Brick by brick Layer by layer Hands wet and moist Covered in clay and mud. Layer upon layer Up and up I built a fortress. It provided safety And shelter from the elements. It was cozy and a haven. Mine all mine. Built by my own sweat, Tears, and physical strength. Made by my own hand It was shapened and formed, Embellished and flawed. Little did I realize, As I was building a fortress All around me, I forgot to build a door. Along with protection from the elements, I was locked in, Unable to express my truth To another or to myself. When the walls finally were torn down, By time or willpower, I set myself free. It was safe to feel my feelings. All my feelings. Behind the clay and mud I uncovered a temple. A brightly lit hidden treasure. Put there by my labor And long forgotten. A jewel that needed to be excavated Once the walls came down.
Category: Connection
Stories connect us
ALL THE BLOOMS
All the blooms have paid their visit. They fulfilled their roles to completion. Now green leaves of every hue remain on the branches. All the trees marinate and meld into just a tree Where the blooms easily identified the species. Now they are a forest of trees Indistinguishable to the undiscerning eye. One lone red maple stands out from the rest. Does the species of tree matter to the nesting bird Tending to their fragile, precious young? Maybe. Sturdy, tall, with camouflaged branches They call home. I call it nature’s greenery.
Nature’s Symphony
Nature’s symphony is at my door. All I have to do is listen. Each unique birdcall an instrument The dog bark the percussion. Small songbirds the flute. Each call a pattern, A song, a melody that makes up the whole. I am surrounded by sound. Pleasant, not pleasant My ears hear it all. What do you hear when you step outside? An occasional firework goes off even at this early morning hour. The time to celebrate is always in order. I listen and smile.
Self-confidence
Being self-confident is hard. I grew up in a culture that treated Women’s bodies as objects. Objects of men’s desires; Objects in need of change: Change in size, Change to be fashionable and contort my body to fit into current trends. Women’s bodies were objects That had to be managed In how we moved, How we behaved, How we led our lives And presented ourselves To the outside world, And how we treated our bodies In private when no one was looking. It is hard to be self-confident When society bombards you With messages that you are not enough, You are falling short and failing To an unrealistic standard. (And who set up this system to begin with?) I find my self-confidence gets easier the older I get. Life experience and the inherent lessons that come with age have taught me that acceptance is present and available Only I hold the key to what is possible. My reflection in the mirror is unique. It is mine alone. And I choose to love who I see in the mirror. I choose to remind myself that these negative messages do not reflect who I truly am. I choose love. Today and this day forward, I choose to treat my mind, body and spirit With gentle, loving acceptance.
Summer in the ’90s
In the third floor apartment Overlooking the street and cars below With my notebook and pencil in hand, I nestled in to meet the muse And be inspired. I had no space of my own. Just a single-subject notebook, Wire bound and lined, With the words, “Oceanography” or “Psychology 2” in large penned letters On the pastel front cover. It was my private, personal space To journal, to explore my feelings, Writing poetry As a teenager with no money And nowhere to go. So I traveled in my mind. I devoured books by VC Andrews And Stephen King. The stories and characters swirled around in my head. I often dreamed of a tropical paradise, An escape, a place of solitude and independence. I adorned my wall with a huge poster of an idyllic palm tree. That poster became my view. There is no breeze to be felt From the window When you’re on a top bunk In a small room I shared With my younger sister. I took those bored, hot summers And transformed them the best I could. Looking back, I was laying the framework on what it means to be inspired. And now I’m never bored.
Inspiration and the Sacred
Where does inspiration come from? It can be a fleeting idea, A word or phrase that lights me up And I want to become the explorer of my own inner terrain. [The Sacred] It happens in solitude And when I’m out in nature. I feel most connected to The wisdom of my heart. Beauty always surrounds me, Even in the mundane and hard times. I just have to be willing And open to see it. When I connect to my heart and breath, I feel I am taking an active role in my life. I’m not getting carried away by the rushing tide of emotions and circumstance. In that moment, the magic happens. I no longer have to struggle. I can literally go with the flow. Again, I return to the explorer within, Who recognizes the difficulty in truly letting go With surrender and vulnerability. There is peace and ultimate freedom To find creative solutions, To take a beat before I react, And to connect to my inner wisdom. How does inspiration and the sacred come to you?
THE BODY
The body is a vessel More than tracks of blood, Veins, arteries, nerves, Bone on tendon, Synovial and cartilage. It is a vessel that Forever is learning. It is not stagnant ever. It holds my breath And takes my breath away. It mobilizes me to action, To thought, to dream, to create. The body is a vessel for love. I can receive and freely give it. I can hold another’s torso And their secrets. I can laugh and cry. I can release and let go. I can hold and embody. Mine can twist and take shape Intertwine with my lover. I can stretch and realize My edges are further than I thought. I can smile and accept This body that is mine.
Surrender
It is an action not inaction to surrender. I allow that support And I am held, Comforted and loved. I breathe And I receive. I am grounded. The ground will always Meet me where I am, Catch me when I fall, And support me always.
With Fresh Eyes
With fresh eyes I begin again in meditation. Sounds and thoughts pass by. Just like the breath. I am the silent witness. Waves of awareness Swirl around me. Can I follow a sound From inception to conclusion? What stories and assumptions do I attach to them? Can I bring peaceful presence To my everyday life, To each encounter, To each thought? I begin again With fresh eyes And an open heart.
The Moon
The Moon holds all secrets.
Yours and mine.
It is a divine circumstance,
Not some random chance.
The Moon may appear busy
With its changing phases
And varied dance across the sky.
It is no secret.
It is a gift from above.
The dance of give and receive.
It is limitless and accessible to all.
The capacity to hold is unchanging.
The Moon listens to my heart.
It is with gratitude that I join
And dance with the stars.
[ Listen to this poem read by my friend Jess on her podcast The Pawtuxet General: https://www.pawtuxetgeneral.com/1885927/13768959-the-pawtuxet-general-episode-88 ]
Healing Insights 