WHAT USED TO BE by Edith Lazenby

The practice of writing eases and opens, giving me a way to let go and look inside…

…To see how I am feeling what I’m feeling, and maybe help me to just let it be.

I think this piece, called “What Used To Be” speaks for itself. Such is my day: thinking of what used to be, noticing the old tapes that don’t play but sit there like friends I used to enjoy, in an odd way.

My writing process is a meditation on being. The Muse guides my heart and my hands move. The connection I long for meets me halfway, and what I missed knowing lands like a blossom at my feet. And then I feel a little better and know there are many who have been here with me, in their own way.

'Take My Hand' digital art by Skatergirl

What Used To Be

Used to be I’d crawl into a hole.

Used to be, I’d wish

To die while I cried.

Used to be I’d hear

Voices echo worthlessness

Through a worm’s belly,

Words would tease

Me into not caring.

Because what really matters

When the insides are tied

Into knots with wires

Scraping my heart

And jabbing my stomach?

My eyes hurt from trying

To find what is not here.

Used to be, I’d roll over

With sunrise and pull the covers

Up to my ears so I could not

Hear birds chirping, kids playing.

Used to be I’d lie in bed till evening

And wish night would leave as soon

As it came. Used to be meaning

Came with a story of what is not.

Now I sit with hands wrapped

Around prayer to help me unfold

What I cannot control, ease the angst

Of what I cannot know, soothe the fear

Of realizing all that matters is right here:

This breath, clouds in the sky,

Kitty by my side, kitchen full of dishes,

Home that wants love as much as I want

To give it. What used to be haunts my window.

Because when I look out I see in: the gnarled

Branches of my heart are trying to grow roots

So the life I want to live can flow.

Used to be I’d lie down and pray never to get up.

Today I sit and try to unlearn what time stole

And make that history a gift so I’ll remember

Now is not how it used to be; now I am free!

To create a life where I can pray and dream.

Now I shift meaning into this frame to hold

What I cannot find, touch what I do not feel,

Give what I do not have, save who I cannot lose.

'Life Recorded' by artistic photographer Katarina Silva

Edith Lazenby: “I love to write. I began writing poetry in elementary school. Sometimes I write poetry daily, other times not. I adore Mary Oliver, her way of embracing the light while acknowledging the darkness. I teach yoga full time and find the practice has grounded me deeper in my body and heart and helped me move closer to what I call spirit. I also now edit for Elephant Journal and write for them as well. I live with my husband, who is my best friend, and 4 kitties. Life holds challenges yet with time I feel better able to live in the moment, moment by moment. All great teachers teach presence. I find each day is a lesson in being. The process of writing holds me and I find the craft teaches me something new each time. You may visit my blog here.

~If you are interested in seeing your poetry appear in this blog, or submitting a poem by a woman that has inspired you, please click here for submission guidelines. I greatly look forward to hearing from you!~

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IMBOLC by Caroline Mellor

The inspiration for this poem came after I watched a magical winter sunset and full moonrise from the top of Firle Beacon in the South Downs... Unusually for me, I wrote the poem quite quickly and changed it very little before publishing it – perhaps the energies were working through my pen! Imbolc is the mid-point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. It’s a fire festival which I particularly love because of its associations with Brigid, the Celtic Mother Goddess of arts and crafts, clear sight, healing, inspiration and nurturance of creative talents – something which, through my writing, I am always trying to connect with. I also love Imbolc because, with so much darkness and negativity in the world today, it is a time for hope, potential, visioning and initiation. With love and blessings as the light returns. Photography by Chanel Baran IMBOLC by Caroline Mellor I am the dream of awakening. I am the returning of the night. I am the tough green

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I’ve had several days now of alone time… It is unusual and a gift that I couldn’t see until I breathed it. I have been able to watch the sun’s rise through the grey of dawn and smile at the flickers of frost melting on the waving boughs of evergreen. It’s unique to follow daylight as it traverses the tempo of a cat’s soft slumbering purr. Night comes swifter and the glow of candles and the flames of fire comfort me more than the steady stream of always-doing-more. As much as I resisted, I needed this break. I had no idea how much my body was trying to tell me slow down until the exhaustion settled in around my joints. My eyes swam in molasses. Heaviness of I-can’t-hold-out-much-long, walked me to the throne of my nest. It’s winter’s gift of self-nurturing and love. It’s been a quiet proclamation of femininity and a need for comfort foods. Lemon crisps and cranberry, white-chocolate shortbread dipped in tea; I felt a hint of being pampered without

Journey of the Heart

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