Wednesday, October 01, 2014

Spiders and Drones and Poems, Oh My

The night before I saw the spider, we were watching a show on TV that depicted drones flying around with automatic weapons on them. The drones were flying into the crowd and randomly shooting people. There was no place to escape the shots. 

I imagined how seemingly easily this could happen. There were drones taking pictures at the Color Run I’d done earlier in the year. They were kind of creepy, dipping in and out around the crowd, snapping photos.


And suddenly, sitting in my little house out in the woods, the darkness, looked so much darker. And the world felt so much scarier. 

What I realized early this morning as I sat to write in my journal was that the anxiousness about the drones shooting people and the experience of the spider hanging from his web in the tree laid bare my sense of vulnerability that I have been feeling, but not acknowledging, as I have been trying to get things together so I can see someone at MD Anderson about my cancer. The waiting and the sense of having no control over the situation are places of extreme vulnerability for me.

Yet, we are all often more vulnerable than we care to admit. When you are confronted with the death of a child, or a serious health problem, you tend to become aware of your own vulnerabilities. 

I’ve been reading a book about writing personal poetry. Sometime over the weekend, inspiration struck and I wrote a piece of personal poetry. The poem explains the photo, the scene in the photo was the inspiration for the poem. Please understand that I am allowing myself to go into dark places, and I am sharing my vulnerability with you, but I really am about as okay as I can be with my health situation. People say I am courageous. This is where I can usually agree with them—I am not afraid to go deep and explore the dark crevices. 
Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it. … Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light. -BrenĂ© Brown


HOPE  

On my kitchen windowsill:
   watermelon seeds rest
on dried tea bag papers—
   the intentions being:
the seeds will be planted
   to grow in the darkness
of next summer’s ground
   while the tea bag papers
will be used to create a work of art
now lying
undiscovered in my heart.

   “The problem is:
you think you have time.”
   No one knows:

The seeds, the tea bag papers,
   they are my talismans,
visual and tangible symbols
   of my desperate and unspoken
hope: that I will have time.

21 comments:

  1. That is so simply written. Not overdone. Not maudlin. Just truthful and real. I applaud the poem and hold its vulnerability close.

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    1. Well said, Cyn. It is indeed simply and clearly written...not maudlin...but truthful.

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    2. Thank you, Cyn! I'm glad you are one of the ones who holds my vulnerabilities close.

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  2. I love this, so beautifully real and true!

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  3. Oh, sweet girl: YOU ARE A POET. This is breathtaking.

    Good, good, good.

    Thank you.

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    1. I'm glad you like it, Beth! Thank you!

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  4. Annie; This poem is beautiful and meaningful with layers of thinking and feeling which ring deeply true. The greatest fear probably is that there will not be enough time...and yet you put the positive spin on this...so refreshing: "The seeds, the tea bag papers,
    they are my talismans,
    visual and tangible symbols
    of my desperate and unspoken
    hope: that I will have time."

    I love the notion of the tangible symbols...so helpful when words fail...there are the talismans...or perhaps the fleeces on the window sill. I still have the odd flower in a vase...renewed, as it will be continually until you are well again. That is my tangible reminder to lift you up in prayer. Every blessing.

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    1. Thank you, Connie! "

      I also like "...the fleeces on the window sill."

      Thank you for the continuing flower in a vase to remind you to hold me up in prayer.

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  5. I wish you could write a poem for me about crows. Keep being awesome.

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    1. Thank you, Patti! Crows, huh? I'll think about them and see what bubbles up!

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  6. Watched that same drone show. Hawaii 5 O, I think. You speak much wisdom here, Annie. When I think "poem", the old man's mind still expects "roses are red; violets are blue"; but I'm learning to adjust, your words expressing "hope" through watermelon seed and tea bags speaking to me of truth as it is.....

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    1. Yes, Jim, Hawaii Five-0! Thank you!

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  7. Oh honey.....I love this. Please keep putting tea bags on that window sill. Please keep writing these things. Please keep exploring. In doing that, you are saving us.

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    1. Mindy, thank you so much! Sometimes I feel like these things are too raw and vulnerable, and yet, if they are helping others, then my little bit of discomfort is so worth it! And it's good practice for me!

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  8. Beautiful.
    And you will have time.
    I love you.

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    1. Thank you, Denise! I love you too, my friend!

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  9. I love it... sometimes I wish I had the words... or they would just show up...

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