A warm, sharp light

A warm, sharp light

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Doves,

I have been silent for months and your kind questions and invitations to come back have been ignored. I’m sorry for the delay. We each go through times of abundance, mourning, reminiscence, moping, intellectual challenge, and for me, that often accompanies much reading and writing, and thus, blogging. We each, also, go through times of change, demand, action without contemplation, momentum, expanse, opportunity, survival, and anxiety. This year has been the latter for my life and I simply couldn’t give my heart or head much space to articulate or else I couldn’t keep up.

Newness: promotion at work (meaningful, frustrating, rural mental health programming, a bit of arts and education); my very own house (my very own father built); my sweet, four-whole-years-old daughter started pre-kindergarten; frequent travel (work, play); and a love I can’t even begin to describe. It’s been hard and many dreams I buried resurrected, scared the shit out of me, and came true. I’ve been stretched and stressed and I’m a bit smoother on the outside from all the sanding. I’m starting to open again, moving out of the JUMP! NOW! half year and into the darkness inside, which for me, is the only place I can find that warm, sharp light of poetry. And by poetry, I mean truth.

Thank you for reading, for opening with me, for bearing witness to my surrender and doubt and letting me feed your own curiosity and vulnerability. Remember, please, each of us is born with a gold heart. We die with that gold heart. There is nothing you can do to earn it or make it tin. Sometimes we glitter and shine our light in every heart beat. Hooray for happiness. But doves, my darlings, even when you don’t leave a trail of glitter and everything looks and feels rough and muddy in and around you, your heart stays gold. Hold it. Show it to someone. Never doubt the truth of your purpose, which is really and not at all simply, to be.

I am so grateful to have this space to show you my heart. Dare you show me yours?

As Dunbar said, “Come … you are welcome, welcome.”

Sarah

Invitation to Love

Come when the nights are bright with stars
Or come when the moon is mellow;
Come when the sun his golden bars
Drops on the hay-field yellow.
Come in the twilight soft and gray,
Come in the night or come in the day,
Come, O love, whene’er you may,
And you are welcome, welcome.

You are sweet, O Love, dear Love,
You are soft as the nesting dove.
Come to my heart and bring it to rest
As the bird flies home to its welcome nest.

Come when my heart is full of grief
Or when my heart is merry;
Come with the falling of the leaf
Or with the redd’ning cherry.
Come when the year’s first blossom blows,
Come when the summer gleams and glows,
Come with the winter’s drifting snows,
And you are welcome, welcome.

– Paul Laurence Dunbar

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