Through the Valley

I’m savoring some quiet moments here this morning as the rest of the family is still slumbering. It was a more restless night of sleep for me, with dreams and more frequent waking, not to attend to anyone or anything other than my swirling thoughts and emotions. It seems that both Jason and I find ourselves lately in a place of high emotion and deep sadness. I guess it should come as no surprise that we miss Nora. Jason did some writing late last night, as I was reading Kali to sleep and then myself shortly thereafter.

I want to let Jason’s writings end this update as for me his poem needs to be the final word for today. Before that, I wanted to let you all know that we will be sending more infrequent updates. BUT we are actually writing more often and in smaller snippets and with more pictures interspersed. That is, I’ve entered the world of “blogging.” It is very much a work in progress but you are welcome to check it out anytime. We may occasionally still send updates/writings to the list but more likely we will allow those of you wanting a window into our lives to check for recent postings when you find your thoughts going our direction. I have made it that at the bottom of the home page you can “subscribe” to the blog. I’m still VERY new to this but we have wanted a place to put all out updates and pictures of Nora all together. I’m working at archiving all the older updates and it is quite the journey for me to re-read them all. I’m currently at the most hopeful updates of Nora when she had just crested 6lbs and all were feeling good about her progress and we were adjusting to having a different baby than we had dreamed, but a sweet and healthy one. I’ve lived the whole thing and yet I find myself anxious to read on knowing now that this is just the calm before the storm.

So feel free to check it out at www.myersbenner.blogspot.com and feel free to add comments there or email us directly (I’m still figuring out the comments part myself). There are 6 short postings there since our last update, which should get you pretty much up to date on our lives. Now to Jason:

“I felt exhausted and testy and sad this evening, and when I had a few minutes to myself in the car my thoughts immediately went to Nora. You would think that I would have relished the time away from our home place, having spent the vast bulk of my time here for many weeks now, toiling away in solitude (usually) at our various projects. But I needed to get home. Some poetry had been brooding and brewing all day, and it was time to hatch it and drink it.

Our home has space and green and natural. I can deal with nature because I can see nature (to be specific, “self-organizing” nature, as I have recently heard it called). And nature is simultaneously the specter that needs to be dealt with and the comfort I seek. In the city and suburbs everything is controlled, or looks like it’s controlled, but control is, in the end, a sham. Or at least it’s incomplete. Like a moth to a flame, I am drawn to the places where there is less control. It may hurt to put my finger on it, but it depresses me and produces anxiety when there are layers of removal between me and it. It is the cold, clear stream that hurts my skin when I touch it, but to which I return to drink.”

Jason writes: These excerpted paragraphs have been touched up a little this morning to make them more sensible, since last night’s writing was something of a disgorgement. It’s still kind of raw in form, but that’s o.k. Here is one of the poems I was working on. Poems are never really finished, as I’ve heard a poet say, just abandoned. But at a certain point the poet becomes willing to make the work public. The others are not ready.

Through the Valley

Our trail led down into the gorge.
We harbored fear, but had no choice;
love’s rod was always there to prod us on.

Step by worried step,
we carried you for miles, always hoping
for the path to strike an upward tack
and lead us through and out; we wandered there
so very long.

In meadows green we laid us down and, choking, drank the
brimming chalice of our sorrow by the cool and quiet river’s bank,
for it was there we learned we could not take you with us any further, nor
could we remain.

Kneeling at the water’s edge, the best that we could do
for you was weave a basket, lay you in, and send
you on your way. You couldn’t know we didn’t leave, but watched
that basket float until it passed the bend, would be there
still if love had not reached
out to nudge us with
a gentle staff.

* * * * * * * * *

This path is leading out and through, but without you:
Oh, empty arms! Looking back toward where we’ve been I feel
the pain and smell the smoke of hopes becoming ashes, yet I know
that this is right: these labored steps, my aching hips, love’s
leading toward the light. And there is this: at night
I dream of palaces that lie beyond the bend; I see
some bathing goddess reaching out to
lift you from the rushes.

Jason Myers-Benner
August 8, 2008