Each Morning, I Climb

A new poem regarding cultivating contentment

First of all, many thanks and heartfelt welcome to all the new subscribers to this new space and place. Your joining me here helps to foster a place to think, express, grow and experiment in my on-going work of caring for the souls of human beings.

Those of you who have chosen and opted to be a “paid subscriber” have taken that extra step and gone the extra mile to express your belief in me as I spread my wings now as a poet—the truthteller of the inner world. Today’s post is a new poem. But, it is only the “paid subscribers” who’ll get access to the actual new poem that I’m posting today. It’s set up this way because there is an investment here and is reciprocal I think. There’s support being offered for me to do my work and sharing the work for me is sharing a deeper level of my greening soul.

Thanks for understanding and believing in me.

Steve

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One of the intriguing elements of our new mountain home was that the former owners enclosed a second story deck with three walls of glass. It makes a sun porch where I’m able to look both out and in as I climb up these steps each and every morning to have my own time of solitude. My solitude is really a place that the British writer, Lord Byron expressed it so well: “Solitude—that place where I am least alone.” This picture shows a partial view. The pillow on the chair captures much of what I’m going to share below in the poem

Byron was right. Here in my glass treehouse, as I affectionately call it, I feel surrounded by the magnificent trees of all kinds; the choirs of birds and the white squirrels—which Brevard, NC is so famous for in hosting this unique species of squirrels.

This glass treehouse is a place that is sanctuary. It is a place for me to pray. Think. Ponder and write. I can “be” here. There is nothing to do—but to “be” and out of my being is coming my writing. I’m writing more here than I have in the past 15 years. The greening of my soul is expressing itself now in new prose and poem. I’m glad and Substack is proving, already, to be such a better space for me to share. There’s just more interaction in text, direct messaging and yesterday, a man in Alabama called me when he read by post about the BLT sandwich. That never happened in the way it is now happening and I welcome it. Through your comments I can discern whether or not I’m close to the bullseye as I throw some ink on paper and take aim for the heart.

This poem is a portal into my soul. This poem gives the reader access to see with me what I am attempting to see—far beyond my own eyes. In the opening stanza, I say about this glass treehouse, “I did not build this. It built me.” Day after day of coming up here I do sense a rebuilding—a renovation of my heart that feels cleansing and renewing. I’ve already told you that in earlier posts, but this poem takes it a step further—a step further in…

The second verse describes a holy shelter made of trees not concrete; an Eden like place of childhood innocences where I am feeling both peace and freedom—two qualities of the abundant life that I think I have been searching for, like all humans, for all my life. Here, I refer to the “feathered priests.” In my liturical church, our priest wears robes like the birds are wearing: red, green, white, and gold.

I go on to express some thoughts about the two halves of life. Who would ever want to return to their younger years? One thing, I’m realizing that the second half of life is far, far more rich and wonderful than the first. Maybe, just maybe, I might be figuring a few things out after all these years. Richard Rohr describes the two halves of life for us in a beautiful way in his book on this subect and what Rohr says, is indeed true for me and many of you. It is “sweeter” and it is a better life than the first half where intense search, education, training, trying and more trying all marked my early life.

How is it that being on the cusp of 70 years now, I could say I feel young? But I do. I do, until I move downstairs; down these steps and hear by bones creak and crack—all reminding me of reality of life.

But as I say in the final verse of the poem, “I will not go down just yet. Not today.” There is alot in this single line. What do you sense when you sit with this line of the poem?

There are some lines in this poem that you may recognize. One that I wrote about was this line: “Why did it take me so long to get here?” There is some resolution now and perhaps time is doing what only time can do—to give us the space for the muddy water to clear and our hearts to become open to receive the next crumb of our daily bread.

As I send this out for you today, I’m still up here in my glass treehouse and for now; for today, I will breath in this Eden air and watch the white squirrel drink from my water fountain and listen to the red cardinals sing their hymn of praise which goes something like this:

“We see you in there, old man in the blue shirt.

We are free here to sing; free here to be; free here to bound effortlessly from tree to tree.

There is this glass between us. You are in there and we, more free here.

One day you will will join us…but not today. Not today.”

( this is not my poem by how I imagine these birds talking to me. I do have on blue shirt today :-) ).

So now, you are ready for my poem, I think. Use your curiosity and imagination to join me here and “see” what you see and “feel” what you feel and say what you need to say as I have said what I needed to say in this poem: “Each Morning I Climb”