Arrival, First Wave

Yesterday I arrived in Berkeley. What a journey! Leaving Canada on August 15, I crossed the border with my car loaded to the gills. My beloved plants were confiscated because I had no document to certify them free and clear of soil and plant disease or pests. Dang! Should have checked that out months ago. I decided to forgive myself. The car, which had been a potential bureaucratic nightmare, turned out to be straightforward, thanks to my guardian angels, earth-bound and heavenly! (You know who you are!)

Then I was on the road to Portland, where I stayed for three days and squeezed too many visits with a bundle of dear friends into too short a time. Thankfully, I was staying with friends wise in the ways of vagabonds who are also introverts (that would be them in the past, and me at that moment). The peace within their home restored me each night. The visits with dear ones filled my heart. And, at the same time, the tension about this journey I'm on, built and built within me, until I was wound up tight as the high 'e' string on a violin! 

Fear. Salty and sour, heavy and flat. For a day and a half I forgot my true identity, as the fear whined and whistled around and through me. Finally I remembered my stones, my holy ground that calls me back into solid relationship with Creator and the earth from whence I arise. Sitting in that deep silence, I returned to a quiet heart, a peaceful mind. Breathing once again, I remembered my own soul and came home to myself. Oh blessed relief! Oh gratitude for spiritual practices! 

Monday, on the road once again, I made a lunch-stop in Eugene, a reunion with old friends. They asked me to read them a poem from my new book (did I mention the book launch in Portland?). I read one for them. And then another - which turned out to be for me. The best antidote to fear and self-doubt? Read a poem. Or two!  

Here's the one that turned out to be for me: (maybe it's for you as well?)

             QUESTIONS OF SURRENDER

What is surrender . . .  do I know yet?

I want to have it clear, like looking

into a cup of water and seeing

spidery cracks, runes of fortune

in the china curve, precise beneath the surface.

I want to know the sound, like hearing

the Tibetan monks chanting in the square,

over-tones layered up till the entire world drops

into that core of stillness. I want

my surrender to be a known path,

each stepping stone solid and firm –

above water, above ground.

But I see now

this ain’t no cakewalk,

I don’t get to know my way, the direction

of my going, not even the time of the day.

This blind trust that’s called for

rankles against my skeptical bones,

my comfort-seeking skin. Seems like

God could have arranged it

better than this,

this cook’s tour of unfriendly places,

sobering moments, and blind alleys . . .

All the same, there’s a suspicion

growing in me that I’ve found the point,

the nub, the uneasy centre of true

surrender. I’ve got to reach beyond

my little mind and bind myself

to the Almighty, mystifying and unpredictable

and waiting to stretch me

way out past the end of hope.