Category Archives: love

Anniversary

Today is the 39^th anniversary of our wedding. It was 1974 and we were 22 years old. I had just graduated from the University of Michigan three weeks before and Stephen had just finished his first year law school final exams one week before. It was a Saturday of Memorial weekend, just like today. That night we stayed at a hotel (the Dearborn Inn) for the first time in my life–a very mini honeymoon. And then we moved our stuff the next day into married student housing in Ann Arbor. In thinking back a few days ago, I wrote this poem which I read to Stephen this morning at the kitchen table. We had a lovely, low-key day being together. Happy anniversary one more time before midnight, Stephen!

5/23/13

Nearing Anniversary
(For STM)

I might tell you
what I remember
from 40 years ago

and though you were there
and we were simpatico
your memories may not be

even recognizable to me,
either morphed over time,
put through that gauze sieve

we each have or
true from your point of view
but maybe the image

has blurred or completely erased
and what mattered to me
enough to file away

just vanished from your life story.
Or we each can remember bits
and piece together say, that date the first summer

when we were supposed to go to a horse show
but ended up making out on the beach
and you remember the color and make of the borrowed car

or where we went for dinner after
and both of us recall the unexpectedly cold wind
blowing off the lake, the threat of rain

and I remember the insistence of your lips on mine
as we made our tent under the sandy blanket
and my passionate body awakened for the first time

like an iron slowing heating up to red hot
not an incandescent bulb you could turn on or off,
the abandon of desire almost scaring me with intensity.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2013

What are your stories about long-time relationships? How reliable is memory? How can you tell?

Still there! Seyfried Jewelry in Ann Arbor where we got our wedding bands.

New Beginnings

2011 LGNB 95 smaller front coverD ebook for Smashwords-2 Just had a flash to offer my book, Letting Go and New Beginnings: A Mother’s Poetic Journey, for FREE for today only, the last day of Read an E-Book Week. Enter coupon code RW100 upon checkout.

When I was editing Letting Go and New Beginnings, I had the idea for my Mom to proof read it. She was struggling with a form of dementia from repeated small strokes and I thought this might help her. And it would help me to have fresh eyes read the pages. As a side benefit it caused me to think back to when she let me go, the first of her seven children to head to college.

On the day my parents dropped me off at the dorm, I was 18 and eager for them to leave and to get on with my new life. With six other kids at home I did not really consider what all this meant to my Dad and Mom, the hole I might leave. Working on the book with my Mom opened a conversation about her feelings when I left home forty years before, giving me new insights.

Here is another poem from Letting Go and New Beginnings: A Mother’s Poetic Journey

1/11/06

Seasoned Woman

Seasoned like a succulent feast
with spices both wild and ordinary,
used in unusual, unexpected combinations,
rich, complex, sweet, sour, simple, bitter-bite,
surprising, challenging the senses, satisfying.

And seasoned like wood now ready for good use,
waiting to be crafted into
something of great beauty and value,
an exquisite table polished to mirror sheen,
a hand-carved boat lovingly left deliberately rough,
a delicate or sturdy figurine shaped
from an almost remembered dream.

And seasoned by the flow of days,
some hard beyond bearing:
what doesn’t break you
makes you stronger.

Young, green, soft-wood no good for burning,
seasoned hardwood ready for flame.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
Copyright 2006

I also read this poem on my CD, Full Blooming: Selections from a Poetic Journal.

Healing Offering: Part Two

Updated on July 18, 2018:

What specifically could we do for healing relationships (including with ourselves), radiating this healing out into the world. In my experience this practice can dispel disharmony between people (feels like kind of an untangling):

Tonglen Meditation (I originally learned about this in a workshop with Joan Borysenko, Ph.D. in Chicago in 1995.)

Tonglen is from Tibetan, meaning giving and taking (or sending and receiving). It can be a powerful tool to transform negative into positive, what is tangled into smooth. There are many forms of tonglen (see Google). This is my own version, which I taught, re-shaped a bit over the years with my practice, understanding, guidance, and study of healing. There is no one right way to do this. No particular belief is required, just entertain the possibility that this might be helpful and see what happens. Much is accomplished by the power of intention. The basics are: Breathe in, pause (transform), breathe out. Here are the long and short versions.

Long version:
–To get ready: Find a quiet place and get into a comfortable and supported position. Uncross legs or ankles. If you are sitting, feel your feet fully on the floor if you can. Take three deep letting-go breaths (if possible, fill the belly with air and let out noisily). Close your eyes.

–Then envision a gold luminous light above and slightly in front of you, washing over your body, cleansing all the dark grime from every cell in your body and washing it out through the feet. You may feel lighter.

–Next focus on your heart, perhaps placing your hand on your chest, becoming aware of the warmth, energy, and power of the loving furnace of your beating heart.

–Picture yourself in your mind. Breathe in any dark grime that may be covering your own heart-light. Pause briefly as the darkness transforms into love by the power of your heart-furnace. Breathe that love back out to yourself. Repeat for perhaps a minute or two or until it feels done to you.

–Next envision someone close to you. Breathe in any darkness that may be covering their heart-light. Pause briefly as the darkness transforms into love by the power of your heart-furnace. Breathe that love back out to them. Repeat until it feels finished, maybe a minute or two, whatever seems right to you.

–Now envision someone you are at odds with. Breathe in any dark grime that may be covering their heart-light. Pause briefly as the darkness transforms into love by the power of your heart-furnace. Breathe that love back out to them. Repeat until it feels done, maybe a few minutes or whatever seems right to you.

–If someone else now comes to mind, continue this process. You might also envision an organization or troubled region, specific people or whatever seems appropriate to you. A group can also do this together (perhaps in the same place or just at the same time).

–And finally, very important to finish up with gratitude, perhaps thanking any guides you may work with (or none). Breathe normally for a bit, just feeling grateful.

Short version:
You can use this whenever someone throws you off. Say you are shopping or driving or at work and something happens with someone that feels yucky. You notice, stop a minute, breathe deeply, focus on your heart energy, and right then breathe in the dark clouds covering the heart-light of that person, transform the darkness in your heart, and breathe it back out as love, for whatever amount of time feels right. (You do not absorb any negative energy.) End by feeling grateful and breathing normally. And continue on with your day.

Note:
There is no one right way to do this. No particular belief is required, just entertain the possibility that this might be helpful and see what happens. Much can be accomplished by the power of intention.

I have also done tonglen to support healing relationships (which I see as gold cords of light between people). I believe it works for any living thing, including organizations and countries. It feels good to do, calming, empowering, and harmonizing. Practical. Please remember you do not control the outcome. No one can say what will happen after the tonglen meditation. But my experience has always been positive (usually surprisingly so). Good for me and good for the person I was having trouble with. I love win-win situations!

I’d like to know: what is your experience with this?

Tomorrow, my song “Prayer of Lovingkindness.”

On Being a Mother and a Daughter

Expressing the essence of being a mother, a line often comes to mind from my poem, “After You Left” in Letting Go and New Beginnings (For entire poem see post 37 on 3-29-11 )

“Constantly
I am watching out for you.
Even when I am not watching,
I am watching.”

“Even when I am not watching, I am watching…” Even when I need my own life, I gather my “chicks” now grown, under my wing. I can’t help it. Even if I struggle for balance and need to take better care of myself, if they need me, I want to be there for them.

What is the most important thing we want to teach our children? How do we free them to go out and live their lives fully? How do we transition to a more adult level relationship with our offspring, the foundation for the rest of our lives? How clearly can our children ever see us as real people?

Here is another poem about being a mother.

1/19/03

Upon Returning Home

From birth
letting go

and letting go,
letting go.

If I have taught you anything
let it be this:

kindness.
Striving, yes

but be generous.
I let you go

and heal from the wound
and then you return

as promised
and gradually I adjust

and trust.
Then you leave

as I know you must
and I am filled with longing and sadness.

Letting go,
letting go

the greatest gift,
not to hold and define and smother,

but to see you writ large
by your own hand.

And I am always
your mother,

not a strange mythological creature
who tames dragons and rides unicorns,

but a woman
of flesh and bone.

Not frozen artistic perfection,
a marble statue unchanging, beautiful,

but a work in progress,
the same as you.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2003

From Letting Go and New Beginnings: A Mother’s Poetic Journey

As I wrote before, my mother-in-law, Rae, died in March. It felt very strange this first Mother’s Day without her. I kept thinking to remind my husband to call. It looked like my Mom might also be wrapping up her life, but she is strong in so many ways and she rallied. On Mondays after my voice lesson I call her. We both consciously treasure our wide-ranging conversations—for however long we have. (I sent her tulips.) Two recent poems about her.

2/14/11

Valentine’s Day Conversation with Mom

Even close to the end,
eyesight failing,
words dropping out of her repertoire,
she looked to the west

over the building tops
from her apartment balcony
appreciating, savoring,
thoroughly enjoying a magnificent sunset,

full of vivid description
of the flaming band of clouds
that spanned the horizon,
filled with the grace of it, the joy.

And even a day later
would see it still in her mind’s eye
and tell her poet daughter
400 miles away, who could then
see it also…and enjoy…and write….

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2011

2/17/11

Mom

At some point
often a phone call in the night
and someone you love
is gone. Right now

all I’m saying
is the beginning of the end.
And if I cling to the notion,
the belief, that life is eternal,

still I am aware
it ends in this form
and there will be…soon…
one last hug, one last conversation.

As much as I try
not to think about it,
to be in the moment
where you still are,

still I cry softly
when I consider
you not being here.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2011

Dad’s Birthday

Today was my Dad’s birthday. Happy Birthday, Dad! No one alive knows any more the truth or myth of the family story that his mom tried to hold off his delivery until after April Fools Day, 1925. But babies come when they are ready and even a very stubborn German lady might not be able to pull that off!

He died in 1985, (when my son was just shy of one year old). He was 60, the age I am very aware of approaching. And very aware of how young that was, how much I have left I want to do. In 2009 I posted some poems for his birthday. Here are a few more.

10/5/08

Watermelon Reminds Me of Michigan

My strapping Dad buying
a couple big, unsplit,

possibly ripe, whole ones
for the extended family reunions.

Chill and wrap in layers of newspaper
to keep cool in summer heat.

Slippery wet black seeds
could be pinched between thumb

and forefinger,
shooting some distance

into park crabgrass
or spit, with juice

running down the chin,
face a satisfied grin.

Yes, that watermelon,
sometimes salted half-moon slices

or quarters for the youngest
(don’t eat below the pink part!)

treats in the hot season,
limited availability then.

7/18/10

Sitting With It

My uncle died last week,
my Dad’s only brother,

I was not that close to him
so the intensity of my grieving

ambushed me.
But he represented my father,

gone these 25 years,
and he represented my past, my childhood,

my tribe, my clan (all that expectation).
All the memories wrapped up in one man.

He represented all the aunts and uncles beginning to pass on
and my mother, waiting in line.

I am from Michigan people who gathered
and stayed together, supported each other.

And I left them to find myself—
the gain in that decision

greater than the loss, but there was loss nevertheless,
any connection to them from a distance.

Any relationship of my children to them,
more fragile and tenuous.

(My children did not grow up with
extended family at every important occasion.)

And now that my Dad’s brother is gone…
no more chances for understanding.

My father was a complex man and we had our troubles growing up, but I am grateful for many things, the lessons I continue to learn from him. This poem was written as part of body-mind-emotion-spirit energy healing work I did with Tricia Eldridge (founder of Energy Touch School for Advanced Healing in Michigan) to deal with recurring abdominal weakness and other persistent health issues.

12/1/09

Old Wounds Healed

My Dad came this time,
invited to participate,

to undo what had been done,
to take back what had been said,

lodged in my gut but rightfully
belonged to him.

She said he struggled with it,
but kept on until the dark mass,

that chain and ball or anchor?
who knows, not mine,

but his, and now returned to him,
leaving me lighter, healing.

He died 24 years ago,
I have worked hard

over and over to heal and forgive.
Last week he showed up

clearer than ever—in a good way—
sitting at our old Formica kitchen table,

cutting giblets and celery for stuffing
the Thanksgiving turkey.

Was that his ethereal gold form
standing last night in my room?

Did he choose to come help
or did I call him…or both…or neither?

Just the right timing,
you know how this works:

what is ready to be healed
come up to the surface.

However painful, allowing the feeling
releases the hold.

Still true,
still true.

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