“It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway
into thanks, and a silence in which another voice may speak.”
Today marks the 1-year anniversary since my mentor and teacher transitioned out of this life. Not a day has gone by that I don’t think of him.
Sometimes life synchronistically aligns events to support our healing. I was graciously invited back to share a spoken word poem with a Grief and Loss group on my reflections from the last year navigating life with grief now interwoven within its fabric.
I remember taking Mark on a hike deep in the Redwoods. As we crested the top of a climb, he stopped to catch his breath and slowly turned his body to each of the four cardinal directions. At each angle, he stood like a sturdy tower, hands open, smiling with his eyes closed. Listening. Tuning in.
“Each direction has a specific energy,” he explained. “It is important to take the time to feel the energy of each direction."
As I layer this story into a spoken word poem, rich with symbolism and nuanced meaning, I find myself crying and missing him and listening and patching these words together in the best way I know how. In the past year there were moments where I’ve felt discombobulated without my teacher, but somehow, miraculously, new teachers and role models have entered my life from all directions, each with a different and special energy.
The writing process has become a doorway that Mark has left ajar, inviting me to step into through poetry, where he has been waiting on the other side all along.