awakening, Kairos, music, Personal Experiences

Many Things In March, Including Casimir Pulaski Day

Ah, March.  Just a few trots into the new year, March for me is the month where seedling plans, thoughts, and impressions of a new cycle are allowed to germinate.  The frenetic pace of holidays and birthdays (all in quick succession), normalizes and a new pace settles in.  In March I can breath, I can think, and I can focus (for the most part) on not just doing and getting through, but actually living in the minutes.   The days begin to steal back their daylight…. There is hope for a thaw, and there are promised baby breaths of spring.

March is national women’s history month, sometimes Easter, sometimes Purim and Passover. We get the ides of March, St. Patrick’s day, and I’m sure all over, gyms luxuriate in the getting of new revenue brought by new memberships.  March is the month that a seventeen year old me saw the other side of the world.  In March of 1994, I went to France with my classmates and came home changed.  But while there, I couldn’t believe the beauty of the landscape of France. It was chilled some days with the wind of early spring.  The hills and brambles were covered and twisted with the brown deadened vines of the previous year, and dusted with infant leaves and buds of the new.  I attributed all of this beauty to France.  What I’ve realized in the years after, is that the beauty I was witnessing did not belong only to France, but belongs to the beauty of spring everywhere, which March ushers in.

March is the month in which just last year I left all I’d ever known of nursing, to pursue a dream that died hard. But soon the ability to dream (in a new way) was realized….was revived.  And last but certainly most obscure, March gives us Casimir Pulaski Day.  Casimir Pulaski Day– a day that honors an obscure a polish war hero– a holiday of which I’d never heard until I heard the song with the same title by Sufjan Stevens.  It (the song) share’s March’s grappling with death and life and transformation and in frozen turn of life, steals back some daylight for itself.  Welcome March, bring us your promises, and your intimacy with the infinite cycle of living.

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Being a poet, discernment, Humanity, the color of moments

No More Politics. Just the Prophetic Poetry of Bob Dylan

We are all capable of hypocrisy.  What’s infuriating about politicians is that they act as if they are not. In their activities there’s always someone else to burn down, someone else’s character to examine, someone else to hold up as the sum of all evil among the opposite,  and there is an alarming lack of self reflection and humility–an alarming amount of self promotion as the sole bearer of light and potential.  Yet the scroll of surprising offenses from the present continues to unroll.  And as the scroll unfolds and the offenses jump off the page, the sick perspective that individuals should be born onto the scene as perfectly evolved specimens with no flaws is tiresome and perpetuated ad nauseum.

So keep your heads friends, as you ponder the impending political vortex of 2020. The humans setting out to claim their qualification for presidency are just that…. humans. And if they claim to alone hold the answers–to alone be worthy of holding the torch to light the way, well, there is something to be very, very, weary of regardless of their party affiliation.  I’ve struggled to align with any one political identity because of these things.  I think I’m finally ok to accept and proclaim that I put more hope in the prophetic poetry of Bob Dylan than in any one iota uttered by any one politician.  Keep your heads friends. Propaganda, all is phony.

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awakening, Being a nurse, Being a poet, creative non-fiction, Essays, Personal Experiences

Happy Nurses Week

I wrote this poem in April, while taking part in NaPoWriMo 2018,  in examen of two different supposed dichotomous “identities” of my life: being a poet and being a nurse. For most of my time in healthcare, I’ve never felt like I could have a tender poet-side AND be strong nurse. I’ve felt silly for having a side that wasn’t evidenced-based or life-saving or practical. But lately, I have come to know that the most hidden, most tender parts about a person are also the parts that make them brilliant at what they do, and help them be present to the people they care for. The tender and hidden parts are the parts that whisper for you to pause in what could be a life changing moment. I have seen those parts shine through on the faces, in the hearts, and within the actions of the nurses I have worked alongside during my nearly eleven years being a nurse.  So guess what guys, you are all poets and you didn’t know it! Or maybe you do know and you embrace it.  That would be even better…..

On Being A Nurse

Eyes in the interstitial

Holding space for the untouchable

Fine tuning intuition with what lives and breaths

See, hear, smell, palpate, seek

Peer into physiology

All senses keening

Flourish the world with healing.

Intuit the liminal

Hold space for the unnamble

See. Hear. Smell. Palpate. Seek

Peering onto the world’s underbelly

All senses keening

Flourish the world with prophecy

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