Puzzling Poems
Things I Used To Do Again
My brain is a reservoir of random thoughts and interesting facts that I sometimes forget I hold or am unaware of until they flow out. Like, the first jigsaw puzzle was the creation of a map maker. In the late 1700s, a man glued a map to a piece of wood and cut it into pieces along the boundaries of the countries included. It was meant to be a tool for teaching geography. I’m sure that puzzles helped me learn geography, and the alphabet, and problem solving. And they help me manage anxiety, navigate grief, consider possibilities, make decisions, loosen writer’s block, and cultivate curiosity.
I puzzled a lot during the pandemic when I was living in Florida. It was a way to keep my hands busy and my mind distracted. A way to pass the long lonely hours that turned to days and months. A way to hold the emotions tenderly and hold the fears at bay. A way to think through work challenges and brainstorm new opportunities and process tense discussions. A way to take all the thoughts, memories, and images swirling in my brain and spirit and turn them into poems or stories or sermons.
While conventional wisdom says that unraveling is about taking things apart, my journey shows that unraveling is actually more about coming together than it is coming undone. Coming out as lesbian and queer; pulling at the dangling threads of shame, doubt, and guilt; and leaving a familiar place for paths unknown is like working a puzzle. Opening the box. Studying the cover. Sorting the pieces. Building a frame. Testing and trying. Getting excited and frustrated. Staying up late to finish just one more section. Wanting to quit. Getting back at it in a few days. Inviting friends to join you. Each piece a conversation. Working through the uncertainty. Celebrating. Leaving the finished beauty out on the table as a token of success. Taking it apart. Packing it away. Deciding to glue the finished work together. Framing it to make new wall art. Giving it away as a gift.
In a 2012 interview, Brandi Carlisle, one my favorite artists says, “Writing is sort of putting a puzzle together halfway. Then, performing it has always been the completion of it. Once that happens, I’m feeling verbally communal with other people. It’s out there and I feel so much better about it.” Her music is so stirring because her songs are stories. Stories that pull you part and put you back together. And inspire you to write and tell your own.
Last Friday, I shared a new poem as part of a Pride Service at a church where I once served in ministry. The poem began from one line that found rhythm in my spirit while I was out walking. As it danced around, other words and phrases came along side it. I couldn’t let it go, yet I was having trouble bringing it all together.
And then I remembered the power of puzzles. I went to the basement and pulled one from the shelf. As I sorted the pieces the thoughts in my mind became clearer and their connections more real. And by the time I had the outside edges all put together, the unraveling wild collective of scribbles and doodles was becoming a poem.
When I got home from the service and reflected on the experience I was reminded of Brandi’s wisdom. I do love to write. And I write a lot of words that I do not share. And there is something about sharing words, especially the poetic kind, that completes them. The process of writing a poem is life giving. It is messy. Chaotic. Sparking miraculous energy. Sharing a poem is communal. It is magnetic. Reciprocally healing. Igniting transforming connections.
And so, I share the poem here with you now. It’s called Proudly Peculiar Things. For me, pride has been—continues to be—a process. It’s more public in June, but it’s percolating all year long. Like a puzzle, I work the pieces. Sometimes with ease. Others with angst. Always with awe and wonder.
Watch the video to listen. Scroll down to read. If something in the words resonates, let me know and if something stirs you, pass it on to others.
I am puzzling again a lot these days. Imagining and designing new ways and methods of sharing poetry and turning words into water. This is what I am called to do. This is what brings me joy and gives meaning to my unraveling. This is how I am living into my becoming.
Thank you for being on this journey. And if you would like your group, organization or church to be a destination on 10 Camels’ journey visit 10Camels.com for details on the Unraveling Package, which includes poetry, sermons, a workshop and more.
Water-fully Yours, Rebecca & 10 Camels
Proudly Peculiar Things
©Rebecca Wilson, June 11, 2024
pride is a peculiar thing to hold
as children we are told, often and loud, to make our parents proud
with good grades and great behavior
learning our letters and winning the spelling bee
playing t-ball and getting first place trophies
being kind to kittens and nice to strangers
eating our fruits and veggies, brushing our teeth without reminders
and saying our prayers, amen
and then a new lesson is added
never have pride in yourself
pride is slippery sliding slope
a tight rope toward destruction, that goeth right before the fall
god opposes the proud and the prideful
expressing pride is arrogant and boastful
pride in our heart is wickedness running through our veins
the antidote to pride, those preachers say, is fear
and yet here we are celebrating pride
would you hold out your hands
let us examine this peculiar thing we hold
look close, touch it, feel it
blow on it, like when you burn the tip of your finger
pull at it like when you get a splinter
be gentle
pride begins quiet and fragile like the blooming of a purple flower
some say they know when they are five
others die without ever being able to say who they are
I’m somewhere in the middle
like I’ve always been, but only recently pollinated with the courage to say aloud
still unlearning those deadly lessons
it’s not pride that kills, but the world’s hatred turned inward surely will
this pride we hold, like magic play dough, let us reshape it
like communion, let us partake it
let us remake it, beautifully fluid like the rainbow
a promise of unending love, not God’s apology for disastrous floods
Gilbert Baker, do you know his name
in 1978, the year of my birth, he made a flag
it was the first, eight colors not six
hot pink, red, orange, yellow, green, turquoise, indigo, and violet
what about the Philadelphia Flag
I’m sure you’ve seen it, maybe even fly it
first flown in 2017, adding black and brown to the fabric
black lives and intersectionality matter
just as the colors and symbols have expanded
let us expand our inclusion and quit complaining the queer alphabet is too confusing
not sure what a letter or sign stands for
ask or google the answer
and then hold it carefully and tenderly, along with curiosity and wonder
just like we are holding pride tonight with all its peculiar parts
peculiar
not as in strange, but sacred
not odd, but awesome
not unusual, but unique
not broken, but whole
not breaking, but healing
not torn, but mending
not just flying, but fabulously soaring
peculiar like a table top made of pennies selling for thousands of dollars
like a four-minute solar eclipse people drove hours to see
like a church saying everyone is beloved and welcome and saving a seat for them
and hanging new restroom signs for them that recognize toilets have no gender
like a queer kid re-learning old lessons
like an LGBTQIA2S+ elder teaching new ones to anyone who will listen
and to those who won’t
peculiar like those of us who were never our family or church’s pride or joy
standing proudly in the circle now saying this is me
pride is not boasting or promoting sin or recruiting for the gay agenda
being proud is not wicked and God does not oppose or despise it
they celebrate it
they hold it in their holy hands, just like they held me
before I could unclench my fists to embrace my divine humanity
I’m here tonight holding pride
retracing the lines that almost destroyed me
that left me thinking I wanted to die
I’m here tonight holding pride
remembering the saints that raised me by their rainbow lights
that showed me how be proud, in a world that often and loud, tells me not to be
I’m here tonight holding pride
for the one who still isn’t sure that who they are is wondrously and marvelously made
for the one not quite ready to say their name or share their pronouns
we are here holding pride together
because no good thing should be held alone
holding pride we hold each other
and God is absolutely tickled pink and glittered gold
and they are oh so proud