Category Archives: change

To Keep by Letting Go

Sun Through Orchid Copyright 2013 Margaret Dubay Mikus

I have been excavating my desks, the downstairs desk in the kitchen for the house, my upstairs office desk for work. Coming out of an extended time when stuff was saved in piles; I don’t even remember what is in them. A number of discoveries so far, including this poem from 2011 (office desk).

Why I printed it out, I don’t recall, but it’s part of a series of heartfelt poems about giving up poetry after 18 years of writing my poetic journal. And then a poem comes along and I write and somehow keep on. Maybe with a slightly different trajectory or letting go the results.

Just write. See what comes of it, if anything. And the writing itself is the goal, as much as anything is. To be myself, with myself, the words call and I follow. As I must.

What is your equivalent? What insists and calls you? What is most important?

12/3/11

Abrupt Clarity

When I said
I give up on writing
I meant it.

And I meant
I give up on struggle
it is too hard

and I meant it
when I said
it is sad, but not devastating,

not the end of the world
just all I had been building.

And you took it to mean
what it used to mean
coming from my old lips

and cautioned reflection
and wanted to change my mind
or calm my thinking.

But
I was right,
what is past is done

as far as setting out
my unsustainable future,
it is too hard

and I am giving up
on hard in my life.

Does this mean
I will not put words to page?
apparently not, for here they are

again,
restlessly leading me on.

And when the call came
last night at 3AM
and I thought my son

was wandering lost
in the cold, too far for my help,
there was an abrupt clarity

about what is important to me,
what I can do and not do,
what I have to let go.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2011

Each Life Is Precious

Washington DC in March Margaret Dubay Mikus Copyright 2004

I have been writing a poetic journal since 1995, begun just after healing from multiple sclerosis. In 1996 I was diagnosed with breast cancer, completing treatment (surgery, chemo, and radiation) in 1997. I kept writing, (by hand, in spiral notebooks), but I was unable to get all of the poems edited and entered into the computer. Time went on and I recovered, facing other challenges over the years, balancing being a mother and wife, running a household, with writing and creative projects. At some point I got back to the process of getting my poems in the computer, organizing them in “Books” of six months of writing each. But I never got all those poems from 1997-98 into my files.

A long time passed. My writing changed, getting better I hope, more streamlined, clearer perhaps. But I held onto the idea that I wanted the complete “set” of poems to access for any future projects. The poems, as is any journal, are like memory. What happened? Who was I then, what inspired me?

Every so often over the years, I pulled out the dusty spiral notebooks and made efforts to get caught up. This week I began again in earnest to get all the poems into usable form. Many of them are clearly for my own use only. This is often the case with writing. But some surprised me. Here is one story I came upon tonight.

3/28/98

Each Life Is Precious

I am grateful
for each and every
hair growing on my head,

for eyes that blink
and open wide, that cry
or crinkle,

for every breath drawn in,
for every cell sent oxygen,
for a full heart beating untended

in time to ancient rhythm.
I am grateful for every day,
every minute each a gift,

for feet and hands and lips,
for knees and elbows and hips,
for skin and nails and toes,

for ears and eyebrows,
neck and shoulders,

for back straight
and thighs strong.

All this awareness
this awakening,

dedicated to the one
who was struck by a lemon-colored cab

right before our shocked eyes,
so hard his shoes flew off,

hit so fast and terrible
the body collapsed and lay flat

like a balloon doll with the air let out
or a scarecrow without its stuffing.

In that second, one easy Friday night
the world changed color.

We drove on, as many others came to help, hospital nearby,
we went on in horror, my head cupped in hands,

but not helpless. I sent healing energy
to support the spirit

so recently jolted from physical reality.
I held his ethereal hand as he shook it off

and kept on traveling.
I rubbed my husband’s shoulders,

he massaged my neck and head,
we spoke in hushed reverent tones

and drove carefully home.
I honor the one who gave us this lesson:

All life, every sometimes grating minute
is precious, beyond any earthly measure.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 1998

Letting Go and New Beginnings on Sale!!

2011 LGNB 95 smaller front coverD ebook for Smashwords-2

Take advantage of the Smashwords.com Summer/ Winter Sale for 75% OFF my award-winning book, Letting Go and New Beginnings! This makes it $1!

Go to https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/39211 and enter coupon code SSW75 at checkout. (Code is also in the right column of the book page.)

Supports those who are going through any kind of transition, and aren’t we all! This sale is only on during the month of July, so don’t wait. A great time to check out other Smashwords authors while you are there.

“It’s the story of loving and letting go, the bittersweet feeling all parents feel, all people feel when our cherished ones start to move on. I found the poems to be beautiful and timely—mirroring the transition I find myself in now—letting go, new beginnings. I also love how the imagery of the photographs expresses and compliments the intentions of the poems.
Karen Gottlieb, archetypal consultant, fabric artist, co-owner of International Galleries, and mother of two daughters

Awaiting Further Instructions

I really resonated with an April 17, 2013 Facebook post by Lissa Rankin, MD, author of the new book, Mind over Medicine: Scientific Proof that You Can Heal Yourself. Here is the post in entirety (used with permission):

“What if confusion, uncertainty, indecision, and lack of clarity didn’t paralyze you or throw you into fits of anxiety and impatience? What if you could just make peace with the fact that, sometimes, there’s nothing to do. It’s time to simply await further instructions and trust that the way will be shown to us when the timing is right.

What if there was no judgment around times when the future is fuzzy? What if you’re not flaky or clueless or lacking insight or wrong when you’re not sure what’s next? What if it’s just part of the process, and our only job during these times is to be mindful, pay attention to Signs from the Universe, listen clearly for further instructions, and then trust the instructions when they come so we can be brave enough to take action when the call comes?

Try this prayer: “If I’m meant to do something, please make the action clear. If I’m meant to wait, please grant me peace.”

When I read this I felt calmer during a confused, “fuzzy” time. I was more able to be still, rest, remember to breathe, and await further instructions. Two poems came to mind to help me.

This Is the Moment I Have

not tomorrow
with its joy or sorrow.

This is the moment—
when I floss my teeth,
and stand on two strong legs,

smiling in the mirror
at a face topped by hair.
This moment of easy breathing

with husband and children
deeply sleeping nearby.
This moment with fresh, cool

spring air blowing in my window
from a dark, rich night capped by stars.
This is the moment I have,

not next week or next month,
however much time and energy
I spend planning them.

How often am I actually
here…
in this only moment I have?

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 1997

From As Easy as Breathing
and my CD, Full Blooming

Illinois Rest Stop Copyright 2006 MDMikus

Still You Know

For Karen

When you’re driving
down a road
wrapped in deepest fog

still you know
you trust
the road is there.

Whether you’ve gone down
this road a million times
or just one,

though you can’t see
beyond your nose,
still you know the road is there.

You may slow,
you may be cautious
and cling to the center stripe,

still you head
where you are going,
still you trust.

From As Easy as Breathing

This is not the same as being in denial or avoidance. This is the natural cycle of replenishment and reevaluation necessary to wielding our true creative power in the world. I like this idea of awaiting further instructions…in whatever form they may come to me.

What do you do when your life seems stalled? Spin your wheels or settle into it? Let germinate or rush off to be doing something…anything to keep moving?

Moving

This Space of Grace blog is moving soon to a new home, integrated into my newly designed website, FullBlooming.com. All the same posts will be there in the archives and I will be writing more than ever. I am grateful to blogger for this time of connection (since 2009) and I trust I will see you all (and hear from you too) at the new location. You will be automatically transferred, you won’t miss anything so no worries. Thank you to all my readers and to those whose comments encouraged me to keep writing.

Recently I have been researching family history online. Many reasons why this is the time to do it. Questions to answer like: is what I remember actually true? Here is a new poem:

Peony by the Driveway, 2012 Copyright MDMikus

2/8/13

Photo Albums

My mother, one year maybe in the ‘70’s,
took the time to gather all the family photos
and for each of her 7 children made a life story

with bits of baby hair, maybe a curl from the first haircut,
and the tiny beaded wristlet from the maternity hospital
with DUBAY and a blue medal of the Blessed Mother.

Baby pics, posed and natural,
some of us looking so similar, had to tell who was who
by the year on the back or other cues.

And inside the front cover an envelope of negatives
was taped to later make some prints.
In mine, a copy of an old letter from my Grandma Schulte

with news to reassure her daughter, my Mom,
that my brother and I were alright staying with her.
She wrote our daily schedule including snacks and naps,

a newsy description of our interests,
her frequent concern for my hair to stay out of my eyes—
the solution: to give me a permanent.

The love X 7 poured into each album,
her lasting gift, I opened today
and found how close or far off was memory,

how radiantly beautiful
was my mother.

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