The Walking Cure

Poems and Photography

Dear Friends,

Blessings to you in these late summer days. Before I share two poems and photography as part of my series “The Walking Cure,” I want to mention that I leave for Ireland in just one week. I am beyond excited!

Our group for my “Landscape of Soul and Story” Tour and Writing Retreat is full of amazing writers, thinkers, teachers and artists. I can’t wait to share many spectacular, off-the-beaten-path parts of Ireland with them, and to be with our fabulous Irish guides.

I think of my family’s ancestral home place at the rural edge of Counties Galway and Roscommon, near Ballinlough, whose ancient name means “Town of Lake O’Flynn.” These are places where my family’s O’Flynn Clan has been settled for at least 2,000 years, since the early centuries AD. I wrote about this landscape in my forthcoming book The Light of Ordinary Days, and it feels urgent to return to my homeland, to lean down and touch these sacred places—to remember, give thanks and find sustenance.

I am in need of this ancestral connection now more than ever, as we all need sustenance in these breathless and harrowing times. The campaign of Kamala Harris and Tim Walz has changed the tenor of so much; for me it is profoundly energizing and hopeful. To witness the multicultural diversity, gifted oratory and displays of joyful wisdom at the Democratic National Convention was stunning.

I plan to work hard and with joy for their election. I am consciously holding the vision of Inauguration Day 2025, when the first woman—and, thrillingly, the first woman of color—becomes President of the United States. I hope to be there in my hometown of Washington, D.C. with them.

Still I am under no illusions. We will have to work hard and be a part of making this vision happen in whatever ways we can. I remember too, as Michelle Obama told us, our candidates are human, they will make mistakes, they will disappoint us. The pivot is to stay involved, to “have their backs” with support as well as pressure, using our voices and power as American citizens. I’m sure we all have places of disagreement with this ticket, which is inevitable in our large, diverse country. For me, the fact that there was no Palestinian American speaker on the DNC stage was a great disappointment. I have communicated to the campaign about this, and I will continue to. Obviously, I am clear that the Republican candidates are uninterested in anything I might think, as they unveil plans for mass deportations of immigrants and the continued curtailment of the rights and freedoms of all of us.

And in the midst of this, we all know the profound challenges humanity faces as a species. It shakes me to my core to witness the ways we are destroying ourselves, our animal kin and our beloved Mother the holy and precious Earth, through greed, constant extraction, ever-increasing use of fossil fuels and endless wars.

“The Walking Cure” poetry and photography series was conceived at a time when my nervous system and entire being were overcome with grief and trauma. As part of my cure, I walked daily. And as part of my walks, I found myself taking photographs. This series feels deeply true to my core. So in these times which combine both hope and grief, political possibilities alongside the hottest temperatures on record, and with the joy of returning to my ancestral homeland, I send you “The Walking Cure.”

Blessings and peace,

Carolyn

PS -This month marks my one year anniversary on Substack. I love sharing my work here, and in honor of this I am turning on paid subscriptions. Please note that this newsletter will always remain free. If you would like to support my voice & work, your paid subscription is deeply appreciated & will help to keep this newsletter free to all.

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The Walking Cure

The Walking Cure
 
They say my grandfather, once he descended
into dementia or madness, walked the Irish roads
picking imaginary trash off bushes.
Now I am the strange one along the roads, 
bending with camera before petal and leaf, 
stopping at bushes and plants, fascinated by things
invisible to some, bowing like a pilgrim
at the sidewalk altar.  I am the one leaning
into wayward flowers at the edge of cement, 
craning my neck into early 
spring blossoms of the plum tree.
What I am gathering is light and color, 
texture and shape, the geometry of nature,
tiny inside the tulip and along the rim 
of countless flowers I could never name.  
I hold my lens and collect images,
carry them home as offerings to my beloveds.
Even as I touch the ancestral wound,
walking territory I would wish to never name,
still day by day what I gather  
as I walk along the side of the road is beauty.

What I Did When My Heart Shattered 
(A Medicine Circle)

I looked around for the pieces.
They were far-flung and gone.
I called to the Heavens in my grief.
The Heavens called back: Begin.

So I began.
I walked to one edge in the east
The farthest corner of the world.
And there lay a speckled shard of my heart.
I picked it up, took it in.

I walked to a far corner in the south.
And there lay a gleaming apple of my heart.
It was untouched, holy.
I picked it up, took it in.

I walked to the farthest edge of the west.
And there in the watery sands lay
A tattered ribbon, yet whole still, of my heart.
I picked it up, took it in.

I walked to the farthest edge of the north.
And there lay a great Bear of my heart.
I picked her up, took her in.

This is what I learned:
I am the world as it breaks.
I gather up the world, that is, my heart,
Shattered to all edges of the sky.

What to do now? 
I called out to the Heavens.
And the Heavens said:
As you end, you begin.
As you end, you begin.

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Text and photography by Carolyn Brigit Flynn