We are the holders of hope
Not imagined and wishful
Not ephemeral or wistful
We hold in our hearts the reality and wonder of life
The beauty and treasure that is here
Every moment
Every breath
We know this
Just as we know its opposite
The places of fear and despair
Of violence and suffering
Of hopelessness
We have lived with such emptiness
We have touched the terror of the deep dark
We understand its cultivation by the very society we have been raised in
And yet we are still committed to being here
In this life
With this life
We know this precious life is stronger
Softer and stronger
Tender and stronger
Brighter and stronger
More powerful and expansive than the tiny world created by those who would try and blind us
By those who would like us to forget
We know the light of the sun of the day and the stars at night
We know the light of our heart and our spirit
The light that guides through the deep dark
The light of liberation
Of change
Of life itself
This is what shines in each and every one of us
This is what keeps us seeking the way home
To remember the wholeness of who we are
To feel the rightness of what life has for us
What the trees have for us
What the ocean and bees
The birds and mountains
The children and elders
The rivers and dragonflies
The wind and rain and snow
What all of our relatives
Our ancestors
Our communities
Have for us
We know
Even when most are running head first towards an illusion
To a nightmare of death and destruction
Of numbness and consumption
To a house on fire
Where instead of seeing what is real and what is not
Instead of listening to the whispers of their hearts
They run towards a dream they have been sold
But is not and never was theirs to have
Where they fight over which room is the finest
With the best view
The biggest tv
The softest sheets
We know instead
To keep holding on to this precious life
This precious light
Cupped protectively in our sometimes shaking hands
We know
To sing and live and share it as we can
To keep it alive
To place it with reverence deep into our hearts
Like weathered fingers planting seeds into fertile soil
For that is what it asks us to do
Author: Enroue Halfkenny
Go to the river she lovingly said
Go to the river she lovingly said
There's no need to push
Plenty of time before they come
My heart is in shambles
Obviously so
So I go
I bring offerings
Audaciously orange marigolds
Respectfully plucked from the front of our home
Their pungent odor lingering on my fingers
Forcing me to recognize their power
Forest and mountain hold the river close
Hard rocks perch along its banks
Here the river is gentle and quiet
There it is tumultuous and loud
It all seems a rush
I sit down
Late daylight illuminates the yellow leaves
Like thousands of tiny suns arching above me
Hiding the blue sky
Bushes and saplings densely spread across the ground
Showing off their own vibrant palettes
And in the gap between the leaves of the sky and soil
The low sun peeks through
Creating a kaleidoscope of diamonds and jewels dancing on the river's surface
Reflecting their brilliance into my eyes
With each soft breeze
Leaves flutter twist and float downwards
Touching gently upon the river
Already they’ve changed the course of this river
Creating seasonal dams and barriers
Amassing around stones and fallen branches
Clustering in the eddies and swirling pockets along the banks
Its current switching back and forth
Yet always finding a way
Beneath the surface
Some leaves have settled down
Laying amongst their decaying siblings
Others spin past
Tumbling end over end in a slow majestic dance
Occasionally
A leaf tip pokes above the surface
As if coming up for a quick breath of air
Only to dive back to continue its journey
Others remain on the river’s surface
Their dry bent bodies sticking awkwardly into the air
And catching the breeze
Sail upstream against all odds
I hold the marigolds close
Touching my head and heart
Breathing their beauty in
I offer them with my words
To the currents
To the river
To not be afraid
To not feel small
To not hurt
They bob and spin
Drifting along without urgency
Without a plan
Some flow downstream out of sight
One nestles quietly along the bank
Another, stem raised as if a sailess mast,
Somehow catches the same breeze and flows upstream
Adding its audacious orange to the thick dam of Autumn leaves
Something in me moves too
Against the odds
I rise
Butt a little sore
Heart still tender
But somehow I’m all alright
I return home
Grief is not subtle
Grief is not subtle
Pressing against my hearts doorway
I choose to feel it
I sit beneath you
Elder oak with wounds old and new
Still growing, like me
With my breath, you breathe
I open up, draw deep, like roots
My hearts cracks, tears flow
Grief shatters the world
Wind blows, leaves fall, hawks soar higher
How are these all true
It was hard sometimes to let your love in.
It was hard sometimes to let your love in.
It carried so much along with it.
I saw and felt your bright smile and shining eyes,
like from a small shy child looking up at her older brother,
heart full and hopeful.
You seemed so fragile in those moments,
even though I was the younger one.
You fought so hard, for so long, to be well,
struggling to live and not live like this.
Through hospital visits,
procedures,
specialists,
an ignorant medical system,
relapse upon relapse,
you fought through it all
like defiant storm waves relentlessly pummeling granite cliffs, coastal rock shores, and soft sandy beaches.
Something’s gotta give.
Something’s gotta change.
Sometimes your pain and illness possessed you,
enveloping you with shame and stubbornness,
despair and solitude.
You would disappear for days.
Sometimes you sought more,
sought peace.
Sometimes you simply said,
“I can't live like this anymore”.
I don't know when I started preparing myself for your death,
as all of this,
all of you,
slammed into me,
just like those waves,
over and over.
The end was still a surprise.
The end still broke my heart.
We stood huddled in a semblance of a circle
We stood huddled in a semblance of a circle,
leaning against our neighbor or standing alone together,
honoring all that had died in her passing.
Rain wept from a gray shrouded sky,
and though we thought we were protected
beneath the thick canopy of maple and hemlock,
there was no solace to be had.
Heaven’s grief still reached us
with heavy drops touching shoulders, thighs and stone.
We were a mess.
Eyes blazed red.
White tissues were soaked with salty tears and mourning snot
or were twisted and wrung to keep fingers busy.
The world cried with us as we spoke to her,
to each other,
to ourselves.
Reluctantly, we buried a part of her with overturned trowels.
A small hole for a large spirit.
Finishing what we never wanted to start,
the circle tightened.
Hands and hearts and hips touched.
Heads bowed.
No one alone.
Singing of her gifts,
her spirit reminded us of our own wildness, courage, tenderness and presence,
and planted a seed in each of our hearts
to nourish.
The circle unfurled and we lived on.
Humans are so loud sometimes
Humans are so loud sometimes
Our billboards, notifications, LED lights
HDTVs, brand names, addictions and consumerings
Our cars, trucks, guns and houses
Our street lights, our highways
Our airplanes and airports and cities
Our poverty, pain and avoidance
Our wealth, desires, longings and emptiness
Invisible in their glaring audacity
Silent in their cacophony
Like the summer fan we no longer hear
in the relentless heat
Like the air we breathe
When we’re able
Like the soundtrack of our lives
thrumming in our speakers, headphones and earbuds
Drowning out the world around us
Insulating us
Imprisoning us
All this we choose
It makes the quiet hard to hear
Hard to find the still spaces where all things emerge
The beneath it all
The ground that's always there
Patient
Alive
Ready to sit with us
Walk with us
Run and lay down with us
Laugh and grieve with us
Love and be with us
Reveal to us
Our place in this dance
This song
Or at least the next step or breath to take
Let us sometimes choose this
To listen to the beneath it all
and see where we end up
Instead
Grandpa, when I heard you wrote love poems
Grandpa
When I heard you wrote love poems
Something inside
Deep and secret
Rejoiced
You were funny
Loved to get into tickle fights
Wore a mischievous grin just like mine
or was it the other way around
You survived the violence of white men
Whose ignorance and fear tried to destroy you
Doctors thought you'd die
Then that you’d never walk again
You showed me the scars in your arm
Where screws held bones together
Looking at you
Walking around just fine
You seemed indestructible
I heard of your golden gloved fists
Skillfully a fighter
Prized and respected in the ring
Later I heard of these same fists
Brown and bloodied
Keeping your mother and siblings safe from your father’s violence
My dad told me our fighting
Was always about protecting
Family
Community
Beloveds
He told me another story
Of you arguing with Grandma
And walking out so as not to bring your fists to bear
Instead you walked
And found other men to fight
To hurt
So I learned a confusing path of manhood
This confluence of love and violence
Men fighting men
To protect women and children
Men fighting men
To not beat women and children
Grandpa
When I heard you wrote love poems
Something inside
Deep and secret
Rejoiced
Maybe there was more to our manhood
More to our hearts
Than hardening ourselves for the violence
The hurt
The isolation
The rejection
That’s also here
Compressing it all in
Balling it up
Tighter
Like a fist
Seeking release
Seeking something
Anything
To match the depth and volume of that pain
Instead
Maybe
Our manhood
Our hearts
Could reveal something deeper
Our courage
To feel
To be open
To find the words to rejoice at the wonder of this precious life
To voice our love and tenderness
Even as the conditions of violence try to tear our flesh
And break our bones
This blessing of manhood you also left for me
To continue the story
Of our lives
Our loves
Our courage
Our tenderness
Our wonder
Tired
Tired
Another day
No insight
No clarity
I want to know why
Sad
Another day
No insight
No clarity
I want to know why
Heavy hearted
Another day
No insight
No clarity
I want to know why
Pressure
Make it all better
Do something
Say something
Don't be dragged down
Be positive
Help others
And so on
And so on
All the things
All the tired and sad and heavy things
All the pressure
And somehow
Don't worry
You don't have to figure it all out
Like your simple and sacred breath
It’ll all come and go
Don't worry
You’ll be alright
There is a shakiness deep in my bones
There is a shakiness deep in my bones
As my feet touch the soil of my homeland
There is a press of ancestral bodies
Pulsing against the boundaries of my flesh and spirit
Crowding to feel into this life and time and place
And the River calls to me
Here I am
You know me
Don't be scared
You have been here before
Not in your dreams nor in places of dark fear
But in body and heart
Flesh and spirit
In your wholeness you were here
Let the reality of this place touch you and remind you
You are always home
Be here
Be bright
Let your spirit and being shine
In your fullness and love
Let words come and go
Let stories come and go
Freely and courageously
Naming fear and pain and violence
Naming care and connection
Of a love so deep
And a hurt so sharp
All in the same breath
All in the same touch
Let the yearning and longing flow freely my friend
Like the river
The one you come to again and again
The one who sings
Roar and be calm
Release and receive
Sing with us
With all the Rivers
These are our reminders of who you are
Storm clouds curl over dark green mountains
Storm clouds curl over dark green mountains.
Their soft ridges inked with evergreens and summer leaves.
Thunder rumbles, rambling over their edges and crashing into the valleys splayed out below.
In the distance, sheets of water rain down,
dancing and swirling,
making strands of beaded curtains dangling over the forests.
Closer still, a red tailed hawk circles gently on the shifting currents,
spiraling higher and higher over the expanse of golden tipped grasses.
“Over there is its nest.”
My friend stretches his arm and points across the field to a stand of spruce trees
The sky, and all of these beings, pull me from my thoughts that strain and tighten my brow.
It's so easy to get stuck inside.
But sometimes it's just as easy to soften and open, to look around and listen deeply,
remembering that my life also exists outside of my head.
Healing & Liberation Counseling 