The style of this post is different from those that precede it in my Substack. Yet, poetry and prose are so much of where my writer’s heart thrives. I hope you enjoy this one. I recommend listening to the audio. The recording quality isn’t flawless, but it’s a fun listen, nevertheless. Happy new year. Throw some teacups. :-)
There are a lot of things I like in life. Things I like around me. To drink from and think from and build a roller rink from. (A roller rink for dreams to roll and twirl on, music for my heart to float and unfurl on.)
Things I have grown accustomed to. Thinks I take for granted. Things I have depended on, even when they’re slanted. (Tabletops that won’t hold a bowl, much less a soul, tragically.)
Things like overthinking or using my judgment of others as a way to “keep myself safe,” by creating distance between myself and them. Things like blaming my kids for my own impatience or letting old patterns of relating stay in my marriage beyond their expiration date. (Oooops, forgot to check the back of the relational fridge! Stinkyyyyy!)
Things that were once awesome, useful, novel, cool, and right, that now overburden a load meant to be light.
2023 began in a crumpled fury. The ashes of 8 months drenched in so much worry. The outworking of things both horrible and tear-jerky.
I was spent before the year had even started.
Discouraged by seas that had not yet parted.
A backpack with too much weight (why do we always overestimate?!)
Feet tripping on the trail of fate.
The rough cadence of circumstances ruining my gait. Late. Can’t wait. Why can’t this journey be more straight?
In a moment, realizing what I must do. Toss the things not worth the stew.
The precious teacup I’d held so long. The other things no longer helping my “strong.”
The tips, the tricks, the toys, the lists. All the things that no longer fit.
As the mountain path became more steep, as my clinging heart began to weep,
I cast the teacup over the cliffside,
thankful it would no longer shorten my stride.
It had served its aim, become a burden on my frame.
I was going up. The road was tough.
I could not make it with so much stuff.
So, out out out the teacup went, and with it my extra burdens sent.
Into the abyss of no longer serving me, plunged deep into the ravine of what simply ought not be.
And as I stood on the mountain’s edge, my old stuff toppling off its ledge, I felt what all weary travelers know: the lift, the light of letting go.
The shoulders back, the eyes turned up,
why had I waited to chuck that cup?
Then, just around the next big turn, I heard a sound that met my yearn. The sound of water, pure and clear, a rushing promise to my desperate ear.
My legs went zoom, my heart went boom, as by the waters, my knees found room.
Arms went out, as thoughts went up, and instantly my hands became the cup.
I did not need the load I’d freed, for all along the cup was me.
As into this new year I lean, I see for myself what a lighter load can mean.
The hope, the sight, the intertwining bright. Of me, and earth, and all things right.
And as you too turn this bend, just remember some loads can end.
And sometimes you become the very cup you need so you can mend.
So, toss that load, and rinse those hands.
Give yourself a new place to stand.
Then, instead of sinking that now-gone teacup down, just open your hands and let the water surround.
And drink deeply (of you).