On energy, flying, and poems

    Go where the energy is. It's 4 am and this sentence from a book I started last night, Create Anyways by Ashlee Gadd, rolls around in my head.

    When I set out to blog again, the last thing I thought I’d be sharing is poetry. In fact, my blog from a decade ago didn’t hold a single poem that I can recall. I know I did write some poetry back then, but it never left the white lined page for anyone to see.

    But recently, the energy has been different. 

    It’s now 5:22am and the blurry remembrance of a physics term conservation of energy is also rolling around in my head and I’m googling it. I should probably stop. My husband hasn’t even come downstairs to make coffee so I’m not sure this can go anywhere good, but I’m compelled. (In case you’re wondering- I technically could make the coffee, but he’s the chief coffee maker in our home and I’m content to let him be so. In case you are also wondering- I am up at this insane hour because sometimes I find I enjoy writing at 5 am if I can’t fall back asleep. Yes, I am a little crazy). Upon reading, I feel as though I’ve stumbled upon something significant:

    “In physics, the term conservation refers to something which doesn't change. This means that the variable in an equation which represents a conserved quantity is constant over time….Energy, as we'll be discussing it in this article, refers to the total energy of a system. As objects move around over time, the energy associated with them—e.g., kinetic, gravitational potential, heat—might change forms, but if energy is conserved, then the total will remain the same.”[1]

    I see it with new clarity as I read. Something that has remained constant is my love for words. Sometimes it comes out in essay. Sometimes in poetry. Sometimes in ramblings that fall somewhere in between those two. Sometimes it’s writing a note to a friend. Sometimes it’s preparing for a teaching lesson. Sometimes it comes out at 6am in my prayer journal for no one’s eyes but God’s. Sometimes it comes out at 5:22am with the click clack of my fingers running across letters forming vague thoughts on a glowing screen. 

    As I "move around over time,” the energy “might change forms.”

    If there’s anything I’ve learned about motherhood and well, life in general, is that things change forms. Schedules. Meal planning. Bodies. Friendships. Work. Creativity. Community. Exercise. Given all this propensity for change, I wish I was better at transitions, but I’m not. I am slowly learning to embrace it though. To fight it less. To graciously allow the energy to change forms.

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    Fast forward two weeks and I realize the energy has changed yet again. It’s not poetry though, in fact, I haven’t written a poem in these two weeks. That irony is not lost on me. 

    Instead I’m knee deep in plans for a weekend women’s gathering at our church in March. I’m still playing with words though as I craft them for the weekend booklet and shape them for a talk on the woman at the well. It's fun, terrifying, joy filled, and exhausting all at the same time.

    Part of me wants to get back here- to my own words, to poems, to photography- I kind of miss this kind of free writing, but as I remember this concept of energy changing forms, I regain peace. I am practicing again and again surrender, going with the flow, laying on my back in the wide waters and floating on his love.

______

    So I include all this with the poem I wrote the day before my conservation-of energy-aha-morning. And I laugh that right after I wrote the first part of this post, the energy shifted. Isn’t that how life goes?

    Thanks for sticking around. I'm sure I'll have more cohesive thoughts to come after the the event in March when my brain has more space.

______

To Fly
written February 2, 2024

She knows what it is to walk-
knows in the sense of watching,
not actually accomplishing. 

She knows what is is instead to rise up
on weak, trembling legs 
every muscle firing
every neuron connecting.

She knows what it is to lift one toe 
and inch it forward,
to smile, hands outstretched,
and fall back down.

She knows what is is to tug her brother’s hand,
pull herself up, and to walk- assisted-
but nonetheless walking. 

She knows instinctively to reach out and ask for help
because that is the only way she will learn-
the only way to not live all of life crawling. 

The birds greet the morning outside my window and I consider all this.

I know what it is to fly-
know in the sense of watching,
not actually accomplishing.

I see the birds rise up
on small stick- thin legs.
Are they concerned about their hollow bones?
Or do they know is the reason they fly?

Maybe I can let my hollowness give way to flight.
Maybe I should ask for a hand.

______

[1] Thanks google for this article.