Finding Our Light Once Again.

My darlings, I wanted to share with you a favorite poem of mine – from author Diane Glancy, and entitled, “Solar Eclipse.”

Her words have been a constant companion, hand-scrawled to a tattered paper and pinned to my ‘inspiration wall.’ I found it some time ago while leafing through my worries, and wondering if I’d ever find my way through.

Over these past few years, I’ve encountered the uncertainties associated with my medical condition. Each, representing a new paradigm, a massive shift, and the willingness to allow life to be ‘just as it is.’

And, it didn’t happen overnight – I can assure you. Growth is such a strange beast, isn’t it? With the tiniest of spurts here and there, and never quite as fast as we might wish.

But always, there *is* progress being made – an indiscernible something else helping us to once again find that light.

And, find that light – we shall.

Because, with each new morning we wake up, pin hope to our chest – extending these two arms to welcome the dawn.

Our lives are just this way, my darlings – a series of challenges and trials, a closing off and opening up again. It’s how our resilience is formed, and – it’s how we find our way through.

But more so, it’s how the spirit is formed – until even our shadow has substance.

Namaste, my loves ~ and, I do hope you’ll enjoy this morning’s passage.

Solar Eclipse

Each morning
I wake invisible.

I make a needle
from a porcupine quill,
sew feet to legs,
lift spine onto my thighs.

I put on my rib and collarbone.

I pin an ear to my head,
hear the waxwing’s yellow cry.
I open my mouth for purple berries,
stick on periwinkle eyes.

I almost know what it is to be seen.

My throat enlarges from anger.
I make a hand to hold my pain.

My heart a hole the size of the sun’s eclipse.
I push through the dark circle’s
tattered edge of light.

All day I struggle with one hair after another
until the moon moves from the face of the sun
and there is a strange light
as though from a kerosene lamp in a cabin.

I pun on a dress,
a shawl over my shoulders.

My threads knotted and scissors gleaming.

Now I know I am seen.
I have a shadow.

I extend my arms,
dance and chant in the sun’s new light.

I put a hat and coat on my shadow,
another larger dress.
I put on more shawls and blouses and underskirts
until even the shadow has substance.
― Diane Glancy

About

Tara Lemieux is a mindful wanderer, and faithful stargazer. Although she often appears to be listening with great care, rest assured she is most certainly‘forever lost in thought. She is an ardent explorer and lover of finding things previously undiscovered or at the very least mostly not-uncovered.

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