The gift of being seen

A celebration of my friend, brave living, and wise words

I believe in celebrating people while they’re with us. I hope to never find that someone has left my life, or this world, with my love and appreciation unexpressed. We never know how much time we have together and we all need to know that we matter. In a world that tells us that we’re not enough, telling the truth matters—which is that you are more than enough; you are wonderful.

One of the things I’m loving so much about my little corner of the internet here on Substack is that it’s not just me. The New Story is so much bigger than me. This is a journey toward a story that is big enough to hold us all. So how could I possibly tell it by myself?

I can’t. That’s why I keep introducing you to my friends—to artists, writers, and storytellers like my friend Tory—who is dying so bravely and beautifully, my friend Robb—who inspires me to bask in the moment, and my friend Tricia—who shares honest wisdom about living with chronic illness. I’m so blessed to have many wise, loving friends who are each living a beautiful, courageous, messy human life that brings more kindness, sanity, and grace to our world.

Today I want to introduce you to my friend, Esther. Esther is a writer, poet, wise woman, and photographer. She has been many things in her life, including a social worker, spiritual leader, mother, and activist. For me, she is also a mentor, as I suspect she is for many people.

Esther Elizabeth

I met Esther in 2001 (give or take a year) when I participated in one of her workshops with Journey Into Freedom—an organization she and her late husband Dale co-led. I recall the workshop being about discerning one’s calling and in a way, that’s a conversation Esther and I have been having ever since. I don’t recall how it happened that Esther and I stayed in touch after that workshop, but we did and we’ve been writing emails back and forth and reading each other’s poems ever since. In fact, Esther was one of the first people I dared to shared my poetry with and through the years she has seen more of my writing than anyone else.

Most importantly, Esther is the first person with whom I felt truly seen. We all need to be seen and heard and witnessed for who we are. This is both an immense gift and a deep human necessity. I didn’t know that until I got to know Esther in my mid-twenties. Esther has a gift for seeing people. Though we’ve only hung out once besides that workshop, I experience this personally in every written exchange we’ve had through the decades as well as witnessing it in all of her poetry.

At this point in my journey it’s not uncommon for people in my life to tell me they feel deeply seen and heard in my presence. They appreciate my questions, genuine curiosity about them, and the ways I reflect back to them the beauty of who they are. I’m always profoundly touched and grateful to hear this. But what I want to say as clearly as I possibly can today is that the reason I have this to give is because I’ve received it. I’ve received this depth of listening and reflection from many beloved friends in my life and Esther was the first. That’s why I also call her my mentor. Because she has modeled this for me for nearly half my life—the gift of listening, seeing who someone is, and naming it with words.

We all need this gift of being deeply seen and accepted. And we also need wise elders who live courageously, meet their pain, blaze trails of hope through hardship, and show us what is possible in this journey of human life. Esther is this for me, a wise elder. Through the years I have often felt that Esther’s poems are calling me down a path my soul is here to walk, showing me glimpses of how it’s done. That’s why I would like to share a little of her poetry with you today. It’s not easy to choose from all the gems, but I find sets of three are a perfect way to share poems and I’ve selected three of my favorites for you.

Please enjoy. Take your time. Read slow and savor. Have a moment with Esther through her words. And if you’d like to dip into more of her writing you can find Esther’s books of poetry here:

and here~

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Ode to 80
 
The way I did my life journey did not feel conducive to longevity 
So, I never entertained the notion
I’d see the day I would mark 80 

Recovering from nearly everything
I thought the journey would end a long time ago 
Alcohol, drugs, the sixties
Protests, arrests, risk-taking
Marriages, cancer, deaths, grief
I’ve been to the mountaintop a few times
As well as to the bottom of the dark sea
I’m still here, all grace, mystery, miracle 

I’ve spewed out my journey at least a zillion times, or so it seems
Group therapy, 12-step meetings, treatment, friends, groups, God, poetry 
No more amends to make 
Nothing more to be said

I’m left holding life’s Divine preciousness 
With a spirit of humility, and a heart full of gratitude
for every joy and woe given within my 80 years around the sun


		©Esther Elizabeth estherwelizabeth@gmail.com 

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His Mother’s Handkerchief

I was in the second grade
when I met my first love.
his name was Oscar Gutierrez,
son of a Mexican migrant worker.
He gave me his mother’s handkerchief
on September 8, the birthday of the Blessed Mother.

The teacher took me aside to tell me
my mother would not approve of my liking him,
of his giving me gifts, of our holding hands.

She was right. And I knew it.
My mom would not approve.
Neither would my dad, nor my minister,
and not my teacher.

But Oscar’s mom approved.

Lying about where I was going,
I would often visit Oscar’s mom
in the migrant camp.

I helped her cook and sew,
while she told me stories of
her native village people,
Oscar’s hard life,
the many camps where they had lived,
always being at the mercy of weather and crops.

She would ask me about my life,
something that seldom happened
in my own home.
I gave her back her handkerchief,
after she told me it belonged
to her dead mother.

One day, October 17 to be exact,
Oscar Gutierrez did not come to school.
His family was no longer in the camp.
I never saw him again.

His mother left me her handkerchief
in an envelope.
in her scrawl were the words,
Para quien lo ve:
"For one who sees.”

—Esther Elizabeth

from When I Die Tell Them This

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Hope

I had more hope when
I knew I was absolutely right
when I had answers regarding
what we as a people should do
and how to do it

I had more hope when I knew what was best
for the world
and for others

but I don’t know such things anymore

as I let go of my arrogance of moral correctness
my spiritual rightness
all I know now is that 
I no longer know what works

except maybe kindness


--Esther Elizabeth

from When I Die Tell Them This

Photo by Esther, who takes beautiful photographs—especially of flowers, the Oregon coast, sunsets, Mt. Hood, hummingbirds, fall foliage, roses, and the moon.

P.S. Coming soon ~ an opportunity to hang out & learn something cool

✍🏼 Do you write? Make art? 🎨
Have ideas to explore and things on your heart you’d like to share with the world?
Have you thought about publishing a blog or newsletter but haven’t gotten around to it yet? Curious about what it takes to get started and pull it off?

Drop me a comment and let me know if you have something inside you that wants to come forward. I have something fun brewing that might interest you.