I live my life through the words I write
I had a safe space.
I invited people in.
I realized
my decision was premature
too late.
My safe space dissolved
into an empty void
for months,
tainted by the destruction
I had invited in,
in naivete.
A piece of me broke away.
Remembering
if I made it once
I can make it again
and this time,
add an extra padlock on the door.
No one expects an invitation
so I disregard any felt obligation
to extend one.
Reclaiming safety
for my soul.
Months away from the creative page.
The desire to make things
or express myself with words
evaporated and melted away
like the unseasonably warm weather of these winter months
kept the snow away
and prevented it from returning to stay.
I cannot find the words to convey the depths of pain and grief and depression and anxiety and ambivalence and change and interspersed joy that have filtered through and between the days of recent months.
I could not imagine what such words would look like, sounds like, spell like, write like or hear like, so it seemed worthless to spend any amount of time before a blank page, hoping for the imagining to come to me.
The thought of spending time before a blank page cascaded waves of fear, discomfort and vulnerability through every tissue of my body, maintaining distance between us.
I have felt vulnerability before, even embraced walking alongside it. But this felt different. It was vulnerability in a new form, a more terrifying form, and I chose to stay away for what I believed to be my own self-protection.
Last weekend, in the midst of an anxiety attack, I tried to color in a coloring book with pencil crayons, reasoning that the act of coloring would distract and calm my mind. Instead, my anxiety amplified. Fears of choosing the right picture (not too complex but not too simple), fears of choosing the right colors, fears of coloring too faintly, too intensely or beyond the lines, fears of choosing colors to live next to each other that do not complement. Questioning why I am limited to the colors chosen to be within this collection of pencils. Questioning why I need to adhere to rules and lines and systems laid out by an entity separate from myself. After ten minutes, I abandoned the effort.
I want to stand before a giant white canvas and throw globs of paint upon it, then wave a brush to spread them all around under the guide of exploration and curiosity. I want to get my hands messy. I don’t want to abide by arbitrary rules that tell me what’s right and what’s wrong with my exploration of self. I want to translate myself into colors and textures and images that words cannot always adequately capture within themselves. I am evolving. I am expanding.
I must believe
I am strong enough
to rise up against any tribulation
threatening to pull me down
and keep me there.
I have to trust
that I have the means within me
to face each new situation
in the moment.
It’s somewhere deep inside of me
waiting to rise when the time is right;
the knowing of what to do.
All I need to do is trust.
Trust that evolution
is a celebration
and a journey with no finish line.
I must trust that I remember how to do this,
and will remember how to do this
when I need to.
Sometimes
to find
authenticity
and embodiment
you must challenge
the constructs engrained
and choose
to build anew.
When my body talks to me, I listen to her. I listen to her, and I believe her.
When my body told me I was safe with him, I believed her.
When my body told me I was not safe, and I needed to get out of the situation, I believed her, and I ran.
When I received declarations of love that did not resonate with my body’s perception of truth, I believed her distrust.
When my body ached and longed and dreamed of the situation being just a little bit different, like how I had imagined it in my mind, she allowed me to play along for awhile, because she could see how much I wanted to believe, and how tightly I was holding on. But when she murmured over and over again that the situation would never change without me sacrificing my personal integrity, I believed her, and slowly, eventually, let it go.
When my body shows the beginnings of a sore throat and the quiet introduction of a cough, I believe her and I take care of her.
When my body initiates the slow and soft hum of building pain extending across my pelvic floor, I believe her message that my bleed is coming. She has never let me down before.
When, on the screen, my body showed an organism too small, with a heart beating too slow, I believed her message that she was doing everything she could, but it would not be enough.
When, after the second procedure, I felt like my complete, whole, ‘normal’ self, I believed my body was feeling that way for a reason; she doesn’t play mind games with me.
When my body expresses hunger, I believe her. When she requests movement, I believe her and get my heart and lungs working. When she experiences discomfort, I tune in and solve my way through the problem until I reach the heart of it.
When my body pushes me out beyond my comfort zone with insistence that I will grow if I do, I believe her, and do my best to push aside my anxiety.
When my body calls for artistic expression, I believe and honor her requests through writing, photography, vocal release, and decorating my skin with ink.
When my body knows there’s something worth fighting for, she stirs up the energy I need to speak my truth and advocate for others. I believe she knows, better than my mind does, what is important to me.
When my body whispers to me her need for rest, for stillness and quiet, I believe her, and give her what she needs.
When, over the last few months, I felt subtle shifts taking place in my body, I believed she was trying to tell me something, even if I couldn’t understand it.
When I learned I would need to undergo more testing before re-entering treatment, I heard my body say quietly, under her breath, that there’s no guarantee this test will have normal results. She told me to wait until I didn’t have other concurrent commitments, but at the same time, that I should have it done soon for there’s no point in unnecessary waiting. She reminded me of the futility in detailed planning for months in the future, because the first test needs to be clear before the other dominoes can fall into place, and I haven’t had that test yet. I believed her, but I still held on to hope that perhaps, she was worrying unnecessarily, like my mind tends to do. That for the first time, she might be wrong.
My body wasn’t worrying unnecessarily. She was right and proved, once again, how I can and must always believe her.
Hearing from your intuition
the answer
to a question you want to ask
just to hear the answer
from someone else
is the same as
holding a coin in your hand
assigning heads to one option
and tails to another
flipping the coin in the air
and realizing
before you catch it
what you’re hoping for.
Stop seeking validation.
You already know your answer.
Go and live it.
I trust
that right now
my body and mind need rest.
I trust
that my body and mind
are recuperating, in alignment with their needs.
I trust
that feeling good, feeling happy,
tells me my body and mind
are receiving what they need
and that it’s OK for me to feel good right now.
I trust
that I do not need to stay in the misery
to justify or exemplify
the pain residing still in my body
for it may never leave.
I trust
that I am right where I need to be.
I trust
that my body and mind will tell me
in their own way
when they are ready, again.
Trust that life is unfolding
before you
according to a plan
even though
you do not know what the plan is.
Trust that the universe
supports you
and is supporting you
even in ways you cannot see.
Trust that things happen for a reason.
Some will forever lay
beyond your control
and maybe that’s for the best.
This pink
this lilac
this white
this greenery
are all that remains
from the voluminous bouquet
brought home
over two weeks ago
on a day we laid bare to
trust
possibility
vulnerability
love
hope.
This fractioned bouquet endures
and so will we.
I hear the birds and I hear the branches
I hear the vehicles and I hear the leaves
I hear the people, the animals
and the machinery to keep us cool
and still
I seek to understand, to objectify, to name,
to satisfy my mind.
When my mind nudges in
for a turn at the microphone
she reminds me, again,
of past thoughts, past concerns
and future anxieties
I am trying to let fly away with the birds
I cannot see.
I hear these sounds,
I hear the music they orchestrate
but apart from the trees and leaves
I cannot see their sources.
I cannot see their source
and yet they are there,
they still reach my ears
somehow.
They come and go,
bending off and into each other
seamlessly
as if following a score
or being led by a conductor at the podium.
They trust in each other.
I close my eyes, expand my ears,
trusting the sounds will reach me
in nature’s perfection
without a need for rationality or manipulation.
Imagine, just for a moment,
the freedom, the weightlessness,
the joy,
of trusting that life will unfold as it is meant
if we are open enough
to hear it
to receive it
and to accept it.
The animal I was least expecting
came walking toward me
along the path in the clearing
slow, but strong,
large, but gentle.
It was a rhinoceros
so surprised was I
that I tried to re-enter my conscious mind
to think of a different animal,
to create it into being
in what was supposed to be my subconscious.
Before I had the chance to receive the message
I wanted to turn it away,
trade it in for something else,
something prettier, more feminine,
more socially accepted.
Instead,
my subconscious prevailed,
reassuring me that this animal before me
came to me with a purpose
I would learn
if I gave it space to speak, and be.
The rhinoceros stood before me.
He did not speak,
but instead just stood there,
silent, observing,
a calm presence he provided.
I began by looking up at him
from my position on the ground.
He stood tall above me,
lowering his head
I stood up to stand beside him,
still he did not speak.
I felt heat radiate from his body,
how his skin felt soft and ruthless
all at one time.
I watched him turn his head toward me
connected his eyes with mine.
He spoke through energy what could
not be spoken through words:
Be bold like me.
Be solid like me, in who you are.
Be gentle as your nature.
Remember, you have weapons
to use when you need them.
Be strong in all of you,
not only in the weapon.
He reunited me with my inner energy, my inner core,
to be solid and confident in who I am,
to take up space in my power,
to be rare, unique, off the beaten path of common perception,
to be gentle, in mannerisms and beneath my tough exterior,
to remember my inherent strength,
to stand tall in my being
and my innate ability to stand up for myself.
I am a force to be reckoned with
and I, of all people, should never forget that.
He stood there beside me, still, but breathing,
passing me all the wisdom I needed through
the air we exchanged together.
My hand reached out to connect
with the tough, thick, wrinkled, leather-like
texture of his skin
and I hear him exhale.
Perhaps not the most visually appealing
in comparison to the animals who hold more femininity
and beauty in their mythology,
but he came to me,
he was the first I saw
and the only animal who came naturally
to me in that moment,
subconsciously.
He needed to find me
and he did.
He carried a message
like no other animal could.
He was meant for me,
and I for him.
Dawning Words 