The Lightest Touch

THE LIGHTEST TOUCH

Good poetry begins with
the lightest touch,
a breeze arriving from nowhere,
a whispered healing arrival,
a word in your ear,
a settling into things,
then like a hand in the dark
it arrests your whole body,
steeling you for revelation.

In the silence that follows
a great line
you can feel Lazarus
deep inside
even the laziest, most deathly afraid
part of you,
lift up his hands and walk toward the light.

– David Whyte –

Sooooo…in last Monday’s post – one I’d been thinking of writing since the first of the year, in celebration of four years of writing, including 265 posts here – I claimed myself a poet, describing the chronology of my journey to finding my way to a new career, or more aptly, vocation. And, of course, the next day dawned with several rejection emails in my inbox and more that came during the week. A coincidence, but my inner critic has been having a field day ever since.

“Getting too big for your britches, aren’t you?” came her scolding interjection. And for most of the week, despite signing on every morning for a 7:00 am Zoom writing circle, writing and editing poems for submissions, I’ve been hearing her, sotto voce, describe my words and my effort as “trite” and “maudlin”. Ouch.

And, of course. Not only is part of this practice about learning to roll with rejection “out there,” but also, and more significantly, working with (and that can mean ignoring, cajoling, considering…) the rejecting aspect of myself. So, I took us out to play pickleball with my friends. Got into my body and out of my head and was surprised to see both my game improve and my writing.

Too, I received kind feedback from friends, several of whom write and know this terrain well, letting me know their response to how and what I write. The timing of one was nothing short of an answered prayer. Allies who help shore me up to shut down the noise.

And suffice to say, I took several bold and audacious steps toward making a future dream come true, one that utterly delights me, and brings visceral joy whenever I think about it.

Sooooo…I persist. I’m finding my way to a lighter touch. I look forward to the day when my inner critic – who I know arrives to keep me in line because she IS deathly afraid – lifts up her hands, surrenders, and walks toward the light. On the page and in all aspects of my life.

Much love and kindest regards, dear friends.