Permission to Feel
This poem in essence is about the permission to feel. I wrote it in the wee hours during The Retreatment in the Dominican thinking about the different ways we turn away from ourselves, often outsourcing our discomfort to addictive patterns, to substances, to others who will "rake the leaves" for us. But should we actually go through the tumble and the torment, there is the sweet relief of "the rising sun" just on the other side. I am so looking forward to bringing this work of 'permission' to Miami March 15 & 16 when I come to teach The Class by Taryn Toomey at The Sacred Space. We'll free the feeling together.
I watch the men rake the beach
And burying fallen leaves.
This morning was different -
The sea was in torment
It threw itself down in upset
Folding over itself again and again.
The aftermath of all its weight
Was a tender, rolling unraveling,
A silken foam fan unfurling,
Smoothing the sand before me.
In its recession, it left
Fleeting gifts of illumination,
Of the rising sun.
The men weren’t there this morning,
The sea did the work for them.
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