Excerpts

When I used to write with pen and paper (yes, I am that old!) I used to say that my pen had taken a walk. A voice in my head would utter the words and I would take dictation. That is how I would write. Usually, there would be something behind the voice, an experience, a word, an image that would be so compelling that it would pour out of the pen like gooey liquid, filling the spaces between the lines. Only in the quiet could I hear the voice speak and only then would I grab something, a newspaper, a napkin, lipstick, anything that I could write with. It would be compelling and fleeting.

I have that sensation now, right now. I cannot sleep until I finish here. There is something that needs to be expressed. Not like an answer, more like a question or an observation.

In 1992 I wrote, Its amazing how much I learn from helping someone else sort out their difficulties. Its like my own light bulbs go onwhat I call the AHA way of learning. Their discovery becomes mine as well. Life is full of these little, major discoveries sun breaks of clarity usually brought on by clouds of confusion.

For every conversation I have, there is a point in which I shift. There is openness, a paying attention to what the language expresses, even as the underlying may be inexpressible. A combination of intuition and pragmatism asserts itself. What would it be like if all of us would be open to our own intuition, not to the exclusion of the pragmatic, but more as an adjunct to it? How would our decisions be different? Why do we seek to justify with data when our hearts tell us the truth? Can a heart lie? I suppose it depends on the hearts ability to express and the individuals openness to listen. I dont know.

As distinct as the individuals I coach, so appear the conversations. But stop, look beyond the words, and I find similarities, the basis for our humanity. There are stories, so many stories. There are emotions, so many emotions. There is poetry in each individual. Discovery, acceptance, forgiveness, right action, brazenness, courage, love, disappointment, compassion, everything!

I am blessed. I know that. I am privileged to share in the lives of others and be witness to the breaking open of so many cocoons. I must acknowledge and thank all who have contributed to the experience of my life.

So perhaps between lines of poetry and the subtle sounds of the AHA moments, there is a coalescence of what it is to be human. And here I am, witness to that, needing to thank you for allowing me to be in the space between the clouds of confusion and the sun breaks of clarity.

You will read this and I will be on that island in Maine, listening to the harsh breaking of the waves on rocks carved by a lifetime of power. I will be sitting atop one of those large rocks overlooking the ocean, spray in my face and only the cries of the gulls to interfere with my thoughts.

Later today, I sat listening to Sarah McLachlan, quietly sipping my coffee. I listened to the words and replayed the CD several times. I surrendered to the music, closing my eyes and imagining the music rocking me gently. I rose only to put another favorite CD into the player, Dido. She sang, "If my life is for rent, and I don’t learn to buy, I deserve nothing more than I get, because nothing I have is truly mine." In a way, I see how this is true for me. I am here, for a minute period in "time", borrowing the things I have or believed I acquired in this lifetime. I realize that what truly belongs to me is not outside me, it is inside me. It is who I am in the world, the relationships I have, and the difference I may make for an individual in our time here. I had forgotten what it was like for me to listen to beautiful music, not in the background, but as the focus of my non-activity. I so wish that I could do this more often; that is if I had time...

Last night, when the house was dark and quiet, I lay in my bed reading a book of poetry by Mary Oliver, "Why I wake early". She is one of my favorite poets. Her ability to see the extraordinary in our ordinary activities, like waking each morning, or putting flowers in a vase, or finding an arrowhead during her walk, inspires me to pay attention to the world around me now. It reminds me to savor all of it, with all my senses, to drink in life, all of it, even the uncomfortable. I was content, reading in the quiet, lost in the world of Oliver’s poetry, and wondered how I could do this more often. How I would enjoy quietly reading poetry for the sake of the poetry itself. I remember as I child how often I would enter my imagination, through music or prose or poetry or walks along the shore – and I would do so if I had time...

This afternoon, my son and husband ventured off island while I remained behind, to write this essay. I took a short break to make myself a late lunch. I made my lunch with great purpose, carefully picking out what food I would eat and how I might prepare it. There was no rush, and because of this I savored the meal, eating slowly. Normally I may read the paper or do something else between bites, but not today. Today on the porch I ate slowly and deliberately, imagining that this food, carefully prepared, would nourish me as much from the ingredients as the manner in which it was prepared. And I thought, wouldn’t it be nice if each day I could take a break and thoughtfully prepare my food and my activities, with great purpose and with the intention of having all my moments nourish me – that is, if I had time...