Prayer is not a thing to get done,
but rather a coming undone —
letting go of all the handholds
we cling to so tightly,
feeling our bodies pull away
from the cliff face we’re scaling.
It is being certain that
uncertainty can’t kill us,
and that getting to the top
is not true victory anyway.
Prayer is coming undone
alone
and together
until all we have are eyes
for the miraculous.
Yesterday I was sitting in church when a few words of poetry floated into my brain…in Turkish. It took me a moment to realize that I had just began my first poem in Turkish! I immediately opened the notes app on my phone and began tapping down the words (insert sheepish comment about not paying attention in church here). I’m not saying it’s perfect or beautiful or even good at all really in Turkish (thought I definitely owe credit to my friend Didem who helped me with editing), but I still feel something indescribable right now. I feel like Turkey and my life here has wound its way deeply into my heart. Something feels different. Good. Mystical. Like home. Here’s my poem, along with a photo I took last year of my brother and his wife.
Here’s a translation in English, although it doesn’t really sound the same to me…I didn’t think of these words in English first, so it’s kinda funny to hear them like this.
I’m alone, I said.
You said, I’m here.
I’m so afraid, I said.
You said, I will never abandon you.
I have no strength, I said.
You said, There is strength in weakness.
I have no one, I said.
You said, I am yours.
My spirit is weary, I said.
You said, Come, I will give you peace.
Ok, ok, I said. But do you love me?
You said, My darling, don’t you know?
You are a part of me.
I love with with all that I have.
Hello lovely readers,
Welcome to my freshly updated blog, I Sing My Soul!
This space has been in a bit of limbo since I decided that I would not primarily be writing about my adventures in Izmir, Turkey (where I live). At first though, I didn’t really know what I would write about.
About a year ago, I changed the title simply to my first and middle name, Ingrid Claire, because all I knew for sure was that I’d be writing things personal in nature. I also obtained the corresponding domain name at that time. I wrote about the creative process, novel-writing, pain and sadness, and I also started using the space to share my poetry.
Over the past year, though I haven’t posted heavily, I’ve noticed that I most enjoy using this space to post poetry and other creative endeavors, and sometimes to share personal reflections. So, that is what my blog will focus on! Once this became clear in my mind, the new title immediately came to me, as it is also the title of a poem I wrote before moving to Izmir. You can find that poem and more thoughts at my updated About page.
You may continue to see some changes on the site as I get things settled, but for now, welcome again to I Sing My Soul! I hope to produce and post more consistent (weekly) poetry and other content but sometimes I hit writer’s block for a few weeks months so sorry in advance when/if that happens! It’s a joy to hear from readers, especially if you are moved or encouraged by something I write, so please don’t be shy to make your presence known. 🙂
We walk among parallel trees,
our feet beating patterns in the same soft earth.
Yet peering at your distant peaks my heart leaps –
imagining with joy that day that I’ll reach you,
unaware that there is no reaching you
because you are already here,
in these trees,
in this earth,
in this place
where I now
am standing.
Whatever is most precious to you –
that wildly beating heart
in the alcoves of your soul –
bring it to me,
lay it before me,
and let’s gaze on it together.
Why do you tremble,
as if I would uncreate
what is already complete?
No, my child:
I have longed for you since creation.
Love this post by friend and fellow blogger Kelly joiner!
I’ve inherited a lot of things from my family. One of them being: claustrophobia. Yep, I definitely had to stop the “Finding Nemo” submarine ride at Disneyland because I literally felt like I was drowning. Sitting in a large spacious room with the doors open, watching Nemo on a tiny television screen while all my friends laughed at me, never felt so freeing.
I experience many of the same anxieties in every day life. Sometimes I feel trapped by my own calendar. How foolish of me to plan so many meetings in one day, but now it’s on my calendar, there’s no escaping! Or I feel trapped by all the needs of people around me. They want too many things from me and I can’t deliver. Driving on the 405…well, enough said there. And I frequently speak of Fibromyalgia as claustrophobic. I can’t escape the pain of my own body. And as I look at the unravelling of…
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Poppy red as blood
unapologetically
shouting its short life.
The leaf of a weed
beautiful in death,
or is its life just arrested,
like me in this moment,
petrified by hushed silence,
fingers of fear
melting, wrapping, squeezing?
Ready acceptance of the present,
colors not even yet dulled,
but all I feel is suffocated,
tricked by perfect stillness,
trapped by encroaching cold.
I gaze again at the mystery.
The grip loosens.
A binary constructed
of blood and sweat is
revealed as a lie
swallowed whole
in fear and pride.
The melancholy of winter
stirs souls and whispers
a painful promise of hope.
When the storm finally passes,
sun cutting through the clouds,
will I know my soul among the masses
the blurred faces of the crowds?
Do I still hear the certain voices
of sadness and of anger
or have I made different choices
and remain to them a stranger?
Did I feel the healing fingers
of the raindrops on my skin?
Do I know the hope that lingers
when I let everything come in?
* Artwork pictured above is “Absence” by Jennifer Goto, a Los Angeles-based artist who works with Japanese mineral pigments and gold and silver leaf.
Suddenly all I feel are your
hands on mine, rough and warm;
your heartbeat disrupts
the chaos, a welcome reprieve;
your fragrance clings to the
strands of my hair
and finally, I can breathe;
the world shrinks to just
you
and just me,
and I sense in the thickened air
that everything is OK.
I Sing My Soul 
