It seems we are. We are always in process, searching, trying out new ways of thinking; feeling and being. One thing that has always held ground for me - no matter how I'm evolving/changing/transcending/transmuting/evensittingstill - is writing. As I allow the process to process on paper, I become clearer and easier with my focus. I am less likely to criticize my issues that are at hand. I can write and revel in my thoughts and feelings. I can scream... and cry... and say no... and say yes - I can have a voice that maybe I cannot muster out loud. Listen to the many voices of healing. I offer several of my own poems/writings and one great poem by Marge Piercy.
one morning
it seemed like the right thing to do
get up early and sit behind/in front (?) of the keyboard
allowing my fingers to play across keys spelling words
it seemed the only thing to do i had long before lost control
sleep was no option dreams woke me to this fate
and so I sit staring at blank page and isn’t it funny that
even though actual typewriter or legal pad or clipboard is not
physically in hand the page is still blank (I like that thought!)
i think i am waiting for my psyche to open to unconscious flow
words somehow channeled out of a sleepy brain
only somewhat able to manipulate syntax and spelling
and somehow motivated to this task before the sun rises
realizing time is my own this morning and naps are a saturday
commodity (Another thought I like!) and the thought that i can
unconsciously allow thoughts that i like is a comfort… a thrill
in this time for me when most waking moments are filled with
sadness and pain from events i cannot control at all
only my psyche would have thought of this maneuver
because here i am thinking lovely thoughts
am i sprinkled with fairy dust?
after the hours
it is with anguish i live each day
waking with original pain and
my insanities
inhibiting my wholeness
blocking my growth
my simplicity to live in balance
with the rest of the world
even my creativity…
i am visionary
i do know too much
i do feel too much
my poetry leaks out
oozes word by word by phrase
to make claim
to make sense
revealing to me each lens
through which i see
it is all i can do with ease
alone
finding solace in words exposing
my uncomfortable spaces
crying out to others who can hear my
angst and reach to me with
a feeling of connection
to touch their own
unknown
thereby acknowledging my soul
allowing me to feel myself
…just barely breathing
just now
it is you who has come to me in peace
in trickster disguise to teach
my personal shaman
how perfect
it is you who walks with god
espousing truth and love
my heart is listening to you
my heart is opening
albeit slow to trust
so many years of blackness
a severed blade dulled inside me
only a matching dull ache
until now
when i am learning
that this truth and love you teach
this god you speak of
is me
and it has been all along
i forgot
just now i see it in my eyes
to the left
teetering sure footed
stars are
shooting madly all around
expressions of excitement and energy
made with sound and light
and feelings dancing in my belly
which way to go which way to go
my current path deep and wide
rutted with steadfast surety
i cannot fail
however just a foot to the
left is where
silence is breaking the sound
barrier with raucous inconsistency
love is brilliantly steaming from
morning cereal bowls
abandon is laughing holding out his arms for me
beckoning
abundance is absolute
and you are standing there smiling
tottering surefooted
galaxies
are changing area codes
heads are thrown back in ecstasy
flowers are blooming for all to smell
this is just a foot away
a phone call away
a smile away a
winkakissapoema
jug of wine away
a universe could be inside
the baseball knocked outside
the park
which way to go which way to go
moment by moment
(to the left)
Unlearning to not Speak
Marge Piercy
Blizzards of paper
in slow motion
sift through her.
In nightmares she suddenly recalls
a class she signed up for
but forgot to attend.
Now it is too late.
Now it is time for finals:
losers will be shot.
Phrases of men who lectured her
drift and rustle in piles:
Why don’t you speak up?
Why are you shouting?
You have the wrong answer,
wrong line, wrong face.
They tell her she is a womb-man,
Babymachine, mirror image, toy,
earth mother and penis-poor,
a dish of synthetic strawberry icecream
rapidly melting.
She grunts to a halt.
She must learn again to speak
starting with I
Starting with We
starting as the infant does
With her own hunger
and pleasure
and rage.
Piercy, by the way, is a very published contemporary poet-writer. She has many great things to say. Pick up a book and get to know her work. In the meantime, read here and write a response. Send your writing to me by Sunday and I'll post for comments. So it's time to write. Allow the poems to touch something, connect somehow. Allow yourself. Breathe. Write. Love.
Always LOVE,
Petee
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22 comments:
Good Morning Petee!
So, I realize it is Monday and not Sunday. I think I shall say I will post on Monday morning. It works better for me. You guys responded with writings, which express so much, angst… fear… passion… hope… your connections to the prompt poems. We will discuss them all after you read them all. I have noticed that sometimes the forms we have written, i.e. the original spacing, does not hold when a piece is published on the blog. I know for me, it is upsetting because I love so to play with the spacing of words and lines. I notice many of you are also playing with that element. If it is not as you originally wrote, please note that in comments, so we can all “see” that. Remember, we are all open for comment after this posting. Always in love!
Joellen sent the following:
Playback Theater...or, not
Watching...
silent, eyes open,
Staring through the windowpanes of my glasses,
Mouth shut
Turning myself Invisible
Behind my fuzzy pink blanket and leopard mules.
I will not speak.
I will not tell... I will not tell those things I have never told...
I can think of nothing beyond that,
I have nothing to say.
The work goes on.
I see, hear, outside it all.
The pictures in my head
Seem trivial
In the face of such wrenching tales of woe.
I spin the silk thread in my mind
And wrap it
Tight, dense, impenetrable
Around the tendrils of dirty,
Smoky feelings,
Shameful memories
Pushing insistently inside my chest
Trying to get through to the surface.
I watch dry eyed,
Numbed by self induced torpor
Set apart and
Outside my body
As the horror
Of the stories of the others
Is exposed to the world,
To the universe of the Room.
Memories float
To the surface
Bastard feelings
I have kept down forever.
I squash their heads and push them back
Where they live now,
In the murky bog, in the shame.
They sink in the muck.
Who will dig them out?
Not I!
Terrie wrote:
to the left
she arrived at the place of love and comfort
ready to move
her feet in the cold wet sand pushing it all around
away from her
to the left
conversations speaking in her head
mother ocean soothing the shore with her warm heavy waves
she watches the sand piling up
there is a breeze blowing
to the left
a small sand crab peering out of its home
a pelican diving into the water in hunger
she tries to catch one of the conversations in her head
they are moving too fast
to the left
she does not look up at the water hitting the shore
she does not see the beautiful colors of the sun’s rays dancing
on top of mother ocean
the light is fading into darkness
to the left
she continues to push the sand as it turns cold
piling it up higher and higher
listening to the conversations rolling in her head
she hears her begging pleading and screaming
to the left
it is cold and shiny in her pullover front pocket
she pulled it out and lifted it to her head
she looked up and saw the beautiful colors
took a breath, pulled the trigger and fell
to the left
and from Emily:
I lay awake at night
Running words through my head
The constant flow can sedate me or
Arouse me from a blissful eve
Nothing flows through my fingers
Just my mind
I wait, rather impatiently, for the connection to be made
To spew out the congealed web of emotions
To see the beauty unfold
I do not fear the words, feelings, pain
They cannot hurt me
Rather I just want to see them
To share them
To have an understanding of the perplexed mind
Of a crazed woman
Is it about me?
Perhaps
I fall asleep
Tara sent this one:
The Dream.
I have to get it out.
I cannot speak it.
It seems that I am crazy.
It is not a dream.
It is real.
It deserves my attention.
How did this happen?
I didn’t mean for it to come up.
I did not start off with this in my mind.
This is what writing does.
Prompts you to move beyond and keep going.
I recalled a dream and then another dream began pushing itself in the way.
No matter what I did right, I couldn’t graduate.
Something kept stopping me.
Yet I already graduated.
Nothing stopped me.
I didn’t speak.
I didn’t allow me.
No sharing of the self.
No presenting my work.
They didn’t stop me though.
He can tell me his opinion.
No matter.
“Someone hurt you.”
How dare he say this to me!
He is not supposed to know this.
He is a teacher.
He does not know this.
Unless I tell him.
I don’t even know this.
This is his excuse for me.
You cannot see me.
I choose for people to see me or not.
You will not see me.
I am not different.
I graduated.
I didn’t feel like I graduated.
He took this away from me.
How dare he?
Still... self I have to proclaim.
This dream connected to the other dream.
This part of the story connected to that part of the story.
This trigger connected to that trigger.
No more. Please no more!
Just let it come.
How do you spell come anyway?
That would be good… another dimension to the story.
Dreaming over and over
Senseless dreams.
Men chasing me.
They get me… each one taking their turn.
Committing a horrible crime.
I can say those words.
It is my dream.
I wake.
The dream is still there.
It is different but still there.
The act never ends.
Over and over again it repeats.
And act in process.
How is it an act in process?
An act is something that has motion.
This has no motion.
It is an endless, motionless, meaningless act.
Someone has to understand.
I have to understand.
There is no further action; no motion, no sound, no feeling, no voice…. no pain.
No story.
No reality.
A frozen moment in time.
A picture.
Forever imprinted on my brain.
Forever stuck in me.
Literally stuck.
How did this come up again?
It is shorter and shorter periods of time that "it" occupies space in my head.
And then… I am SLAPPED.
I’M BACK.
It would be good if it really felt like a slap.
Slapped out of the moment in time.
To See it for real. Playback before my eyes.
Moving beyond.
It just quietly taunts me.
“Pay attention to me.”
Why are you so quiet?
And then I don’t breathe for days sometime.
I forget how to breathe.
Closed up again.
What do you want from me?
I don’t understand.
Speak about me!
But you don’t make sense.
Get out of me. Just get out.
What are you going to do to get me out?
You cannot keep hiding me.
It is time to speak.
I spoke.
I said it was a horrible crime and this makes me further disclaim “it”.
Just a picture.
That’s all it is.
It is real.
It is motionless because I don’t want to experience the motion.
Meaningless writing response.
It brings me nothing.
It tears at my gut.
I am not breathing. I can barely move.
Who am I? Where am I?
You are a victim...in a victim place.
Exactly where you don’t want to be.
Let the prompt from wherever, move you beyond.
Claim it!
And another from Emily
Little Girl
Little girl
Stretch your legs and arms
Look to the sky and see
Possibilities are waiting for you
Anything is here for you
Just reach out for it
Take it
Be your own soul
No one can live your life
Not me
Not Daddy
Just you
So go
My tears are not sad
Just proud
No matter where you go
Possibilities are waiting for you
Little Girl
Sam sent this one in:
I know your passion
I passion through paint,
creating movement in the stillness of one piece,
no verbal explanation, no language
but eyes and sight
can ever do justice,
And not even that is quite right.
It is passion that is the connection.
I think all artists want to be
understood, to be validated.
I think we are all artists,
all human beings.
…but please, do not tell me
what IS understanding?
…do not try to validate me
…do not
tell me
what
you
think
my painting means to me.
I do not want to know,
I do not want to be misunderstood,
I do not want one thing to be
(left out).
I know what I am telling,
so please do not hurt me,
do not try to repeat it to me.
It is hard enough to just
DO.
Instead tell me the passion that you
SEE,
tell me how you
KNOW
tell me you understand
IT.
I know you do.
Secretly
I want you to read my mind,
just like I secretly think I read yours.
I want you to just see and say
YES,
and I can see back and say
YES.
do not
make it make sense,
search for words
that cannot possibly contain
all the meaning of what I want to
TELL.
subject to hearing
misunderstanding
spelling
sounding.
Just read my mind.
And I would not even paint.
Another from Terrie:
What are my insanities that are inhibiting my wholeness?
What is keeping me from being whole?
Fear
Fear of external things
Fear of internal thinking
Fear of being touched
Fear of being seen
Fear of being rejected
Fear of being alone
Fear of the unknown
Shame
Shame of me
Shame of my abuse-not telling
Shame of feeling-the tingle
Shame of my body-the scars
Shame of sex-dirty
Shame of being weak-inadequate
Shame of being defeated-Beaten and raped
The Constant reflection of shame and fear is what inhibits my wholeness.
The insane thought that all people who touch me are going to hurt me.
The insane thought that when people look at me they see the abusive things that happen to me.
The insane thought people will reject me when they get to know me.
The insane thought that I am alone and no one cares. It is me against the world.
The insane thought that releasing and letting go and allowing the unknown is torturous.
The insane thought that it was all my fault and I should have told to stop it.
The shame of the tingle when I am touched by someone I care about.
The shame when I see the scars from the abuse on my body.
The shame around all of the sexual things I was forced to do.
The shame of being too weak to stop it.
The shame of being beaten and raped as a child and adult.
My wish and prayer to Great Spirit is that I am able to someday replace the feeling of fear and shame with love.
Please post comments! Love you! Always.
Yikes! I forgot my own! This is another from Petee:
This third birth matrix relationship…
Seeing it, knowing the light is there
There is resolution
Somewhere in time
However, in the present
Stuck in feelings
Emotion
Desire is constant and fraught with right and wrong
Divine judgment
Divine intervention
Screaming for attention
Intention
Desiring what maybe I can’t have
I can’t quite believe
Breathing deeply into a
Knowing I can design as I desire
Ultimately knowing it is there for me
A breakthrough
Teaching the everything of surrender
Complete surrender to trusting God
To the divinity of love
Just wanted to say mine was one of those where I played with placement of text and italics. I guess it reads the same, but I like to think that visually it was more fun. Italics and Bold are no problem, though I can't seem to figure out the spacing html in blogger, the codes just aren't working... so now I know for next time.
There is so much to read and take in here, I just don't know how to respond to it right now, except that I have read everyone's response.
love, sam
I read them too...and cannot respond yet either.
Thank you each & all for being real.
I am finding it difficult to comment on each piece this time. Just, so many of us have written our pain, it seems.
I love that we are able to express these things and transform our pain into anart form.
I love you, my fellow blogettes for your honesty and your courage, and for the beauty of your words. Thank you for putting them out tyhere. I honor each of you and all that you speak of here.
Love,
Joellen
I am frozen.
How long will I be frozen?
Stillness is safety.
Movements create vibrations
which cause cracks in the ice, which leads to FALLING IN!
Icy cold splash!
Shocked nerves ACHE.
Stillness is safety.
Words slip out of my frozen lips. Words I can't take back. I want them back! These words aren't safe in your ears, on your lips, spreading, repeating, remembering and accusing.
You say I'm wrong. My feelings don't make sense to you. There must be something wrong with me. I am wrong. I want to die. I can't be (right) in the same world as you.
This piece(s) were prompted by Marge Piercy's
"Unlearning Not to Speak." I felt connected to that one. I could've written much of it myself. Sorry I'm submitting late. I don't plan to always submit late though there's something scary about Petee having "possession" of my piece before it's posted.
I can relate, Amber. Well, I don't mind Peetee having the pieces; I trust her. What I'm not sure I like is the mass posting... Last week it was OK. There were fewer pieces, and they were not as emotional, so reading them at once was OK. This week, I found it a bit overwhelming to try and digest so much at once. I think I prefer the post as you go format. Anyway I did like your piece, liked the images of frozen emotion, liked the words on the loose concept, once spoken never to be unspoken.
OK, I have the dentist early tomorrow, so goodnight.
Love j
Hello Ladies!
For me there were too many prompts. I am happy to respond, because it is great to hear feed back, especially when one puts their guts out there.
Amber thanks for adding your piece. Maybe it is the mother-in-law thing. Anyone can take possession of your writing at anytime when you post it on the world wide web. For me it is the trust thing. Once I write it and hit the send button it is gone and I have to let it go.
Joellen--Thanks for putting words to many of my feelings. I hear and feel every word in your writing. You have described what I have felt like for so long. SO-So long!! I no longer wish to be wrapped up tight - impenetrable with shame and fear full of memories. If I do nothing else in this lifetime I will learn to let go of SHAME. I know and believe it is suppose to happen for me.
Emily - thank you for sharing your writings. I really like the line ---I wait, rather impatiently, for the connection to be made-- That is so meee!! Does anyone ever understand the perplexed mind? I don't think so- especially since it is constantly learning and evolving. I like - I like! In you second poem I real like the line -- BE YOUR OWN SOUL -- How much I wish for me to be my own soul, to feel my own soul, to own it to feel free with it and love it.
Tara-I am very happy for you. I know how difficult it is to share our truth, to put it down on paper. Thank you for stepping off the edge and taking the risk. I am sorry those things happened to you. I like these words you used--It is an endless, motionless, meaningless act--
Coming to Solutions was my beg and plea that someone will understand the insanity in my me and help me to sort it out.
Sam-Thank you for sharing. Do you feel pasionate when you paint? Is painting your soul's purpose? I believe teaching is my soul's purpose. Not necessarily teaching social studies, however I feel passionate 90% of the time I am teaching. I will say the mandala you drew during the last weekend had passion in it. I could feel it when it was passed around the room. Much passion and much energy. It was awesome.
Petee - thanks for sharing your truth with us. I really liked -- after hours --!!I wished to scream it out!
Your last poem in the response felt as if it were written for me. It seems right where I am in my process except the last four lines. I do believe -it is there for me-and that is what drives me to continue each day.
I am very overwhelmed by the amount of emotions and volume of all the pieces, so I have been reading only Terrie's for the past few days and I think I am ready to respond to you alone for now. I hope I don't say the wrong thing, as I always am afraid to offend.
Here it goes.
First I live in Ohio and we just had about 5 inches of snow dumped on us and so when I read 'to the left' I was completely pulled in beside you sitting on the beach, admiring the little sand crab, such a small creature but knows its job, the pelican doing his too. Are you the sand crab? Do you want to be the pelican? I love how you took something comforting (mother ocean) (is MOTHER comforting or is she not?) and mixed it with 'heavy waves' sadness, overwhelming. God it is beautiful. Geez Terrie, you are such a talent. I jumped, and a tear fell, when she fell to the left. I love that you can write about your past and get it out. You are not afraid in your writing. (at least, you ARE writing it, so it cannot hold you) I don't know you so I may be entirely wrong about all of this. I do know that I LOVE IT! Thank you for this piece. It is stuck in my heart and I cannot read anything else with out thinking of this piece. Thank you. You are so beautiful.
It is amazing to read and feel all of the angst, passion and release of these poems. To me, it is what I want for each writer to experience. I want everyone to have the la-la-la feelings of the lighter side of self expression, however the cleansing of the gut must come out to maintain honesty. It is my true feeling that writing is a healing medicine, a homeopathic energy tincture, a pathway to freedom. I do believe when I tell my story, it has less hold over me. I release the energy of each feeling I release through writing. The shame, the pain is erased as I physically put down the words; I allow the words to pour out of me with anguish and with joy, sometimes not even knowing what I am writing about until it is over. I allow the writing to find its own voice within me, its own shape and form. I do not share all of my writing. I share what wants to be shared. I share what my body and mind - what my soul needs to share.
I cannot, in those times be concerned with my mother-in-law or my friends or my children - it is my healing. When I take control over my healing with expressing what must come out, I am moving forward; I am risking; I am healing. And I know this is my way. Writing is part of who I am. It has always been a part of me. It always will be. I have written about all facets of my life. Each piece is a piece of me. The good, the bad, the ugly.
I am filled with respect for all of you who have chosen to express yourselves and be in charge of your own healing in this magical way. I feel safe here. I hope you do too. I feel you each are writing from your inside out,whether it is filled with the passion of painting and writing or the horror of abuse; whether it is an explanation of what you do understand or what you don't understand - you are writing. YOU are expressing, YOU ARE HEALING!
I connect with each and every piece. I connect with the silence and the frozen feelings; I connect with the pain of the abuse; I connect with the thoughts of suicide, the laying awake, the constant dream, the watching, the motionlessness, the possibilities, the shame, the fear... all of it...all of it.
"Just read my mind and I would not even paint."
Just read my mind and I would not even write.
Just read my mind and I would not even hurt
cry
laugh
love
live
Just read my mind and I would not even...
Wouldn't have to
LOVE ALWAYS to ALL of YOU,
Petee
OHHHH, I'm out of Amoxycillin and the dentist won't see me w/o pre-meds so I am dressed and ready and postponed until Monday.
So I'm here re-reading the posts each of you has written, and attempting to form responses to each. It appears my A.D.D will not allow me past the sheer, overwhelming volume and scope. I feel connected to each of you here, I can relate to things in each piece...it is all too much for me. Perhaps if I do what wise Emily did, and just do one at a time...
AND, I must still write my "grief letters" for tonight...which I have been seriously avoiding...
So, a question or two first...
Will someone please explain to me what "Birth Matrix" means? And what is the third birth matrix as opposed to the first or the seventh? I missed that part somehow. To me as a jewelery designer, the matrix is part of a stone, such as the dark veins in turquoise, which hold the gemstones together.
Also, in clear, concise terms please, what exactly is "soul's purpose" and how does one know what one's soul purpose might be? I am 58. I am baffled, and would have hoped to have figured that out by now. I somehow do not feel that tattooing make-up on pepole's faces could be anyone's soul purpose.
Well anyway,in order:
Terrie piece #1)
I love your imagery; the beach is my place as well. I have been there in emotion, just as you describe. I have wanted to pull the trigger. AND, I have not pulled it. So the end of your piece frightened me bacause I felt as if "we" lost the battle bu giving in to the surcease. Your second piece was simply pure, gut honesty, and as always, beautifully and perfectly stated. I am in awe of you, of the way you relentlessly give yourself an unanesthesized root canal of the soul.
Tara,
YOU DID IT! You did it you did it you did it. I am SO PROUD OF YOU (not that I had anything to do with it that would give me pride rights, but you know what I mean...) You said it, you told, you vomited up the poison, and soon the residual toxic effects will fade. You disable your victimhood by exposing it to siunlight, the way old paper crumbles, or mummies turn to dust when the UV rays hit them.
Sam, to your piece I can total;ly relate. It is so odd how "critics" read all this STUFF into the artwork of others...like a Rorschach (sp?)test...Open to the interperatation of the observer...and wht you meant in the first place is too often lost in the translation. Still, your art is a form of SAYING IT. And if we read your mind, the minds of all artists and thereby caused it to be unessecary to create, the world would be a far more drab place.
Emily, piece #1, about lying awake in bed, bull-riding your thoughts and feelings... your piece felt so totally familiar to me and was so well stated. I now avoid that particular pitfall because I have to take clonazepam at bedtime for my legs so on all but the most anxious of nights I go unconscious, which is FINE WITH ME.
Your second piece is how I wish I had been raised, and how I raised my daughter. And I am ever so GRATEFUL to God andd the Universe which is doubtless one and the same, that she is now a happy and stable young woman, because I learned from my parents' mistakes. It sounds as if you did too.
Amber, you have come so far since I met you. You could not, would not, even acknowledge back then that you had any issues...now you are in there, determined to excavate from your frozen quarry all the petrified pain. I loved your piece.
Peetee, I love you, and I love your language, and the phrases you use and the wonderful words and the way you put them together... And sometimes I have no idea of their meaning. Your writing is deep and subtle and abstract. My too literate mind sometimes cannot quite grasp the gist of the abstract. And then I feel stupid, because I know you're stating a profound truth, only I just don't get what it is. Sort of when I attempted to read Aldous Huxley's The Devils of Loudon at age 16, or when I tried to grasp the full meaning of JD Salinger's work at 13 because my friend's older brother and his friends were discussing Salinger, and I wanted to be like them. Or, when I was the second-to-the-dumbest kid in the "Smart Class" all through elementary school. So maybe I just need to mature :O (Kidding).
Did I get to everyone????
I OLOVE YOU and thank you for opening and sharing and for your comments.
XOXOX Joellen/Hope
Thanks Emily! I am sorry you live in Ohio. We live in paradise. I spent 7 years in MA and could not wait to leave. I am definitely not a cold winter person.
I did not have a mother growing up from about 11 to 26; however she is in my life at this time and I love her greatly. Mother Ocean was and will always be the perfect mother.
I feel I do not write well. I do not understand all the rules of poetry and what not. I just write what I am thinking and feeling. Writing is safe for me. I don't always have the words AND I wish to have more words. There is a sense of freedom sharing my story. There is a sort of release. I just wish to write. No rules, no comparisons, no expectations, no keeping up with the Jones. I wish to use my words as simple as they may be they are mine. So thanks for taking the time to read and respond.
And Emily - you are not wrong and it seems you know me well.
Amber I wanted to share that your line about stillness being saftey triggers me. THANK YOU!!!
When I was burned with the cigarette on the whowho, it was because I was not still. I could not be still because I was being tickled. Over the years I have learned to be very still; however I don't want to be still any longer. My body is thawing out from all of the years of holding on and being still. It is very safe to be still AND I am learning that it can be safe to move around in my body as well as my mind.
"Wouldn't have to"
Petee, I love you...
Happy Valentine's Day to All!
I posted a new prompt because I wanted to share the LOVE! And Also want the discussion to continue here. There are some important thoughts and feelings here. Deep, intense, passionate and healing. I feel there is a lot more that wants to be related from many of you. Please speak up!
I want to answer a couple of questions...what is a soul purpose? I interpret that as being what my soul absolutely thrives on...what I feel I am here for. Perhaps I could be bold and say my soul's purpose is to teach and guide through my gifts and talents... At this point in my life, I feel that is why I am here. In my evolution, feeling open for all possibilities - I am open for a change or evolution of my soul's purpose. Maybe simply stated, my soul's purpose is what my passion is. Anyone have another or supporting perspective?
Stan Grof, who authored Spiritual Emergency, (see Wendy's Blog)developed the idea of the birth matrix as he developed the breathwork. He believes we go through four stages in our breathwork...in our lives as well, that encapsulate the pattern of our own womb and birth experience. He calls these stages a matrix, because they are the makeup of the patterns we live today. The first is an oceanic, calm, beautiful time; the second is the absolute hellish stuckness; the third birth matrix is feeling the stuckness and seeing the light at the end of the tunnel; the fourth is the release. I have described these ever so briefly. There is much more to the theory. Listen as we process breathwork and you will hear these words and ideas. We often will put forth the question, what birth matrix could you say you are living in right now? it becomes a way of observing ourselves as we are in a process of healing.
How do you use html tags to create bold or italics? I am lost without that ability. I realize I use them a lot. i, too use so mauch spacing and form as part of my poetry. I guess I'll have to publish another chapbook so you can see that.
Have I said how excited I am that all of you tried your hand at poetry? I know Terrie has asked for more guidance in poetic elements and form. I love that aspect of writing as well... there is where the craft of writing comes into play. If you are interested in knowing these things please let me know. We can add poetry 101 into our writing and prompts.
Love Always,
Petee
Thanks Petee--
Tara--my friend. I miss you when we are so busy doing our work.
I re-read the pieces and this jumped out at me.
The act never ends.
Over and over again it repeats.
And act in process.
How is it an act in process?
An act is something that has motion.
This has no motion.
It is an endless, motionless, meaningless act.
I believe the acts will never end in my head. The memories and scars will always be there. I will see the many acts over and over; however the control the acts have over me will someday end. Wendyne and Petee has promised!!!
Thank you again - stirring that up in my big ole mind that is never motionless.
Okay. Last night I sat in bed and jotted down some comments I wanted to say. Thank you for listening.
Sam, you wrote:
search for words
that cannot possibly contain
all the meaning of what I want to
TELL.
I have never understood how art teachers exist. How can they tell someone 'this is good' or 'this is crap' Isn't it about the artist? Maybe that is why I am afraid to try and paint. (I also realize this piece is not just about that)
I think your art, painting, sketching and writing are all very detailed and so intriging. I like to pull up a piece off the site you emailed me and just admire them for a while.
You are definetly filled with fire. You have youth on your side! I remember having that fire. Mine has subsided a bit since two kids, but you make me remember. Thanks.
Amber
Just keep going! You didn't get where you are overnight and you won't get out that fast either. Your mind will only allow you what you can handle...Do you think you could stop?
The more you allow yourself to accept - not take blame for - just to accept what you have lived through - the easier it will be to put all the pieces of you into who YOU truly are- not who anyone thinks you should be
It has to be difficult expressing your thoughts with your mother in law involved but at the very least, she can continue to grow and understand more of her daughter in law, whom she loves very much!
Tara, you wrote
How did this come up again?
It is shorter and shorter periods of time that "it" occupies space in my head.
I feel this so many times about different aspects of my life
I was molested at 7, it happened once, I told my mom like a minute after it happened and she made him leave. Right then. At like midnight.
My failed marriage - the most annoying failure of my life. It irritates me to think of it. I pray for my annulment to go through rapidly.
And just the embarrassing stupid little things of adolesence and daily life. I just wonder why they must keep returning to taunt me. Not everyday, just occasionaly.
Thank you for giving me a bit of normalacy, whatever THAT is!
Joellen
DIG! DIG! DIG! I can relate to sitting - listening - to other talk of their 'stuff' and thinking no way not me uh huh not gonna happen......But it feels so much better to DIG IT OUT!!
I also love the visual of 'squashing' their heads. I feel that too.
Well thanks for letting me get it out today. My biggest issue is offending anyone, which I never mean to do, but does happen sometimes!
Emily
Joellen,
I remember feeling exactly like you did… turning myself invisible, thinking nothing much beyond not speaking, and I just kept going and then I was ready… and more ready… as I believe you will be… and then the feelings are painful but okay to have. I hope to be there with you in your time.
Terrie,
I loved your first response especially. “She arrived at a place of love and comfort ready to move”. When re-reading your response I thought of yesterday, when I was feeling so lonely and unbearable sad… life seeming so meaningless and I was able to take a break from work… so I went to the water “ a place of love and comfort” for me too and the feelings came stronger b/c I was in a place of love…. covered and protected by the trees in back of me and all that was before me was natural beauty and God. I wanted to go to but when it was time I got up and moved on as you always do. I love you and thank you Terrie. I feel less alone with you sharing and I am reminded again and again lately we are all in this together, yet still it feels so lonely sometime. Your second response made me wish for you to know it is not you against the world... really know this… and made me wish this for me too. I want to thank you for reminding me that I am already believing this or I would not be able to expose myself to people and do all the work I have done.
Emily,
Thank you. Your writing reminded me of my healing growth and progress… reminding me that my mind has slowed down. And what a blessing this is… to have a calm and peaceful mind. I forget most of the time from where I have come and … “ I wait rather impatiently for the connection to be made” I am reminded from re reading your response of the importance of sharing… giving and receiving that we may be writing about ourselves but that we can all connect to what each other is saying in ways that lessen the loneliness. My affirmation for a long time was, I have peace of mind all the time.
Sam,
I think your soul is beautiful beyond words… and what I hear and relate to is your desire to connect, be heard, and have a place in the world.
Petee,
Surrender. This is my lesson right now… over and over we must surrender. your response remindng me that we are surrendering to ourselves… no one else… OUR truth and divinity.
Amber,
Again I am reminded of not being alone…so thank you. ‘I cannot be in the same world as you” I have felt like this with my family. And “stillness is safety” I am reminded of not feeling so still anymore… because there are people and a world in which you can just be. Thanks for being Amber.
I think I'm responding to what emily wrote about "how can art professors exist". I'm glad emily wrote that because I want to try to make everyone understand this, I've heard a similar thing from many many people.
... those judgements are more straight forward, good drawing/bad drawing, not really about anything deep, and not about the artist. It is a matter of meeting the requirements of the assignment in a strong visaul manner. Not all art professors are bad, even if they have an opinion, that's what I pay to go to art school for, is their hopefully wise and experienced direction and training. I can hear those critisizms because it is not directed at me as a person. I think people have the wrong idea and mix and compare professional art with nonprofessional art. If I am going to make a living doing this I also must be able to deliver professional quality pieces, up to par with the rest of the successful artists already out there. There is definately a business aspect to it all, and that's where you learn to balance the art of expression and the art of business... that's what I'm going to school for. We learn how to sell our ideas, market ourselves, and hopefully have enough talent to pull it off, and retain our copyrights.
I do want to go into an art psychology someday because there is where the critical eye should not exist. And believe me I am very capable of turning that inner critic off when it is just for my own healing purpose, and others', or for others exploring and enjoying their own creativity. I think that can be applied in this blog with writing too, I just assume that everyone is seeing it in this way. When I assume this, I feel less self conscious about what I do (even if there may be people out there who don't... I pretend anyways). It makes me feel better.
Terrie, I just want to tell you that your piece "to the left" was so strong for me, it made me feel a lot and very strongly.
Joellen, I feel very stuck when I read yours, and i've watched you go through exactly what you wrote in that room at times when you seem to be hiding... you are not going unnoticed though, I have noticed. And I know that I can feel that from you, all that you are holding in. I'm glad you wrote about it so honestly.
Tara, it is like a glimpse into your mind, and mine aswell. All the progression of thoughts that can run through my head, the going in and out of it being real and then not real and real again. And then it is said and must be real because someone heard, but there are still parts of me that want to forget that someone even heard me, to make it unreal again, to disconnect.
Emily, your "little girl" piece... it makes me sad because I wish my mother would say that to me. It seems full of unconditional love, it seems like a dream to me. I wish I could have felt that, to see my mom totally grounded and able to love me so much, to show emotions and say it is okay and to feel like she is a strong person, I wish I could say that I look up to my mother. I don't think that will ever happen.
Petee, I look up to you. I love what you wrote, it is truth.
love, sam
Amber, I have that same "possession" complex, even though I trust petee, I still would rather post it myself. I connect what you wrote to what I go through with my mom... sometimes I think she is just so fooled by her own denial, actually most of the time I think that. It is probably the first thing that comes to mind when I think of my mom. How dead she looks. How frustrated I am with her, how impatient I am with her, how unforgiving and critical I am with her. It is hard for me to put all of that aside and be in the same world as her.
Hi Emily!
Thanks for sharing some of your story with me. We all know each other pretty well from our work at Solutions. Thanks for joining our community.
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