Category Archives: gratitude

More Poems Inspired by Virtual Choir 3 “Water Night”

The Rest of the Story:
My January post was about trying to get over laryngitis in time to sing in Virtual Choir 3. Inspired by the process and Eric Whitacre’s glorious music I wrote the poem, Creation of Water Night. It turned out that this was just the first poem that would insist on being written. All part of what became my VC3 almost-compulsion, culminating in three videos submissions. The first two recordings were seriously flawed (and ultimately deleted). I kept working and hoped I would have enough voice to record a video I felt good about. As days went on, I conserved my voice, speaking little and singing only to get warmed up. Every day I listened to the Alto 4 practice part, worked on the words, read the VC 3 Facebook page, and made sure the tech side was OK at my end.

On Monday before the deadline I was able to take a voice lesson with my teacher, Kip Snyder, which firmed up where to take my breaths. That night I got all ready, makeup on, black top, new blue yeti microphone and computer set up. And then…no voice. Disappointment. One day left. Not procrastination, but close to desperation. I wanted to be OK no matter whether I recorded a video or not, but I really, really wanted this!

And on the last day, Tuesday, in the afternoon, just before the site shut down from the deluge of new entries, I slipped in and recorded. I watched the playback and felt good about it. Not my best sound ever, but no big mistakes, good energy and warm, full heart.

Thank you Eric Whitacre and all the VC 3 people for incredible inspiration. Thank you! I read the VC Facebook page every day, soaking up all the unfailing encouragement and tech help given to others. Thank you! I was amazed and moved by the variety and poignancy of all the stories. Thank you for sharing! I felt (and feel) powerfully connected to this group (In this composite photo I am the third one down and fourth one over from the top left side.) Had a hard time coming down to earth for days after. Here are the poems that tell the story. (With yesterday, In the Dream, the sixth and likely last poem in the series.)

1/27/12

Becoming Virtual Choir 3

Drawn to the music
uncontrollable pull
notes aligned as iron filings
to a magnetic pole

a force of nature
to be reckoned with.
Why these notes at this time
calling to singers of the earth-based web

to unite in dissonant harmony
to sweep and swoop and soar on expelled breath
to help and heal and mold and meld
disparate stories and trials and successes

into one? Why not?
The woman who had heart surgery
the day after singing her submission,
a short reprieve, music replacing fear for her.

The young man from the Philippines
joining for the first time, struggling with technology.
Those with colds and tests and life ongoing,
husbands and kids and dogs supporting.

The woman who gave birth
soon after singing her part.
Those confident few doing what they do
and the rest of us in need of nurturing confidence.

The encouragers and tech fixers: David and Jack,
Sarah and Tony, with unfailing encouragement
and good advice, someone ever-present, determination
and persistence in support of whoever steps up to the plate.

And when the designated time is over,
to be a part of something larger,
if that is not spiritual,
what is?

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2012

1/28/12

The Signature

To EW with gratitude

The beauty of dissonance,
in itself…and resolving,
the strength of moving to
and off of and onward,

continuing the run, each note
clear and strong, not shy away from
close connection,
let all notes be possible together

in the greater scheme of things.
Regardless of what was taught
about what was right or right rules once
in the world as it existed then.

To let become and bloom
from sheer joy of breath and sound
as if the world is being
created all over again…

as indeed it is…
from pure vibration.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2012

By this point I was getting desperate and that tightened my throat which did not help my voice to loft and soar. I remembered why I sing: to be filled with joy. And my husband, Stephen, came to the rescue giving me this image from when he had coached young kids in softball. When a kid tried too hard to hit the ball and kept missing, Stephen made it easy saying, “See the ball, hit the ball,” taking the overactive brain out of the equation. As funny as it might seem, this was the perfect antidote to nerves as I made my last attempt at recording. And it worked!

1/31/12

See the Ball, Hit the Ball

(Remembering Singing is Joyful)

Weight of expectation
and longing full on desire
too much for fragile voice,
neck and shoulders to bear.

To be soft and lyrical
superhuman arc of breath,
to sing with a smile inside,
sound blooming in its time.

What could be ideally,
illusive now but possible
maybe just once, not perfect
but joyful… and that is enough

for temporary euphoria, transient bliss,
deep satisfaction of success.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2012

2/3/12

Muriel Rukeyser

Translated Octavio Paz

The translator almost
unnoticed,
byline at the bottom,
who opened a door
between one language and another,
facilitated what would come after:
the music, the singing, the connection,
dissonance melting into unity or harmony,
the web-strands covering the map,
the euphoria, the sweat, the effort,
the heart moving to tears
of joy it is said,
maybe also loss and pain.
So many choosing to join
something greater than any one.
Begun with a choice of one woman,
or begun with the poet calling and then her choice
who brought to the task
all she had been and been longing,
who took a certain risk
for reasons unknown.
How the chance was offered
with unknown compensation,
no separation between survival and poetry.
And though she is dead,
words are not and the circle
led me back to them.
When she was old did she
remember what she had done,
aware in the waning hours then
what would come?

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2012

Watch for the April 2 launch of Virtual Choir 3 in Water Night!

A Dream About Eric Whitacre

Fall at Chicago Botanic Garden Copyright MDMikus 2007

Context:

In a previous post I wrote about wanting to be in Virtual Choir 3, singing an alto part in “Water Night, a gorgeous and moving piece written and conducted (online) by Eric Whitacre. I did make it to submit a video with just enough voice to feel good about it (more later). Last Saturday, the “group photo” was posted of the 2945 people from 73 countries who submitted videos. After looking through all of the thumbnail photos and not finding mine, I remained calm. It was late (2AM), but I went back to the beginning, promising myself I would look again on Sunday. And there I was! third one down, fourth one over from the top left corner. I felt absurdly pleased and light-hearted. The launch of Virtual Choir 3 is April 2. I can’t wait!

Today though, I’d like to tell you about a dream that happened two months later. And the follow through…

Yes, composer Eric Whitacre, is a dreamy character (who gets a lot of comments about his perfect hair), but it was not that kind of dream. This was more to do with creative encouragement and wanting to express something deeply heartfelt and essential. To be bold. A challenge to be fully myself. Well, you’ll see…

3/3/12

In the Dream

which seemed real
I met Eric Whitacre
and I was not red-faced
and tongue-tied.

I handed him a paper
and said “I have written a poem”
and “Here, I have written some music.”
And he responded upon glancing

“This is a song” and
sang the music
which fit the poem perfectly
liking it enough on the spot

he decided to use it
for his next performance.
I was at that concert in rich detail
an informal setting

full complement of musicians
and singers and Eric
conducting the first half.
I awoke after the break

before they played one
note of mine.
And out of that dream
in that state neither dream nor waking

came the conviction
to give him
the perfect song, with my lines:
“I know that/ I am not my hair…”

and deeper
and more.

The shy voice says
step back while
the brave voice says
step forward

and be seen.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2012

So here is the song for you Eric Whitacre, in the spirit of the poem. I wrote it in 1996 when facing chemotherapy for breast cancer and loss of my own blonde hair (and also a loss of identity). I adapted the poem “I Know That” (which is now in my book, As Easy as Breathing).

I Know That:

I am not my hair,
I am not my eyebrows,
I am not my hunger,
I am not my tears.

I know that:

I am not my anger,
I am not my hopes,
I am not my scars,
I am not my fears.

I am not my mother,
or my mother’s mother,
I am not my aunt. I am not my sister
or my children or my husband.

I am not my past;

I am not my body;

I am the one inside,
along for the ride,
to get what there is
to get and to give
what I have to give.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 1996

Recorded the song on my CD, Full Blooming. (Track 19 on iTunes).

Healing Offering: Part Two

Updated on July 18, 2018:

What specifically could we do for healing relationships (including with ourselves), radiating this healing out into the world. In my experience this practice can dispel disharmony between people (feels like kind of an untangling):

Tonglen Meditation (I originally learned about this in a workshop with Joan Borysenko, Ph.D. in Chicago in 1995.)

Tonglen is from Tibetan, meaning giving and taking (or sending and receiving). It can be a powerful tool to transform negative into positive, what is tangled into smooth. There are many forms of tonglen (see Google). This is my own version, which I taught, re-shaped a bit over the years with my practice, understanding, guidance, and study of healing. There is no one right way to do this. No particular belief is required, just entertain the possibility that this might be helpful and see what happens. Much is accomplished by the power of intention. The basics are: Breathe in, pause (transform), breathe out. Here are the long and short versions.

Long version:
–To get ready: Find a quiet place and get into a comfortable and supported position. Uncross legs or ankles. If you are sitting, feel your feet fully on the floor if you can. Take three deep letting-go breaths (if possible, fill the belly with air and let out noisily). Close your eyes.

–Then envision a gold luminous light above and slightly in front of you, washing over your body, cleansing all the dark grime from every cell in your body and washing it out through the feet. You may feel lighter.

–Next focus on your heart, perhaps placing your hand on your chest, becoming aware of the warmth, energy, and power of the loving furnace of your beating heart.

–Picture yourself in your mind. Breathe in any dark grime that may be covering your own heart-light. Pause briefly as the darkness transforms into love by the power of your heart-furnace. Breathe that love back out to yourself. Repeat for perhaps a minute or two or until it feels done to you.

–Next envision someone close to you. Breathe in any darkness that may be covering their heart-light. Pause briefly as the darkness transforms into love by the power of your heart-furnace. Breathe that love back out to them. Repeat until it feels finished, maybe a minute or two, whatever seems right to you.

–Now envision someone you are at odds with. Breathe in any dark grime that may be covering their heart-light. Pause briefly as the darkness transforms into love by the power of your heart-furnace. Breathe that love back out to them. Repeat until it feels done, maybe a few minutes or whatever seems right to you.

–If someone else now comes to mind, continue this process. You might also envision an organization or troubled region, specific people or whatever seems appropriate to you. A group can also do this together (perhaps in the same place or just at the same time).

–And finally, very important to finish up with gratitude, perhaps thanking any guides you may work with (or none). Breathe normally for a bit, just feeling grateful.

Short version:
You can use this whenever someone throws you off. Say you are shopping or driving or at work and something happens with someone that feels yucky. You notice, stop a minute, breathe deeply, focus on your heart energy, and right then breathe in the dark clouds covering the heart-light of that person, transform the darkness in your heart, and breathe it back out as love, for whatever amount of time feels right. (You do not absorb any negative energy.) End by feeling grateful and breathing normally. And continue on with your day.

Note:
There is no one right way to do this. No particular belief is required, just entertain the possibility that this might be helpful and see what happens. Much can be accomplished by the power of intention.

I have also done tonglen to support healing relationships (which I see as gold cords of light between people). I believe it works for any living thing, including organizations and countries. It feels good to do, calming, empowering, and harmonizing. Practical. Please remember you do not control the outcome. No one can say what will happen after the tonglen meditation. But my experience has always been positive (usually surprisingly so). Good for me and good for the person I was having trouble with. I love win-win situations!

I’d like to know: what is your experience with this?

Tomorrow, my song “Prayer of Lovingkindness.”

Happy Birthday Mom!!

Today is my Mother’s 85th birthday. She was 25 when she had me, her oldest daughter (second of seven children). Now her life is wrapping up. After a series of many small strokes or “episodes,” she has significant cognitive loss according to testing. (Not Alzheimer’s.) She was a registered nurse for many years (maybe 50?). But now she cannot recall many words that used to be easy for her and she more often loses her train of thought, which frustrates her.

Yet every Monday we have these amazing conversations, talking of our week, our lives, our memories. I try to be calming and newsy: what’s going on with the kids, my husband, or my writing. We try not to talk too much about the medical. I may describe a squirrel swishing his tail on the tree in front of me. And we both remember that my Dad loved to watch the antics of squirrels in our backyard. I am grateful she knows who I am and remembers what is going on with our family. We both consciously treasure these conversations, this time we still have. This is the most recent poem for her.

9/12/11 Monday

An Ordinary Conversation

My mother wanted to remember
and I want to remember

this particular conversation
which started out about disarray

of a problematic week and
took a journey to calm consideration

of life as it plays out.
And if her voice is rough, throat dry

and if memory slips in and out
well, so what? Here we are still

talking of past and mostly present
telling stories that mean something

lending support, encouragement
eye to eye, heart to heart.

What could be better than that?

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2011

Poems as Memory

Thank you to my new friend, Charlotte McDaniel, who asked me the question “What do I remember?” of 9/11/2001, prompting me to look back.

As with many people, I have very vivid memories of that time. The night before I had flown back from a healing conference in CA, a 10 PM landing at O’Hare airport in Chicago (I had considered staying over another night). In the morning, my husband called me more than a dozen times to wake me, very intense, making sure I was OK and to check on our kids at school. He worked in downtown Chicago, near tall buildings that might have been targets. Personally scary. I remember him being amazing in calming those at his law office.

For me the warm feelings and processing from the incredible conference (Cancer as a Turning Point) were mostly pushed aside in the stunned days ahead. Anything I had planned to write seemed trivial. At some point writing began again as a way to cope and process and express. I did not normally watch much TV and never the news, but like so many others, I was glued to the set. Until my son (age 17) asked me to stop watching, it was making me seriously depressed.

When putting together my first book, As Easy as Breathing, I realized that those who have been through cancer or some other life-threatening experience, learned a lot about living with fear and even to thrive. So the scope of the book got bigger and I included some of my poems from after 9/11.The times we are living in are still deeply infused with fear. And that is not my way to look at things, not healthy and not healing. I try to screen what gets in to me, filtering out the fear-based stuff to a high degree. Or at least to be more aware and choose how I want to live, what I want to believe.

Here are the poems from my poetic journal from that time. It was like powerful time travel for me to read them. What do you remember? What changed for you and might still be healed? What needs to be addressed? What did we learn then, and now ten years later? Who are we, in light of all this?

(In the following poems, I think you will be able to see the point at which I fully surrendered—in the sense of letting all the darkness go, trusting in Divine help.)

9/10/01

Reprise: Flying Home

What is written on the face of the Earth
in swirls and scars and canyons deep,
in rouge rock and snow covered peaks,
in pools of a thousand azure eyes,
in snaking rivers and river valleys?

From within, the voice of the mother,
soothing, healing, scolding and weary.
Where forest grew to clear the air,
if not vanished, diminished, earth-skin exposed,
open sores to fester.

Does hope still rise with the dawn or the moon?
Yes, however improbable.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2001

9/11/01

Friend or Foe

How do you tell friend from foe?
If you could read hearts you’d know.

One whose heart is open could never harm;
one whose heart is armored

can squeeze out empathy and compassion,
could be capable of any outrage from misdirected passion.

Be wary though do not freeze out.
Notice and discern—trust or not trust.

A friend can be any age, any color,
any height, weight, sex or gender,

can speak any language, wear any clothes
worship any divinity.

A foe does not wear a black hat
or look any different,

it is inside where anger bubbles and hatred brews
that an enemy is made from me or you.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2001

9/11/01

Still Percolating

“What name do you call yourself
when you want your soul to answer?”

When I can accept myself “as is”
all else will align to that sacred name.

What is it?

“Mother of My Self.”

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2001

9/12/01

The Day After

When we all sat on the swing between time
before choosing to jump,

I did not say “I wish you a life of nothing happening,”
I whispered, “I wish you strength and courage

and a life full of all life has to offer.”
And we jumped, landing in these bodies and families

and in this particular place and time.
Together we came from the stars, the sun,

each navigating a separate course, until we find
our way back together and back home.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2001

From my book, As Easy as Breathing

9/14/01

Petty Concerns Fall Away

Though the day is sunny,
cleansing rain falls in abundance.

Hold my hand, kiss me full,
sing me your rich, dark song.
Petty concerns fall away.

Can I allow feeling,
will the ocean wash me clear?
Will those who beg for comfort

allow me peace,
those gone and those who remain?
I call to the Mother of My Self

who answers with compassion,
eyes of infinite pools,
petty concerns fall away.

I rock with my arms around,
holding the essential questions,
“Who am I in relation to this?

How is my course altered,
what am I to do, being true to who I am?”
I rock in the silence

and wait, still.
Petty concerns fall away.
I wait for clarity.

Breathe out…
breathe in…

chest aches from expansion.

Breathe out…
breathe in…

sing my sweetest, sad song,
some notes right, some notes wrong.
Trusting, I have prepared for the unknown,

now I step in
and listen.
Petty concerns fall away.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2001

From my book, As Easy as Breathing

9/14/01

No Need

No need for vengeance,
for retribution.
Those who planned to die

in so horrific a fashion
went through the same door
as those who thought they were

going on vacation; both
were met on the other side by generous spirits,
where each felt the result of their actions

in exquisite agony or ecstasy,
and each will return to life
to receive what is owed or to pay.

I have not forgiven.
I am not unforgiving.
I am in the flow of the River.

I am the River,
one thing leading to another.
In my times here

I have done the courageous and the unspeakable,
it has taken me this long to return home.
No one can know

what was re-balanced,
what was set in motion,
what strength found and compassion.

What was scorned is embraced,
what was demeaned is kissed.
The flag waves over the home of the brave.

Do not strike the faces
of those who look temporarily different.
Do not get sucked into shadow.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2001

9/16/01

Willing Myself to Live

A bitter wind
blew off my skin,
leaving me still standing,
bones and sinew exposed and raw,
mind reeling, uncomprehending.

How can I possibly heal,
how can I make sense of this
and live in the world again
as a loving child of a loving God?
I rock with this question:
Who am I in relation to this?

I attempt to breathe,
but air lacks nourishment
and my chest is crushed with weight.
I will my belly to rise and fall.
Breathe in…and out.
I will myself to live.

For protection,
my heart has closed
like the petals of a camera shutter.
Breathe out…breathe in,
into my heart, willing myself to live,
to feel, to risk embrace.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2001

9/20/01

The Story Up to Now

How many times did you see
planes hit the World Trade Center,
holes gaping from the sides, black smoke and flames
billowing out, people clinging desperately?

How many times did you see two 110 story towers
unzip from steel girders and cement supports and crash,
spire pointing straight up all the way down?

How many times did eyes take in
the flaming Pentagon, ears hear possible
body counts as survivors checked in…or did not.

It happened only once. Once was more than enough.

Yet everywhere horrified, scared people
stayed glued in shock to TV’s
where we saw these raw images over and over
so like special effects in a movie,
so chillingly real.

***

On September 9th, a dear friend wrote us while traveling
on the train to New York City, letter postmarked September 10.
She grew up on the lower East side, minutes away from WTC.
I couldn’t get word of her.
Though I felt she was fine,
I longed to hear her voice or see her face in the crowds.
For 6 days I called—no answer.

***

The stories put a human face on unreal tragedy:
the people who weren’t at the towers, but would have been,
who chose to walk the dog a bit longer on a fine, clear fall NY morning,
the chef who had his eyes checked at the optometrist on the first floor,
the CEO who took his son for the first day of “big boy school,”
the financial analyst who went clothes shopping,
the lawyer who overslept and took a later train.

And the ones who were not usually there, but were on that day—
who had a rare meeting on floor 105,
who caught an earlier plane,
who made a UPS delivery.
There were husbands and wives who rode into the city together
and diligent workers at their desks on time
and those whose job it was to rescue the trapped.

So many lost.
So many saved.

Could have been worse.

All planes grounded, the skies are still.
And news filters in of who is thought responsible,
how teams trained here, lived here, drank at local bars,
rented houses and cars, charging on Visa.

Slowly the unimaginable details—and then faces
to put on terrorists, at first suspected,
then “confirmed,” 19 young men.

Cell phone calls from the doomed, in planes, in towers,
“We’ve been hijacked—men with knives.”
“I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

One plane crashes in an Amish field in Pennsylvania—
all aboard killed. Still the good news—
no one else killed, no crucial symbols demolished.

We piece together from calls what happened, how
a decision was made, knowing the consequence
either way. “I love you…good bye.”

Other buildings teeter, burn, collapse.
Essential services cut off, thousands roam the streets,
faces shocked blank or crumpled, holding pictures of the missing,
clinging to a shred of hope for sons, daughters, husbands, wives,
friends, co-workers, fathers and mothers.

The president speaks.
His presence reassures—one symbol untouched.

The president speaks again, rising to comfort,
“we are a peaceful people, slow to anger,
but once aroused, will…”

How to feel safe,
how to feel?

The immediate fog lifts after a time.
My son asks a favor—stop
watching television. I comply,
I don’t usually watch, but felt compelled.

***

On Sunday after the Tuesday, I call and my friend answers.
Though I chose not to worry,
I am flooded with relief. We talk four hours.
She had been close to the crashes. She saw the first gaping black hole.
Her friend’s mother had been at that moment having open heart surgery
at St. Vincent’s Hospital where many of the victims would later be taken.
Her mother lives 15 minutes away from the WTC,
my friend could walk over and shop.
She remembered a wonderful dinner at the restaurant on the top.
Reluctantly, we hang up.

***

Slowly, daily life finds a direction.
What to do? How to help?
What to think? How to allow feeling?

Important that more innocents were not lost.
Flags waving everywhere. “God Bless America.”
Whose God? Who is excluded? Who is included?
Important here of all places, that the melting pot not boil over.

What does this mean for travel, for immigration,
for all dark-skinned, dark-eyed people,
for anyone who is perceived as a bit different?

Can we live with suspicion? Will we send
all who are unlike ourselves to camps?
We have done it before.

Do we retaliate? Do we bomb? Are we at ease
with escalating loss of life?
Where does it end?

I pray those making decisions will make good ones,
understanding the lessons of history,
considering twenty future generations.
I pray they will be deliberate
and consult not only the “experts,” but also the Divine—

and then listen.

So much is unknowable.

Some mistakes cannot be set right—
innocent men, women and children, once killed
cannot be un-killed. Yet this identified enemy

who could plan and carry out such
deliberate horrific tragedy,
cannot be allowed to continue.

It is not enough to catch one man,
to track down and eliminate his deadly network,
it is essential that deep changes be made,

not out of fear, but in love,
of ourselves and all others.

9/21/01

Life Has Meaning

I can sit in the dark
at a table to eat
and not turn on the light.

I can talk, cry or scream
and rock myself to sleep
in the darkest of dark.

I do not have to seek the light,
like a woman who has been burned.
I can sit still

in the dark unafraid
of what it holds,
patient for what will be revealed.

The strongest true thing
keeping me tied to this world
is the belief that life has meaning.

If that piece of the puzzle is removed,
even as a possibility,
the rest of my life falls away.

What I have been through—
more than some, less than some—
had some purpose, shaped me, led me.

If I let go of that,
I lose any reason to stay.
Yes, I have loved and love still…

I let it all go…
And jump or fly…
Where will I land, if anywhere?

9/21/01

Still

I have nothing to say.
I am sitting still.
I am in the dark
as much as ever.

Illusion of security
ripped away,
hit by a steamroller—
you know how big

and heavy that is,
how deceptively smooth,
how flat you’d be,
what chance of recovery.

9/23/01

I GIVE UP

I FUCKING GIVE UP

9/24/01 Mon.

I ride the roller coaster
until the end.
I open a door and close it
never to return.

10/3/01

Aftermath

It is as if
the floor was smeared with butter
and I slipped into the air
and stayed suspended there—

not falling or landing hard,
not rising or flying off,
but suspended in space, in time
with the very rules I live by.

No gravity, no pull of the earth,
no cause and effect,
one second not following another,
even breath suspended,

waiting for the other shoe to drop.

(From my book, As Easy as Breathing
Recorded on my CD, Full Blooming)

10/6/01

Shine

We’ve all been around the block
more than a few times.
We’ve seen more than our eyes could hold,
heard more than ears can bear.

We stood out under the sun, the moon,
arms held out in supplication,
hearts bursting with the pain of living.
And the skies opened and swallowed us.

In dreams we traveled to other lands
with more flexible rules governing
behavior of the physical realm.
And we returned refreshed or confused

to begin again.
One clear thing to note:
we are not alone, but with
those here who walk parallel to our steps

and those who responded to our cosmic calls.
But this one thing is true:
the only way to safely navigate
in such treacherous waters

is to attune to our Center, our Core,
align with the Heart and the Source of all power.
Like a lamp plugged into an electric outlet,
we will shine once turned on.

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