I no longer recognize my life.                     
Yesterday, the youngest of our five          
Children, our son Arun, turned twenty.    
Earlier this month, we moved away,         
Leaving our beloved community                
And family home where he was born. 

He came peacefully into the world                           
In a hot tub in our living room,
Facing our family altar and a                                                   
Two-story wall of undraped windows,     
Which made it feel as if we were out       
Under the vast sky of moon and stars.

His birth marked the first year in our home            
In a village-like community,                                       
Where our children grew up and homeschooled.
I would walk two of our youngest to                       
Daycare then a few steps more to work                 
Through forests, gardens, and orchards.

The children would go outside for hours,               
Getting lost in the woods, climbing trees,
Playing with the neighbors and our dog,  
Doing chores and driving the tractor.                      
They loved socializing and sharing                            
Meals at our community center.                               

New cells and tissues are created continuously, as our bodies replaced dysfunctional https://unica-web.com/COMMITTEE/jeanne-glass-en.html commander viagra or dead cells and tissues.

This center became the focal point
Of our lives: I worked there mornings, and
We attended meetings there weekly.
Soon we became leaders and teachers,
Helping govern the community
And run educational programs.

The community defined my life,          
From my marriage and my parenting
To my spiritual path and my
work in the world, all integrated.
And through this, I grew vastly on all
Levels, and my current work was birthed.

Now here I am, unpacking boxes,
Some I haven’t seen in years and years.
Their contents spill out onto the floor
Along with my memories and tears.
I sit there among the pile of dolls,
Photos, baby clothes, and children’s books.

Yesterday, my youngest turned twenty.
Today, I don’t recognize my life.
I step over memories, tears, and
Boxes in a city I don’t know,
Wondering “who will I be without
All that previously defined me?”

8 thoughts on “The Dismantling of a Life

  • December 22, 2019 at 3:19 pm
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    All will work out better than you think. I wish I could have been there to help but as you know I couldn’t and you probably wouldn’t want your mom in your way.
    blessings to you all and your new home. Miss you so much and I know all will be better this year for all of the family

    Reply
  • December 22, 2019 at 9:02 pm
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    Goddess, you really captured it. How what we’ve left in our life defines us. Very poignant and clear. And I am grateful you posted it. Because I resonate with what you are going through.

    Reply
  • December 23, 2019 at 5:53 pm
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    I enjoyed reading your transformational honest posting about moving forward facing unknown.
    Thanks Leon

    Reply
    • December 23, 2019 at 5:55 pm
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      I enjoyed reading your transformational honest posting about moving forward facing unknown.
      Thanks Leon

      Reply
  • December 23, 2019 at 6:10 pm
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    Oh, Deb, this glimpse behind your scenes cracks my heart open, helping me understand more deeply via verse nuances of this life change–this re”birth”–for you, in a few ways, it seems. Mixed bag as this transition must be, as “wholeness” can be? I love you. – Jenn

    Reply
  • December 23, 2019 at 9:03 pm
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    Who will you be? Perhaps more of the you that you truly are under all of the external things that you use to identify your “self.”

    Love and miss you!

    Reply
  • December 26, 2019 at 12:25 am
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    That was very emotional! You’ll have to update us with another poem in 2020!

    Reply
  • January 3, 2020 at 3:40 am
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    As always, you move and inspire me. The last line especially capture my questioning since Bruce’s death.
    How God pushes out of our comfort zone that we may know more fully our essence. Hard but neccessary.
    with love and gratitude,
    Linda

    Reply

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