A new journal, a new pen

My counselor,
her name is Marcela,
assigned homework for me
during my last therapy session.
She said I had to go out
buy a notebook of visual appeal
alongside a high-grade pen.

The idea was to stimulate my creativity
with a notebook I liked to look at
and a pen I liked to write with
to make the experience enjoyable and enticing
to draw me in
to create for the sake of creating
to help me re-connect with this part of me
that, at times, seems to be fading.

So
one day after work I went to the bookstore.
I looked for a journal to catch my eye.
Funny how, at the same time,
my mind automatically eliminated some
because they looked too expensive.
Or,
I would find one that looked pretty
but my mind would convince me it wasn’t right
because of the size
because of the binding
because of the line spacing
because of the ‘fanciness’
because of the price.
If any journal held these qualities too well,
I told myself,
I would feel inherent pressure
to create content of high esteem, high value,
worthy enough to live between its covers
thereby creating more pressure
and likely, shying away from
scribbling out thoughts
for the mere purpose of releasing them.

What should have been instinctual
and taken seconds
took me minutes and minutes
standing in front of the journals
wrestling with my mind.

At last, I landed on this one.
Different than any I’ve had before
a thought-provoking cover
and on sale.

I chose a package of pens
I knew I would like
even though I could clearly see
the dozens of unused, good-enough pens
waiting at home.

A new journal
a new pen
starting a new journey
while I was away from home
in the mountains
looking for a reset
seemed fitting.
Connecting the stars within me
into constellations
bringing me back to myself
one page at a time
ink and words flowing.

first drafts need revisions

Some stories I write
I write to release them from my mind
get them down on paper
so I can forget about them.

First drafts rarely become final drafts
without revisions.

Writing out the first draft
of painful, heavy stories
feels easy,
feels liberating.

Revisiting them
is triggering
is painful
but necessary
to produce a final draft.

Prepare.
Execute.
Soothe.

silence and solace and freedom

I have a safe space
new, but familiar,
where I can escape and spend hours
in my imagination
just like I used to do
when I was young
in the sacred spaces of silence
I could carve out, from reality.

Reuniting with my childhood joy,
I create moments of quiet
for my eyes to rest closed,
drift my body into a half-asleep trance
and let my mind roam free.
Characters, storylines, dialogue,
they all come alive here
weaving into and away from each other
I begin in one place
to end somewhere else, far away
and brand new.

The freedom I feel here
I feel no where else.
Silence and solace and freedom.

fragments of a whole

A few months ago, I saw a quote on Instagram that read:
If you only share fragments of yourself with the world, you will never feel whole.

It only takes me one hand to count the number of times in my life where I have felt completely, undeniably, whole. Like I had nothing in me to hide and I chose to stand there, in the wholeness of myself, unapologetically.

Those moments are like shooting stars in the sky that often escape our sight until the tail end of their trajectory disappears over the horizon. A look to the sky, muttering to ourselves, “I could have sworn I just saw a flash of light.”

Yes, a flash of light.

And yet, there are people who seem to live in the light. It doesn’t flash for them. Instead, it acts like a spotlight, a source of light that lies within them, and emanates the light through and out from them. Only rarely does it dim.

The hours of time I spent in psychology courses, and therapy sessions, and conversation with others, tells me that we each have our own, inner spotlight. It’s in there, somewhere. It’s not a matter of some people being born with it, the lucky ones, and others not. It’s in there, somewhere. First, it’s about finding it. Then, it’s about building and growing and empowering the vulnerability to power on the light, and keep it burning.

But how?

How does one share all these fragments of themselves to reach a state of wholeness? Does it require verbal declarations to an audience? Does it require a press release to disseminate amongst society? Can these fragments be shared through mannerisms and appearances and preferential activities? After the act of sharing has been done, how can one be assured the message has been received?

Maybe privacy isn’t the gold standard that we should be striving for: to keep some, or most, things about ourselves private, only privy to those in our immediate circle. To maintain privacy can invoke feelings of shame, or regret, or unworthiness if one believes that the world would be better off if people could see only the mask they have deemed appropriate, and safe, to be seen by the greater world.

But, you see, the more that people know about you, the more they can understand, empathize, support, and love.

Perhaps it’s best if people know about the medical treatment you’re receiving, the loss and grief and heartbreak you’re struggling to navigate through, the joy and celebration you feel for the positive news you’ve just received, the thing you think that only you have ever felt when in reality, there are many, many people in the world who understand how you’re feeling. Perhaps it’s best if people know your dreams, your goals, the passions that make you come alive, or the deepest, darkest secrets you have buried deep within your heart because you believe they will only cast shame upon you if they were given words, and space, to breathe.

To bring all parts of us out into the open, out into the world, allows the dark and the light to be seen, to be celebrated, to be wrapped in wholeness. To understand that in the depths of the human experience, we have more in common with one another than we have different. That by finding the courage to bring forward all the fragments of yourself out into the world beyond your body and mind, you may inspire someone else to do the same. What a beautiful ripple to create in the waters of humanity.

I continue to gather the flashes of light, the tail ends of shooting stars and the warmth I remember feeling in my body as I stood tall and strong and true. I gather these fragments, these beams of light, to stand in wholeness.

Will you?

accidents can be beautiful

An accidental, yet dramatic, spill
of water across the floor, the couch,
most of the living room, really,
included pages of notebooks.

Faint stains of pink and purple
enhancing the flavor of tap water
paint over the blank canvases of pages
seemingly waiting, longing, for color.

Pages adorn new textures from the places
wet, then dried.
A crunching sound with every flip
refusing to lay flat,
forever changed.
Does a blank page even exist?

Gift an accident the opportunity to be beautiful.

light to guide me back

I lost her
I wonder where she went
why she felt the need to get away.

I have been separated from this page
it feels like an eternity
do I remember how to do this?

Extending compassion
into a space hollow and dark
offers light,
light to guide me back.

after some time away

Wading through the murky waters
of words that don’t make sense together
but I write them together anyway
hoping they can make it work
but realizing on the second read-through
that no, it doesn’t work.

Wading through the muddy waters
realizing how muddy they can get
after spending time on dry land for a while,
I cannot expect to jump right in
to the crystal clear blue lake on the first page,
or the fifth.

Trudging through the mud and the muck,
the frustrations, shame and self-doubt
squish out from underneath my boots
to float up and around me in a haze.
At least I’m getting them up and out
to meet them in the eye.

With each step, the mud recedes,
and the clarity expands.
Just keep going,
just keep writing.

what the story does to me

Time passes by me
quickly, effortlessly, joyfully.
I barely comprehend where it’s gone
when I look up at the clock
to register the difference in numbers.

That’s what the story does to me.
I enter a new, beautiful world,
a world I created.
I could stay there for hours.

I come alive there. I feel my heart glow.
And when I step away,
I’m counting down the minutes
until I can return.