Live Virtual Group Session: 6pm EST February 15th 2021

Thank you to everyone who joined us for this session!

29 participants convened from both sides of the Atlantic and Pacific for another cold Monday night, in which we read the poem “sorrows” by Lucille Clifton, posted below. Our first impressions and associations included: birds (“sorrows sounds like swallows”), images of bats and insects, the sound of rattles, feelings of being alone, familiar experiences of sorrows as they come and go. One participant referenced Goya’s etching “The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters.” The title brought thoughts of sorrows materializing into an object, an insect, a wave. One person was reminded of Wes Wenders’ film “The Wings of Desire.” Another appreciated the poem’s line cuts, which leave readers wondering what will come next. We attended to language, noticing “sorrow is a pretty word as opposed to the word sad.” We noticed the many contradictions in the text – tensions and contention. 

We made connections between the poem’s couplets and tried to envision prayers “resonating throughout the world” and how one voice can be distinguished from all the other voices that pray for alleviation. Questions arose: Are we going to give sorrow a place, a space to be? Where is sorrow’s place?  “The constant struggle we grapple with all the time,” someone commented. One participant reported imagining sorrows “fighting for their own place in the world” even as we suppress them or “can’t embrace them.” Another talked of having conversations with outers about the challenges of “giving sorrow the right space and time” and “letting it shape us.” We acknowledged the power of sorrow and the importance of allowing ourselves to listen and feel. This part of our conversation reminded someone of Rumi’s poem “The Guest House” that welcomes all feelings.

We wrote to the prompt “Write the story of a scar.” One person read about raccoons invading a garage and the writer’s hesitation to have the animals removed and, later, seeing the raccoons footprints in the snow. Listeners understood the footprints as scars.  The second reader shared a piece about loss and the desire for the scar on her heart “not to heal over” so that she feels the loved one close when putting her hand over her heart. The third reader wrote from the perspective of a surgeon wondering about a patient’s post-surgical scar whether it would be “acceptable” in a profession with high visibility. A respondent offered that the power of a scar is as “evidence of survival.” Someone responded with an invitation to see scars “as beautiful”.

At the end of our conversation, someone asked: Why do we automatically consider scars beautiful?

As we signed off, we all shared something from this session we would bring with us into the week:

  • Scars show our history
  • Scars are beautiful things
  • Scars are badges of courage
  • Scars remind us of gentleness to be given
  • Scars are sorrow and beauty

Participants are warmly encouraged to share what you wrote below (“Leave a Reply”), to keep the conversation going here, bearing in mind that the blog of course is a public space where confidentiality is not assured.

Also, we would love to learn more about your experience of these sessions, so if you’re able, please take the time to fill out a follow-up survey of one to two quick questions!

Please join us for our next session Wednesday February 17th at 12pm EST, with more times listed on our Live Virtual Group Sessions page.


sorrows by Lucille Clifton

who would believe them winged
who would believe they could be

beautiful         who would believe
they could fall so in love with mortals

that they would attach themselves
as scars attach and ride the skin


sometimes we hear them in our dreams
rattling their skulls         clicking their bony fingers

envying our crackling hair
our spice filled flesh


they have heard me beseeching
as I whispered into my own

cupped hands       enough not me again
enough       but who can distinguish

one human voice   
amid such choruses of desire

Source: Poetry (September 2007)

5 thoughts on “Live Virtual Group Session: 6pm EST February 15th 2021

  1. The story of a scar~~~

    The injury runs deep and jagged into my heart.
    The person I loved from birth,
    who gave me life,
    who stood beside me through life’s trials,
    is now gone from my sight.

    I hear her wisdom through the scar that has been formed deep within my heart.
    I place my hand upon my heart and it is almost like having her close beside me again.
    It is a scar not visible to the eye,
    but to the spirit which lies deep within me.

    Please let not this scar ever heal over,
    for I wish you, my Mother, to always remain close,
    to comfort and guide me.

    Like

    • al3793

      Michele, I am “touched” but the action of the hand upon the heart that brings the Mother close. I hear the wisdom to embrace the scar that keeps the heart connected to one so deeply loved…a blessing. Andre

      Liked by 1 person

  2. al3793

    The story of a scar…

    It didn’t seem real
    how could it be

    I had just handed a baby to
    its new mother waiting with arms avant

    bringing love from the warm rhythm
    of her womb with loving embrace to her breast

    My sister called to say mom died
    I had spoken to mom only 90 minutes earlier

    and tried to reassure her that she would get through the night
    despite her anxiety, her premonition, I don’t think it is going to be a very good night

    For months it didn’t seem real
    I couldn’t start anything

    I wanted to write about her write to her
    but I couldn’t start anything

    But years later
    now I write about her and to her

    And it is real
    and I can start things…

    Like

      • al3793

        There is so much metaphor in being present for the birth of the child and for her mother at the moment of my mother’s death. There’s comfort and there’s bitterness, but over time the shelter of the sorrow and the space that evolved has let me find solace in the love that she left behind in me.

        Like

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