Author Archives: Margaret Dubay Mikus

From the Sky–Journey to New Mexico

For some reason, I cannot copy-paste text from a Word document into this blog (though that is what I did for the first 21 posts!). This makes it harder to put my poems here–tough to re-write everything. “It” will allow me to insert photos (thus the previous mask photos from a mask-making workshop at my first International Women’s Writing Guild conference at Skidmore College–and yes, that is my face).

So here are some pics from a trip to New Mexico last week. This combined business and vacation for my husband, but in my life there are no boundaries between “work” and “the rest.” I can write and take photos anywhere and to a high degree I am my healed self everywhere I go. It all flows together. The good thing is that I am enriched by it all. The hard thing is that with no boundaries it can be easy to get over-stimulated and over-extended, with insufficient rest.

These are two photos from the plane. (I always try to get a window seat.) On this trip I was struck by the awesome variety of clouds, some of which moved in fast layers over the others or some seemed to be planted in rows like seeds in a furrow or might part to reveal patterns on the earth below. More to come.

May Reflection and New Poem

It has been a super-busy May: my birthday, travel to Michigan to see our families on Mother’s Day weekend, our daughter’s college graduation, and our 35th wedding anniversary. I read recent poems at a spirituality group and facilitated a world peace meditation with them. I was (unexpectedly) asked to be on a local cable TV show on using poetry for healing and comfort. What fun! I had three colds (unusual) and I continued doing deep healing work with a goal of being more consistently healthy, with more peace, calm and clarity in my life. I learned a new breathing technique which I practiced daily.

As the month went on, I had thoughts and poems I wanted to post, but the time passed. I did put my name and copyright on all my blog photos and replaced all the unmarked ones.

This recent poem was written as part of my healing work. It was inspired by talking with my friend, Geary Davis, who moderates a spiritual gathering every Thursday evening.

5/28/09

Put Down the Sword of Self-wounding

(after talking to Geary about a ritual to ease pain)

Put down the sword
of self-destruction
and self-immolation,

of self-defeat, self-demolition,
and self-defacing. Stop
stabbing myself in the vulnerable gut

in remorse, guilt, grief, and regret
at what I could not
control or plan or shape.

Melt that sword
into the ploughshare
that carves the furrows

into which I place
the seeds I have been holding back.
Let forgiveness

flood the field,
let love shine upon them,
let the earth be fertile and loam-rich,

and bountiful harvest my just reward.
After all the lifetimes
of all the dark and light alike

let my new life
result from a conscious new choice:
to put down the sword.

No more self-blame
self-criticism or self-judging,
no more crimson shame,

no more self-harsh words,
no more self-unkindness,
no more self-disrespect,

or screaming at myself
at perceived imperfections
or unbearable failings.

Only forgiveness
to the bone of things
to the bottom and top of memory,

forgiveness heaped
on forgiveness, eaten
at a great feast of forgiveness.

And when sated,
love as dessert and
as the main course ever after.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2009

Note: definition of immolate
1) To kill as a sacrifice
2) To kill (oneself) by fire
3) To destroy
The American Heritage Dictionary, 3rd edition, 1992

Gratitude

The radio was on in the background as we were having Sunday breakfast and reading the newspaper. It was a program of classical music from South America, one piece from each country. The conductor came on before each one to introduce the music. Before one of the pieces he said something like: the composer’s wife and child had been in a head-on collision and the composer named this composition for her. I believe he also said that they had survived. It got me thinking about the preciousness of time. And how we don’t choose how much time we have we have with those we love. And this poem popped out. I was thinking of my husband, but it really applies to everyone I encounter.

4/26/09

Inspired by Something
Partly Heard on the Radio

I do not know
how much time
I have with you.

I read the stories
or avoid reading them
of all the sad, tragic

things that happen
and tears run down my face
in sympathy, in empathy

whether I would stop them
or not. I know this dark place.
But yet, I do not

want to know the limits
of the hours, the minutes
I have with you.

What good would that do?
Just to be here
where you are

for as long
as there is…
and be grateful.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2009

Belated Happy Easter!

This poem is a true story from last Easter. When I read it again it was like memory, seeing the scene play out in my eyes, but stripped of the powerful emotions of that morning. I know it was no accident everything happened as it did. What fruits are borne of this Easter morning re-birth is up to each one of us.For those who might not know, Reiki is a kind of divinely guided healing energy (universal life force) that is transmitted through the hands. Anyone can learn to do this. For 12 years, I have used Reiki almost daily for myself and others. It is powerful and gentle. It is great first aid. And is always available. A complete Reiki session can be very relaxing. As mentioned in the poem, Reiki can be helpful for emotional issues as well as physical or mental. I often add a visual like the gold globe or bubble to protect the person or strengthen them. In this case, Reiki was calming for me, as well as potentially helping the man and the medical techs.

3/23/08

Easter High Mass

After Dawn finished singing
her angelically beautiful “Alleluia,”
the heart of the man at the right back
of the Easter-filled Church of St. Patrick…

well, his heart stopped. And those around him
alert to his plight shouted out for help.
Many called 911 on cell phones.
A woman, outwardly calm, did CPR.

Briefly, a priest in vestments bent in blessing.
A man rolled up the sleeves of his blue dress shirt
and did his part: one shock of the defibrillator,
following instructions. Others gathered

in an anxious half-circle around them.
The filled church was quiet except for fussy babies
and squirming toddlers. High Mass did not begin.
Father H. strode to the front and led

an “Our Father” and a “Hail Mary” for the stricken man.
Time slowed down. Words softly spoken
could be heard across the rows of wooden pews.
Firemen arrived quickly and took over.

IV begun…slow beeping…slowly… moans as, I assume,
the man returned to us. I held the hands of my daughter
on my left and my husband on my right. At the start, I tried
to send the healing energy of Reiki, but felt too much emotion

to finish. I heard in my head a strong, clear, firm voice:
to concentrate on placing a gold bubble
around the workers and the man, and
to fill that bubble with Loving Light—

as I have done before. I did this.
Immediately I felt calm. Then in my imagination I gathered
the strands of fear and anxiety that swirled around
and sent them out through the central skylight, up into the Light.

Rescue efforts continued; the fireman
wearing the heavy coat wiped his brow.
Another held the IV bag high in his blue-gloved hand,.
Snow-coated pines, sunlight, shrubs and blue sky,

a serene backdrop behind them.
I remembered to breathe, and kept breathing deliberate breaths.
Finally the gurney was raised, the IV bag and tubing now clipped
high in its stand. Surrounded by help, the man was wheeled out the back.

Those standing returned to their seats. Music resumed;
processional from back to front, Father and two girl servers.
“Jesus Christ Is Risen Today! Alleluia!”
Throughout the Mass, the man was mentioned:

a prayer to surround him in healing grace.
What fruits are borne of this Easter morning re-birth
is up to each one of us. For me: this poem,
my way to reflect and release and remember.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2008