“Invitation”

I step in.

that鈥檚 how it begins.

One pinky toe dipped in wet paint.

then a foot. a hand. a body submerged.

I fall in.

that鈥檚 how it ends.

All my insides on the outside.

dressing a blank canvas.

It鈥檚 a mess.

I don鈥檛 try to clean it up.

I鈥檓 a mess.

I try hard to clean me up.

The artistry lands between the two.

like an exaggerated crack in the sidewalk.

Where we play four-square.

with slapping hands and mimicking smiles.

They are all stories.

like decoupaged life layers.

that we crawl under and cuddle beneath on blistery days.

This art is where I roar my life.

I鈥檝e been caged after all.

now I break the bars and pound the ground.

Here in expression we can make drumming sounds.

with beats that bleed a million colors.

This variation is holy.

I hope it鈥檚 not exclusive.

Like a burning bush.

the secrets of our life fan the creative flame.

I鈥檓 taking my shoes off and throwing them in the fire.

It will make the smoke rise.

We need more light. We need more signals. We need more shoes to throw in the fire.

Invitation.

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This song carried me through the entire length of this program鈥攖he ups and downs, the depth of the unknown, and the processing of uncovering what I never imagined. It reminds me that the journey of healing is a dive into the deep waters, submerging into the scary wonder of story. This song reminds me it’s okay to feel it all or nothing at all, and that there is land ahead鈥攁 place for me to plant my feet. This has been hopeful, a grounding sensation for me鈥攖hat after the depth comes a shore that will welcome me back to a home I’d forgotten.

Shores of White Sand
by Emmylou Harris

Here I go again
Back to that feeling
Of no worthy cause
To carry me on

‘Cause my hearts been skipping
Like a flat rock on water
And with each ripple
The further I’m gone

Some say I’m sinking
To the muddy bottom
But somehow I’m sailing
To shores of white sand

I feel it raining
And the crosswinds are changing
Blowing my chances
To make it alone

But should you get lonesome
And your child need a mother
Just look for my traces
On shores of white sand

Some say I’m sinking
To the muddy bottom
But somehow I’m sailing
To shores of white sand

Yes, some say I’m sinking
To the muddy bottom
But somehow I’m sailing
To shores of white sand

Some say I’m sinking
To the muddy bottom
But somehow I’m sailing
To shores of white sand

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First night on the island.
Tonight, I walked down to the water.
There is a trail way the leads to the Sound so mossy and enfolding, it surprises you.
All the sudden I was in a secret garden, clothed in green life and birch. I cried.
Awe.
I forgot how alive my soul becomes with nature, with quiet. My spirit naturally became very young as I skipped along the water, hugging the large drift wood, and smelling the sea.
Nostalgic.
There was even a clearing out in a meadow with grass taller then me, a large piece of wood laid there with flowers encircling. I went and laid upon it. covered. hidden. sky above. water and green beneath.
I heard, “he makes me lie down in green pastures. he restores my soul.”
Tears.
Worship.
Glory.
Gifts.
I felt God鈥檚 kindness towards me.聽Words are very small here.
I walked along the water, listening to the tide sing and sway.
I had conversations with the sea, the tipping moon, and shadowy sand.
I held broken clams, and rubbed the cold smoothness on my face.
Alive. I am alive.
Healing, and more tears.
I heard a sound like soft rain. It was not rain, but little amphipods hopping on seaweed. There were so many of them, a playful, liberated family. Laughing at their dance and noting our difference. I longed to be invited into their 聽 kelp world. I am too big.
I felt young and old, sweet and innocent, and unafraid.
Walking back towards the trees, I looked one more time at the water. I wasn’t alone.
A deer friend stood beside me. ‘when did you get here?’ I whispered.
A doe. She is sweet and brave, not surprised by my being there. She is small like a pre-adolescent girl whose body hasn鈥檛 grown into legs yet.
She is me. I am her.
Carrying with her a memory without pictures of who I was.
We stand together, looking at the water.
Friends that knew how to sit together without saying anything, saying everything.
God is here.
Absorbing the mystery.
My.Story.

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