What a lovely poem. I will be taking the prompt to my journal. :) I understand what you mean about the tension between community and social anxiety. My husband and I are both introverted people, but we do push ourselves to be in community sometimes. Recently after a gathering with two other families with similar-aged children, once we got ours buckled into their carseats and sat in our seats and shut the door, he turned to me and said, "Well, I felt horribly awkward the whole time, but that was great!" Which was exactly how I felt. And the only way out of the awkwardness is through it...eventually we will feel more comfortable around these lovely people, but for now, we just have to awkwardly enjoy.
If we are made of light, then I am tired. I laugh because of course I am always tired, with two little kids and it’s February to boot. Light is energy, traveling, and open eyes, and I want only restful sleep, and staying home, and shuteye.
But truly, if we are made of light, then this must be true : when we lock eyes, we are bouncing light between us. Are you seeing me? Am I seeing you? What prism would I have to hold up to my open gaze to let it separate out all the layers of me, and show me plainly to you? We exchange our names, whose child is ours, perhaps what street we live on. But I want to tell you that when I was a child I only wore patterned socks : ones with frogs on them that said “hop to it,” snowflake socks that I wore year-round, or at the very least colorful stripes. I did not see the point of plain white socks, of not cramming whimsy into my shoes. I want to tell you that I still miss my dad, that I was a mess in college, that I feel guilty for going to sleep while my husband stays up and does the dishes. And I want you to tell me. What do you think about when you’re falling asleep? Do you think outer space is a…good idea? (I don’t.) How have you kept your faith?
We’ve only just met, and we aren’t young enough to vault from chit-chat to heart-to-hearts.
James, your inspiring reflections on the theme of community and your beautiful poem "Made of Light" deeply resonate, highlighting the strength and solace we can all find in connection. Encouraged by your writing prompt, I had a go: “If we are made of light, then we are the shimmering echoes of ancient stars, radiating love and hope in a cosmic dance.”
Thank you James! I am totally in tune with you on this. As the shock and fear of the last few months has shaken my soul, I have been forced to find the light, because it’s what remains when all else is stripped away. Sunlight slants into my house in the woods as I write this, silent and lifegiving.
I went to a Quaker college, where a motto is Might the Light. This week I was contemplating these words, and ‘light the mind’ came to me. I can light my mind, free it of the dark currents that would seize it.
Let us mind the light, as a growing network of those who see this as a great way, perhaps ultimately the best way, to respond to today’s swirling currents of fear and negativity.
For me depression can keep me from going out. My mental health therapist says I have to get out of the house twice a day. Once can be for exercise and okay to be solo but the other time I have to talk to some even if I just say Hi to the cashier when I pay for my milk. This has helped me through deepest times of depression but raven as I’ve become healthier I find it’s also preventative of low mental health.
" I must admit, because I am someone who needs a great deal of solitude and silence, community has not always been a natural fit." Me too.
I'm also an energy healer, so yes, made of light! I love it. I teach about nervous system regulation and humans are wired to seek "safety" in community, even if it's just one other safe person. Unfortunately, trauma can put a wrench in our ability to trust, and disturb the healthy function of our nervous system. But, I'm understanding now that the answer isn't isolation, it's finding safe community.
Thank you for the lovely poem and post. I can so relate as introvert and someone who has social anxiety. My first instinct is to draw away but I need others and connections so badly. Particularly right now.
Oh James, I love the honesty here. I feel this way - "I'm not sure I can do this" - before every therapy session, writing facilitation, or poetry reading. I think to myself that maybe I should go open a restaurant again. Does it ever get more comfortable? Perhaps not, perhaps that's the whole point.
I feel that poetry is itself deep social connection, creating community as your poetic images project onto my readers' brain. I can't describe it very well, but to me it connects us together in a very deep way.
This resonates on so many levels. Your writing has been such a huge anchor for me since I first found one of your books in a Vermont bookstore over a year ago, during one of the hardest times in my life. Thank you for sharing your raw truths with us, for helping us feel less alone.
Thank you so much, Melaney! I'm grateful you found that book in a Vermont bookstore. Writing itself has been an anchor for me these past years--I turn to it every day for wisdom and presence.
What a lovely poem. I will be taking the prompt to my journal. :) I understand what you mean about the tension between community and social anxiety. My husband and I are both introverted people, but we do push ourselves to be in community sometimes. Recently after a gathering with two other families with similar-aged children, once we got ours buckled into their carseats and sat in our seats and shut the door, he turned to me and said, "Well, I felt horribly awkward the whole time, but that was great!" Which was exactly how I felt. And the only way out of the awkwardness is through it...eventually we will feel more comfortable around these lovely people, but for now, we just have to awkwardly enjoy.
you and your husband sound a lot like me and mine--we have to nudge ourselves toward community, but it is so important right now. ;)
SO important. We can do it!
If we are made of light, then I am tired. I laugh because of course I am always tired, with two little kids and it’s February to boot. Light is energy, traveling, and open eyes, and I want only restful sleep, and staying home, and shuteye.
But truly, if we are made of light, then this must be true : when we lock eyes, we are bouncing light between us. Are you seeing me? Am I seeing you? What prism would I have to hold up to my open gaze to let it separate out all the layers of me, and show me plainly to you? We exchange our names, whose child is ours, perhaps what street we live on. But I want to tell you that when I was a child I only wore patterned socks : ones with frogs on them that said “hop to it,” snowflake socks that I wore year-round, or at the very least colorful stripes. I did not see the point of plain white socks, of not cramming whimsy into my shoes. I want to tell you that I still miss my dad, that I was a mess in college, that I feel guilty for going to sleep while my husband stays up and does the dishes. And I want you to tell me. What do you think about when you’re falling asleep? Do you think outer space is a…good idea? (I don’t.) How have you kept your faith?
We’ve only just met, and we aren’t young enough to vault from chit-chat to heart-to-hearts.
But what if we did?
James, your inspiring reflections on the theme of community and your beautiful poem "Made of Light" deeply resonate, highlighting the strength and solace we can all find in connection. Encouraged by your writing prompt, I had a go: “If we are made of light, then we are the shimmering echoes of ancient stars, radiating love and hope in a cosmic dance.”
Beautiful response, Deborah! I say: keep going with that idea.
A beautiful thought, Deborah. ✨💛✨💛✨💛✨
Thank you James! I am totally in tune with you on this. As the shock and fear of the last few months has shaken my soul, I have been forced to find the light, because it’s what remains when all else is stripped away. Sunlight slants into my house in the woods as I write this, silent and lifegiving.
I went to a Quaker college, where a motto is Might the Light. This week I was contemplating these words, and ‘light the mind’ came to me. I can light my mind, free it of the dark currents that would seize it.
Let us mind the light, as a growing network of those who see this as a great way, perhaps ultimately the best way, to respond to today’s swirling currents of fear and negativity.
For me depression can keep me from going out. My mental health therapist says I have to get out of the house twice a day. Once can be for exercise and okay to be solo but the other time I have to talk to some even if I just say Hi to the cashier when I pay for my milk. This has helped me through deepest times of depression but raven as I’ve become healthier I find it’s also preventative of low mental health.
This seems very good advice to me--I try to do it, too, going out at least twice and engaging with the world. It always helps.
“ I began to see the ways that a good teacher or facilitator can bring people closer together, so they feel connected for life.” 😊
" I must admit, because I am someone who needs a great deal of solitude and silence, community has not always been a natural fit." Me too.
I'm also an energy healer, so yes, made of light! I love it. I teach about nervous system regulation and humans are wired to seek "safety" in community, even if it's just one other safe person. Unfortunately, trauma can put a wrench in our ability to trust, and disturb the healthy function of our nervous system. But, I'm understanding now that the answer isn't isolation, it's finding safe community.
Safe community seems a very key phrase there, Kristi. Thank you! Not just any community will do, especially for those of us with trauma in our pasts.
💛
Thank you for the lovely poem and post. I can so relate as introvert and someone who has social anxiety. My first instinct is to draw away but I need others and connections so badly. Particularly right now.
Oh James, I love the honesty here. I feel this way - "I'm not sure I can do this" - before every therapy session, writing facilitation, or poetry reading. I think to myself that maybe I should go open a restaurant again. Does it ever get more comfortable? Perhaps not, perhaps that's the whole point.
It never gets fully comfortable, but we become more able to smile at those fearful, anxious thoughts. And maybe we get familiar with the discomfort!
I feel that poetry is itself deep social connection, creating community as your poetic images project onto my readers' brain. I can't describe it very well, but to me it connects us together in a very deep way.
So true!
This resonates on so many levels. Your writing has been such a huge anchor for me since I first found one of your books in a Vermont bookstore over a year ago, during one of the hardest times in my life. Thank you for sharing your raw truths with us, for helping us feel less alone.
Thank you so much, Melaney! I'm grateful you found that book in a Vermont bookstore. Writing itself has been an anchor for me these past years--I turn to it every day for wisdom and presence.
It is dark out there.
May we light neighboring flames,
keep each other brave.