I have been away. Mentally and physically.

The mental absence came first. Summer. Heat. Smoky skies. Long days. Short nights. They all intersected as I slipped into summer doldrums, taking leave of fingers skimming keyboard amidst my morning ritual of writing.

In summer’s lingering days, I return. Slowly.

Last night, in the writing circle I share with Ali Grimashaw and four other women poets, I wrote a poem I’ve titled, I Am Not Lost.

I was not lost to this space. I was somewhere else, living, breathing, being present, in all my messy liveliness. Warts. Bruises. Beauty and all.

Fashion blogger and new age spiritualist, Audrey Kitching writes, “Take a break and give your soul what it needs.”

I wonder if my break was my soul’s need or my critter mind’s desire?

Only I have the answer.

I choose to beleive my break was necessary. A needed rest from putting fingertips to keyboard and letting the words fall out.

Last night, I wrapped my fingers around a pen and let the words flow onto the lined pages of my poetry journal.

It felt…. soul-refreshing. reviving. Like I was pouring cool spring water down my throat at the end of a long journey across the desert.

Perhaps my break was the desert? Perhaps, my critter mind did have control, willing me to step away from doing what I know feeds my soul every morning.

I smile.

The mind is a facile place when questioned on its intentions.

Good, bad, indifferent – I get to choose how I label everything in my life.

Today, I choose labels that nourish and sustain me. Today, I choose labels that fill me up with possibility, hope, and the gift of being present within all that I bring to this moment, right now.

Today, I choose Me. Right here. Where I am..

I Am Not Lost.
©2023 Louise Gallagher

It’s called Kintsugi, she says
holding the round bowl towards me.

I savour it on my tongue,
press my lips against its smooth
delicious consonants and vowels.

Kintsugi, I breathe.

I cup the bowl in my hands,
my fingers etch the golden strands 
linking the broken shards of pottery.

Kintsugi, I whisper, pressing my lips against the word
holding it tight within my body.

You are not broken, she says. 
You are mended fragments of light
surrounding the broken spaces
where once you believed
you were lost.

You are not lost.
You are here, holding this bowl
that once was broken.

My hands cup its smooth surface.
I trace the cracks and feel the light
returning.

I am not broken.
I am not lost.
I am here.