be chosen by me all the time - it is always there. I don’t always speak with it - for all sorts of reasons that I think readers here will instinctively intuit. And that voice is one which I think John Astin has described beautifully - “what you truly are has never had an argument with life, you have always been in love with this.”
Across all three time points, it is a voice that cradles wonder; like that line from Emily Dickinson - “Our pace took sudden awe / Our feet reluctant led.” In other words, it is a voice evoking that wordless sense you get when staring at stars on an ice cold, clear sky which wants to stay in that moment for ever, yet knows that other wonderful, awe-some things await that you cannot imagine nor conceive there and then.
And I think that’s one thing I have said, say, and will say again to myself - there are times you will want to plunge the oars and row, there are times when you need to do that. But for your sake - for heaven’s sake, for all our sakes - don’t forget to pull the oars in from time to time, dip your fingers gently in the river water, and breathe.
I wish to hear the voice of the girl who wandered the woods as a twelve year old w her Irish Setter. She knew when pussy willows and trillium bloomed. Watched ducks land on the pond. Saw/felt light and wind in the maples. I would like her to ask where the wild exists in this now grandmother being.
So much of my healing has come from changing my inner dialogue about my younger self to one of love and compassion. I hadn’t thought of it until reading this that I sometimes think “what would my younger self think of me now?” The answer which always arises (from my younger self) is that I would be proud (which always surprises me). Unfortunately I seem to be filled with panic for my older self- mostly because “that’ll be a problem for future Deborah” is one of my favourite phrases. Thank you for such a thoughtful prompt!
This voice would say to me "Take a good loving look at your own flaws and temptations. Yes they are yours. They may appear to be waiting like faux lost lovers ready to bring you down, but they are great lessons in disguise. Treat them with a sweet neutrality. Give them a wide berth to earn your sustaining love. Now put them to good work."
Padraig, your invitation here calls to mind John O'Donohue's lines 'If you remain generous, Time will come good' from his wonderful poem "This is the Time to be Slow". I'm thinking he uses the future tense meaning Time as a summation of all Time. If we remain "generous" even at the most challenging moments, then time will become Expansive Time and prove redemptive through our ability to soften and do the most tender things at the toughest moments. It takes an elastic and tender yet steadfast voice with ourselves and with others. Were that so simple.....but making time and space for ourselves gives us a recipe for starting the process.
How curious, I wrote a comment, response, and just before finishing, accidentally side-swiped the words to the right, and all disappeared. I’ll do this once more.
Hi, everyone, as though we are all part of an orchestra. As I am about to turn 75, I wish to step back to a younger self and salute his determination and courage. You see, back in junior high school I was asked to play baritone in our all-city band. Not because of my playing skills, but because baritone players were so rare. One day in rehearsal a high school band leader was standing behind me. He noticed something about my playing that no one else had recognized. Reading sheet music never made any sense to me. I enjoyed improvisation and “winging it”. This band leader stopped the rehearsal, pointed to my music stand, and said “play that music”. I couldn’t. At the end of rehearsal, a student from my school met me at the door and said ‘I hope you know you’ve embarrassed the whole school”.
Needless to say that was the end of my school band career. I picked up the blues harmonica, and went my own way. Years later my improvisation path led to playing Native American style flutes in our local hospitals. In 2016 I was invited to Palestine to join with other musicians from around the world to play concerts in many Palestinian cities. Quite an honor.
So, I look back to that young lad leaving that all-city band rehearsal and with my arm around his/my shoulder say “you’ve a special gift, a way of playing music that is lovely, unique, full of heart and courage, and I am grateful for your decision to play the harmonica and take a different path. Bravo, my friend!” 🏮
I have trouble sleeping. I wake up spinning on a conversation or an event (real or imagined). Sometimes I add worry about how terrible the next day will be because I was awake. Helpful right?
One day I realized I could talk to myself like I do when my kids wake up worried in the middle of the night. When I wake up now I call myself sweetheart. “Hey, sweetheart. What’s on your mind?” It was awkward at first. More often now I enjoy the quiet time and the kindness I can give myself.
I've cultivated a practice for the past eight years or so where, when I need some kind words for my soul, I imagine myself sitting beside myself on a park bench. When I imagine that place and myself in it, I speak to myself as a friend. In that setting, I find I can speak without judgement and with comfort, compassion, and love. For me, it's not just the voice of friend, but the imagining and envisioning of this encounter that s key to finding and hearing the words of solace I need. My default inner voice in my day to day life is rather judgmental, so when I feel burdened by that voice, I remember that I am capable of kinder words, too. Then I go sit with myself on a bench.
Hey buddy, that little
Softness in your belly
No need to cover it up
It will fade with time
And then return
No matter.
Count it as a gift
A reminder that above and beneath
The muscle is the soft
You, the precious one
Open to grace, cherished
By the divine, worthy
At your core.
I am the mother I am, but not mothering my child, but myself. I would remind myself that perfection is false and humility is real. All of us are fragile, fallible and forgivable. And I am allowed to be coddled, to fail and I will always be loved and forgiven. I am not only the child of my hard parents, who were afraid of life, but I am also the child of the wild Divine, who calls out to us to live, to dance, to sing, and to love everyone, even myself.
The last year and a half, two years have been especially difficult. The death of my beloved husband has left me feeling adrift, alone, and anxious. It was a second marriage for me and a third for him. He was 22 years my senior, so I knew in my head that it was likely I would outlive him but my heart felt like somehow we would have many more years together. We spent most waking hours together. He was such a good friend! I think the voice I speak to myself is the one that has lived for 66 years, that has experienced love as something shared, that has experienced the gift of companionship of like minds, that felt what it was to know that the relationship is the gift you give to each other.
“Of course you are sad! You feel alone because you are alone. I think I would say it’s okay to feel all the ways you do, to be patient with yourself as you wake each day and try to keep living. Take little steps as you can. Be patient with yourself.”
Thank you Pádraig for the gift of Poetry Unbound and this newsletter. I have enjoyed reading other people’s comments. Often the poems and the comments have touched me so deeply and helped me navigate this difficult time.
Thank you for another beautiful share…
I would go back to my younger, more intense, more attached self and tell her: You can control only your thoughts and actions, never the outcome. Do your bit with honesty and good intent. Yes, for sure give matters your best effort, so there are no regrets for not having tried enough. But then walk away. Don’t linger on in the hope of influencing outcomes. Let the universe’s plan unfold, and let destiny take its course. For you cannot control results any more than you can control your birth or death. And whatever happens when it happens, is what should happen then, in the grand scheme of things. You might not see it now, because you are too attached to your own narrow perspective. But when you look back in time (like I do now), you will realize it all makes sense. Shed tears but don’t let your heart shatter. Take care, stay happy and in gratitude.
During covid lockdown, I loved getting voice notes from friends. I'd listen back to my own recorded reply to check for mistakes. My voice seemed to be more comforting, engaging, kinder from the speaker of a phone. This is how I would choose to speak to myself. What would it say? It would probably comment on the weather or pile of laundry, or some mundane every day thing that connects us all.
The paper, crumpled words in,
Would unfold petal by petal;
Her song of myself would lilt,
Note by fridgid note - a wail,
Against the tide that rushed
Tucked her in. Burried up to her neck,
In the weight of experience.
Someone should here my little cry Shouldn't they? Even if it was just me coming to check on her;
and carefully crouching down,
Peeling the layers of shared tears,
To read her a bedtime story.
Hello Pádraig!
I am writing for 2 reasons…
Firstly, I am a Luddite and don’t see any zoom links for your book launch… Will you be posting them later or am I missing something?
Secondly, I just wanted to tell you what joy/inspiration/wonder/giddiness! your work has brought to my life since discovering you, way back when, on Krista‘s show. I have listened deeply to every poem you have disseminated, and have discovered so many poets as a result. You have a gift, and an ability to reach heights, in a poem that I am unsure the poets themselves have reached. I have found such Solace in going back into Poetry Unbound again and again to hear some of my favorites and hear your dulcet tones !😀. Thank you for bringing your gifts to the world and sharing so generously.
I wish for you all that you deserve!
As my scouse Dad would say, T ‘da well…😅 Jane from Montreal
Good morning! And thank you for this prompt, it's fantastic.
I think that if my younger self caught a glimpse of me now, he would think I had turned into something a lot colder than previously expected. However, I would want to encourage him to face reality in a more graceful way. Accepting that sometimes you just have to grow up early and that's something you will be able to handle. I would tell him that even in a grief for childhood it’s important to stay steady because despite your circumstances, we will be able to handle the reality of what happens to us with grace. It’s okay to be late. It’s okay that you are sick for a while because I was here the whole time for you to wake up and get back on your feet. I won’t rush you because adults shouldn’t drag children past their abilities too soon. Once you’re able to stand I will be just around every corner to lead you forward. Sure, I’m winging it too, but I’m a little surer of foot than I used to be.
What voice would I choose to speak with, and what’s one thing that voice would say? Me speaking to me speaking back to me. There is a short series of podcasts called the Long Time Academy, six episodes in total with a few reflective exercises along the way. And one of the first exercises asks you to reflect upon the oldest person you knew when you were a child, and the youngest person you know now. And to reflect upon when the oldest person was 9, and when the youngest person will be 100. And in this way you frame a 200 year present for yourself - in every sense of that powerful word.
This is a long-winded way of introducing the fact that some years ago, I framed my own life present by writing a letter to my 11 year old self, replying to that letter, and also receiving a letter from my 80 year old self. I read back over those letters in response to this week’s prompt from Pádraig. My sense of it is that there is a voice waiting to be chosen by me all the time - it is always there. I don’t always speak with it - for all sorts of reasons that I think readers here will instinctively intuit. And that voice is one which I think John Astin has described beautifully - “what you truly are has never had an argument with life, you have always been in love with this.”
Across all three time points, it is a voice that cradles wonder; like that line from Emily Dickinson - “Our pace took sudden awe / Our feet reluctant led.” In other words, it is a voice evoking that wordless sense you get when staring at stars on an ice cold, clear sky which wants to stay in that moment for ever, yet knows that other wonderful, awe-some things await that you cannot imagine nor conceive there and then.
And I think that’s one thing I have said, say, and will say again to myself - there are times you will want to plunge the oars and row, there are times when you need to do that. But for your sake - for heaven’s sake, for all our sakes - don’t forget to pull the oars in from time to time, dip your fingers gently in the river water, and breathe.
I wish to hear the voice of the girl who wandered the woods as a twelve year old w her Irish Setter. She knew when pussy willows and trillium bloomed. Watched ducks land on the pond. Saw/felt light and wind in the maples. I would like her to ask where the wild exists in this now grandmother being.
So much of my healing has come from changing my inner dialogue about my younger self to one of love and compassion. I hadn’t thought of it until reading this that I sometimes think “what would my younger self think of me now?” The answer which always arises (from my younger self) is that I would be proud (which always surprises me). Unfortunately I seem to be filled with panic for my older self- mostly because “that’ll be a problem for future Deborah” is one of my favourite phrases. Thank you for such a thoughtful prompt!
This voice would say to me "Take a good loving look at your own flaws and temptations. Yes they are yours. They may appear to be waiting like faux lost lovers ready to bring you down, but they are great lessons in disguise. Treat them with a sweet neutrality. Give them a wide berth to earn your sustaining love. Now put them to good work."
Padraig, your invitation here calls to mind John O'Donohue's lines 'If you remain generous, Time will come good' from his wonderful poem "This is the Time to be Slow". I'm thinking he uses the future tense meaning Time as a summation of all Time. If we remain "generous" even at the most challenging moments, then time will become Expansive Time and prove redemptive through our ability to soften and do the most tender things at the toughest moments. It takes an elastic and tender yet steadfast voice with ourselves and with others. Were that so simple.....but making time and space for ourselves gives us a recipe for starting the process.
How curious, I wrote a comment, response, and just before finishing, accidentally side-swiped the words to the right, and all disappeared. I’ll do this once more.
Hi, everyone, as though we are all part of an orchestra. As I am about to turn 75, I wish to step back to a younger self and salute his determination and courage. You see, back in junior high school I was asked to play baritone in our all-city band. Not because of my playing skills, but because baritone players were so rare. One day in rehearsal a high school band leader was standing behind me. He noticed something about my playing that no one else had recognized. Reading sheet music never made any sense to me. I enjoyed improvisation and “winging it”. This band leader stopped the rehearsal, pointed to my music stand, and said “play that music”. I couldn’t. At the end of rehearsal, a student from my school met me at the door and said ‘I hope you know you’ve embarrassed the whole school”.
Needless to say that was the end of my school band career. I picked up the blues harmonica, and went my own way. Years later my improvisation path led to playing Native American style flutes in our local hospitals. In 2016 I was invited to Palestine to join with other musicians from around the world to play concerts in many Palestinian cities. Quite an honor.
So, I look back to that young lad leaving that all-city band rehearsal and with my arm around his/my shoulder say “you’ve a special gift, a way of playing music that is lovely, unique, full of heart and courage, and I am grateful for your decision to play the harmonica and take a different path. Bravo, my friend!” 🏮
I have trouble sleeping. I wake up spinning on a conversation or an event (real or imagined). Sometimes I add worry about how terrible the next day will be because I was awake. Helpful right?
One day I realized I could talk to myself like I do when my kids wake up worried in the middle of the night. When I wake up now I call myself sweetheart. “Hey, sweetheart. What’s on your mind?” It was awkward at first. More often now I enjoy the quiet time and the kindness I can give myself.
I've cultivated a practice for the past eight years or so where, when I need some kind words for my soul, I imagine myself sitting beside myself on a park bench. When I imagine that place and myself in it, I speak to myself as a friend. In that setting, I find I can speak without judgement and with comfort, compassion, and love. For me, it's not just the voice of friend, but the imagining and envisioning of this encounter that s key to finding and hearing the words of solace I need. My default inner voice in my day to day life is rather judgmental, so when I feel burdened by that voice, I remember that I am capable of kinder words, too. Then I go sit with myself on a bench.
The paddle splashed
Dank MIssouri river water
I squirmed.
Too scared to scream
Eyes floating in tears
Trust awash.
Amused, you presumed
A father’s prerogative
Forgetting me.
Decades have flown
Still frozen
Breath suspended.
Now, too
I’m atop your lap
Teddy clutched tightly.
You tickle my ribs.
I squirm
Wiggling to be free.
Giggling in unison
Tears forming
Father and son!