Solut (WC)

  

(Wendy Cabell, originally from February 26, 2021, feast day of Purim, whose heroine Esther is above. Image from here.)

Originally from 2021, revisited now in loving memory of my Mother

Solut

(celebratory walk after several months in cast from broken femur, age two)

The Latin root solv and its variant solut both 

mean "loosen"... --  from Membean, “Solved by a Root Solution”

Hurray, hurray, it is today! The Sun it spills on

sidewalk gray, as white shoes dance on feet at

play, while dear old Bonnie* leads the way, and

things with wings around me sway. And,

"Mom, do you hear that pretty sound? Of trees, 

and wind, and O wow! rain. And never to be 

in that cast again, not trapped, but out, and 

Sun my frame",

Hurray, hurray, it is today! 

"Time to go" , says Mom.

"Till next time!" , I say.

*Faithful collie Bonnie, memory eternal

**From prompt: Freewrite after the post-war celebratory walk in Virginia Woolf's Mrs Dalloway–a giddy, flowing, moving, interactive-with-surroundings type of joy– (in this case it’s my childhood walk above). From Esther Linn's Quarantine Write-in (Hugo House, Seattle), February 25, 2021.

Voice of Home, I listen (WC)

 

(Wendy Cabell, January 18, 2025, eve of Theophany/Epiphany (old calendar Orthodox; related image above), Our Lady of Dijon, Our Lady of Zapopan (ten years after Our Lady of Guadalupe), Saint Margaret of Hungary,  the young Martyrs of Salerno, Blessed Maria Teresa Fasce and Saint Dicuil. Image from here.)

Voice of Home, I listen

close my eyes.

Joseph bear ambles in the kitchen, growls.

I remind him he’s human too.

Oatmeal simmers, gurgles.

Paws swish — swept table. Time for tea. 

Jars of fennel, honey, raspberry leaf

slid from cupboards so deftly arranged.

Heart thumps, growls contentment. 

These miracles -– 

            uuuumm, in progress. 

**Inspired by Joseph's poem, "Voice of Earth Mother" (from prompt: Audre Lorde’s “Poetry is Not a Luxury”, Daisy Barrett Nash’s Legacy Lines series, January 15, 2025).

Peaceward (WC)

(Wendy Cabell, November 16, 2024, feast day of (above) Our Lady of Vilnius/Our Lady of the Gate of Dawn/Mother of Mercy (Saint Seraphim of Sarov devotion), Our Lady of Carmine, Our Lady of Chievres (dragonslaying legend and prayer here), Apostle and Evangelist Matthew, Saint Gertrude the Great, Saint Margaret of Scotland, Saint Agnes of Assisi, Saint Céronne. Image from here.)

Peaceward 

         Peace requires drastic action.

         — Josephine Nobisso, Saint Juan Diego and Our Lady of Guadalupe

A blessing, my door being open that day. 

Neighbor Irene strolls by, spots the travel items about the bed. 

“Did you know?, Irene means peace”. I hadn’t. Lug my suitcase up, unzip. 

“I’m to Europe soon,” I explain. It’s where she’s from. 

“No, no!, not what you want, just pack what you need. 

I’ll be back in a bit” she says. And she is. 

My proud pile lies expectant, a barest branch. 

“Wonderful!” I hear, “Now cut it in half”. 

I didn’t. Not then, that Spring of 1997. 

I mean seriously, how do you cut a need -– It’s needed. 

I’d board my flight to Germany,  Motherland. 

My suitcase and two carry-ons in tow, such unruly children. 

Next time, I vow — I’ll travel light.

It never came. 

Hit by a truck that Fall upon return, permanent disability. 

My itinerary now? A permission of sorts. A daily choosing. 

Between need and need. Between good and good. 

*From prompt: Write a poem about advice/conversation, as inspired by “Lament for the Maker” by  Bonnie Naradzay. From Robbi Nestors generative writing class (The Poetry Salon), November 16, 2024. And inspired by productivity expert Alicia Cohen’s approach to decluttering one's schedule: not simply eliminating what no longer benefits, but choosing between the good and the good. 

Morning, September 11, 2024 (WC)

 

(Wendy Cabell, September 15, 2024, afterfeast of the Elevation of the Cross, feast day of Our Lady of the Way of Leon/Our Lady of Camino (related Cathedral images here, here), the Our Lady of Sorrows/Seven Sorrows of the Blessed Virgin Mary, (above) Novonikḗta Icon of the Mother of God, Saint Catherine of Genoa and Saint Oranna (deaf, hearing miracles). On Jewish calendar today Nachmanides (Ramban), 1194. Image from here.)

Morning, September 11, 2024

“I love it when they show stages like this” I say. Joseph smiles over the hanging garden he’s brought in. Being homebound with chronic injuries, neurological disorders, sure miss my nature walks, their sweep to soul. I cup an early flower – thrilled to find this gate to our wet wild earth. Such a shy little bloom. Yet she bears a crown, mini star-buds all in a ring. A later stage flower bursts layer upon layer of petals. 

my country, tis for thee –

rowed petals unfurl as stripes 

stars glow their patch of sky

*Freewrite as inspired by “Lacrimosa” by Traci Brimhall. From Lisa Freedman’s BreatheReadWrite, September 15, 2024. yest

When In Darkness (WC)

(Wendy Cabell, November 18, 2023, feast day of (above) Our Lady of Chiquinquira, Saint Rose Philippine Duchesne, Saint Mabyn/Mabenna of Cornwall, Blessed Karoliny Kózkówny and Noah the Patriarch. Image from here.)

When In Darkness

(adventures in severe light sensitivity) 

You get in there and fight it, says optometrist –-

                                                                           though not how. 

Likely a systemic issue, hard to treat, says another doctor, closing door.  

You get in there and cope, says self. Adapt the home, cover the windows, mask the

glare. Hunt for red and amber nightlights, light candles. Don red glasses, a dear gift

from Mom. When your Aunt finds a computer your eyes can handle, cry Alleluia!

You get in there and reap, says Spirit –- Cherish Light. Let the air in. They say

Icons are windows to Heaven, now near forty ringing these walls. Note             

                                         the light shines in the darkness, and the 

                                    darkness has not overcome it. --John 1:5

                                       

You get in there, as in inward

the appointed meeting place.

You get in there --

where the Light is

*From Prompt: Write list of difficult things have learned or accomplished, then choose one, ponder what the difficulties were there and how made things work (think both concrete and metaphorical/fanciful), how it changed you, changed world--then free write as inspired by Ellen Bass' "How to Apologize". From Robbi Nester's Saturday Generative Writing class (the Poetry Salon), November 18, 2023.

So How Are You Today? (WC)

 

(Wendy Cabell, published in the Canadian Journal of Mental Health and Disability Theology, Spring 2024 issue; composed April 26, feast day of (above) Our Lady of Good Counsel, of Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception (Chile), and of Saint Alda/Aldobrandesca of Siena and Saint Paschasius Radbertus. On Jewish calendar today State of Israel Proclaimed (1948), and Preparation for Shavuot Begins; Twenty-One Days to the Omer begins tonight. Image from here.)

So How Are You Today?

Sometimes as greeting.

Yet a question.

Mask I wear, it answers: “I’m good”. 

Alternatively: "About the same”. 

When I remove the mask, swirling mix. Positive spins–-God’s Angels are around us, His Saints. Most of all Our Savior, Our Blessed Mother. All true. And true this overwhelm, this will this pain ever stop, this nervous system miswired, jolted. Rerouted, confused. Never know when the monsters will roar in there, pull up carpet, can’t make plans. Open target–-CRASH, BOOM. Ground hits hardest when folks don’t see it's happening. When don’t see the monsters are here. 

And if I’m being honest, I need help. Your help. Caregivers, doctors, priests, neighbors, friends, family. I need you to see how things are for me, look the monster in the eye. Not sympathy so much as empathy, and your solid true (to feel, to do) “take my hand--and we’ll get through this”. 

“Tell me about your despair and I will tell you mine”, says Mary Oliver.

“Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air”, she continues. 

As I continue to hold both these things. And wrestle

how to say this,

how to answer

how I am today. 

[Added later as part of a journal submission's guidelines:

Author's Note 

It still happens, that queasiness in the stomach when I’m asked how I'm doing today. First the sensing, does this person actually want to know? Do they care? Then the sifting, do I share the hurt in hopes of some comprehension? Do I share the light in hopes of its expansion? So common it can be to minimize another’s pain or need, not wanting to see it, especially if it’s complicated. If it’s not an easy fix. And mine isn't. For one, I have Complex Regional Pain Syndrome [CRPS] a rare physiological and neurological disorder making pain signals both amplified and ongoing. It’s nicknamed the “suicide disease”, considered the most painful condition one can have. Terrifying then, to be alone, unseen. And one’s in danger if restrictions and accommodation needs aren’t grasped. Yet what is focused on grows, carves a path, a tendency of glance. And what I long to grow is the light. The warmth of that deep nestled spark, “Lifeforce Love” a friend calls it. Mine…and yours. 

Questions for Group Reflection

1. One thing that bridges the gap between expressing the pain and embracing the light is the simple awareness of one’s body and experience. Are there related practices you might incorporate into your daily routine? There are things like mental tracing, scanning your body upon awakening, an act of gratitude really, a prayer. There’s a nudge to mindfulness as go about day, short pauses, just looking round, settling in, breathing space. There’s infinite ways the Spirit may be whispering. What are you hearing just now?

2. A way we can honor the complexity of our disabilities, while also honoring another’s need for simplicity, is to present concrete accommodations. This takes some ground work, prioritizing what is most important to you and brainstorming the most doable ways to meet this need. Not always easy! But is there a short list you might compile of specific accommodations? For example if one is heat sensitive asking to be seated near the air conditioner—something in this vein makes such a difference to well being yet is fairly simple when it comes down to it. ]

1 Mary Oliver, “Wild Geese”, in The Atlantic Monthly Press, 1986.

2 For more on CRPS, see ComplexTruths.org, in particular “What is CRPS“ at https://complextruths.org/what-is-crps/, and “McGill Pain Index Measures CRPS Pain” at https://complextruths.org/mcgill-pain-index-where-is-crps-ranked-and-why/. ]

From combined prompts: Freewrite, giving honesty the focus and giving yourself permission to “write bad poetry”, about your mask, using above entry points (The mask I wear, When I remove the mask, And if I’m being honest); from Matthew Cuban Hernandez’s Free Verse: Removing the Mask (Hope At Hand’s Jax Poetry Fest 2023). Also using prompt of Mary Oliver’s “Wild Geese”, from Reverend Dr. Victoria Marie’s Art As Spiritual Practice group, April 26, 2023. 

Regarding Wing Anatomy (WC)

(Wendy Cabell, August 4, 2022, feast day of Our Lady of Dordretcht ("The healing water soothes troubled minds, brings relief to aching brows and strength to weakened limbs, as Mary’s sick children come to her for aid"), Our Lady of Font-Romeu (Pilgrim Spring), and of Saint John Mary Vianney, Saint Ia of Persia, Blessed Ioan Balan, Blessed Cecilia Cesarini, and the "Seven Sleepers" of Ephesus. Jewish calendar today commemorates First Temple Invaded (423 BC), and the Three Weeks" of mourning continues. Image from here.)

Regarding Wing Anatomy

Man, like the bird, 

has two wings to fly: 

creativity and freedom

--Our Lady, to Angela Volpini

Lavender Fairy,

 

Sweet Pea Fairy, 

Candytuft Fairy, 

Heliotrope Fairy,

Blackthorn Fairy,

Apple Blossom Fairy,

neat deft paint, German 

plates of 1979-81. Sold to a

neighbor in 2001 so I can 

buy groceries: pasta, meatballs, 

ice cream. Aka

Esau’s porridge.

But that’s not what happened.

Knocked downhill by a heavy 

truck hauling furniture, leaves

nerve damage, complex neck injury, 

severe chronic pain. Aka not simply

whiplash. Newly reversed cervical curve,

radiculopathy down right arm. Disabled (ie 

suddenly no income). Family disbelieves, leaves 

to fend. Seasons continue regardless, 2001 now, 

apartment midst coyotes and Joshua trees, impossible 

to pay rent, future's terror stares--unblinking. And

a girl's gotta eat, if

nothing else.

But that’s not what happened.

1979-1981, limited issue. Mom and I

flying to the collectibles shop for each

release–-fragile plates (like their fairies’ 

wings.) Fragile joy, as summer dusk, 

winter moon sweeps us home. Our shared

room in Grandma’s house gains hidden 

shimmer–-fairy winks–-amid schoolbooks, 

Andrew Lang, roller skates. Out room’s 

door now, glow markedly diminished. But  

table beckons, lasagna, speak of school,

holidays, headlines. And new-fortified

for tonight’s swim, it’s splash!,

starburst, into silence. Soul wash,

invited wish. For what, I’d tell you-- 

but then it wouldn't come true. And I have

it on good authority, from those who 

won’t be banished,

Apple Blossom Fairy,

Blackthorn Fairy,

Heliotrope Fairy,

Candytuft Fairy, 

Sweet Pea Fairy,

Lavender Fairy,

            that it will.

*From prompt: Though is no formal prompt for this piece, I suspect that the Litany of Trust, recently discovered, stirred the waters...