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My name is Tanner Olson and I am an author, poet, and speaker. Here I share whatever comes to mind. Sometimes I’ll post a prayer or poem or reflection or story. Before you move onto the next thing hit the subscribe button!
In April, Kimberly Phinney released her first collection of poetry, Of Wings and Dirt. It’s a beautiful book, full of endless hope and wisdom. One morning as I was trying to write (and couldn’t) I grabbed her book for inspiration. I flipped open to page 117 and began to read. This is what I read.
My Monkish Life by Kimberly Phinney
From her book, Of Wings and Dirt: A Collection of Poems
I.
I fell asleep late last night
reading Isaiah and dreamt about gardens
and prophecy.
I had nowhere I needed to be
when I woke,
so I slept in bed until noon,
listening to the rain hit the roof.
And when I opened my eyes,
I witnessed the humidity’s dew
gather so gently
and drop down the windowpane
and cry tears like we do.
II.
Then, I watched my pup awake
with my movements and rhythms
to do her faithful stretches— a happy baby,
a downward dog.
And she reminded me
in her ease
that I should do more yoga
because they say
it’s good for the pain.
III.
It’s so quiet now.
I can hear the prayers in my head
and poetry lines run on and on.
So much so, I can’t catch them all.
So, I think I may drink my coffee in bed
and learn to soak this silence in
some more, while my body rejects
the world and what it used to do.
IV.
And then I’ll stop and write to you:
Listen, I think I can hear God overheard
because I finally understand
I am not a performance
or what others have said I am.
My worth is not measured by
what I am not producing here (in this bed).
It’s almost as if my monkish life
is helping me to forget
all the broken parts in my past
and in my body and
those who have gone
because of it.
Time is good at making
hazy fragments
fog over like glass.
And God is good at healing.
V.
Yes, I think I’ll drink my coffee in bed,
turn the clocks facedown,
read some Romans or Rumi or Rilke
out loud— and keep relearning.
And maybe later
if I can get this ache in my belly to stop,
I’ll go study the clouds
because for the first time in my life
I am living the art of “now.”
Grab Kimberly’s book, Of Wings and Dirt, today!
Kimberly recently joined me to chat about poetry, kindness, and grief. She shares her story and reminds us how we too can continue through the heaviness with hope. In the episode we also read the poems found on this post!
Listen to our episode!
Episode 115 of The Walk A Little Slower Podcast
After reading Kimberly’s poem, My Monkish Life, I felt inspired. Inspired to live and continue and write. So, I did. I wrote my own version of My Monkish Life. Here is what I came up with.
Trying Not To Spill by Tanner Olson
I.
Last night I fell asleep on the couch to re-runs of The Office. The last thing I remember is Kevin spilling a pot of his famous chili all over the floor. All he was trying to do was help, to give what he had, and it turned into a mess. I woke up at 4 AM to my belt jabbing into my empty stomach. When I opened my eyes the television was still on, filling the house with light the way I wish it had been the sun.
II.
I laid there for an hour trying to fall back asleep, but my mind was awake. It had been busy replaying the past and making a list of all the things I shouldn’t have done and still needed to do. Eventually it pushed me to place my feet on the ground. I sat for a moment on the edge of the couch, feeling my bare feet on the hardwood, wondering how I was going to make it through another day. I pushed myself up, stretched my back, let out a god-awful noise that I chalked up to be a prayer, and started a day that I wish hadn’t yet begun.
III.
I’m trying. That’s what I told the barista at the coffee shop. She had asked me how I was doing and that’s what I said. I wish I had said something else, but it felt good to be honest. She gave me a sympathetic look to go along with the black coffee I had ordered. She filled the mug to the top, told me refills were free, and I, for the first time in months, remembered grace isn’t a gimmick, but an unending invitation to continue light and free.
IV.
Light and free is how I want to live, but the hum inside my head continues to keep me from letting go of what I’m holding tight. I’ve got my always moving hands wrapped up and around striving and comparison, while I’m somehow stuck in the past and fixed on tomorrow. I want to let go, to forget what is behind and reach forward to what lies ahead, but today it seems I’ve chosen noise over peace, replaced God’s voice with my own, giving myself over to a life of doing instead of taking God up on His invitation to live light and free, to simply be.
V.
I sat in the corner, opened my computer, and stared at a blinking cursor. I came here to write, to take bits and pieces of my life, cut them up, mix them together, and turn them into something that will leave you feeling warm and full. Things like hope and peace and mercy and what I know about life and love and God and the questions I am asking Him and the answers He is revealing. Poetry is just word chili and the world is hungry. I am starving and I’m trying. I’m trying to not spill it all over the floor.
Now, it’s your turn to write.
Thank you for being here. If you’re a paid subscriber, or if you’ve purchased my books, I can’t thank you enough for your continued kindness.
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Love both your poems.
Loved the podcast discussion, loved the poems. Thank you