my heart doesn't hear words...
it hears
the spaces that exist in between
the words we speak,
in what is not said,
in that land of possibility
that exists
in the places in between...

fractured thoughts
trying to find their way
into being

i have not been fully here for some time,
it's a hard place and space to be

yoga and pilates
both waking up my body
like the slow morning stretch
that moves us into the day

i didn’t know that muscles in my toes could hurt...
my back has to relearn how to curl and uncurl....
there are some muscles that it is hard to remember to keep clenched while others are doing their thing....

i’m sore
and it feels good...

where i live....on a calm day....

and i can....and i do....slow, measured, deep breaths.....one at a time....over and over....with daylight comes perspective....with daylight comes another step of the journey....

i'm drowning....
i sink
deep into
cold dark waters....
i kick
and struggle to the surface
gulping air,
thrashing frantically
to stay afloat,
before my body slides
again beneath the waves
and my lungs burn....
over,
and over,
and over,
i dream about
warmth, and oxygen, and light....
but feel
only
a dark, cold, loneliness....


maybe tomorrow i'll breath again....

our stories....

nigerian storyteller ben okri says that "...we live by stories, we also live in them. One way or another we are living the stories planted in us early or along the way, or we are also living the stories we planted - knowingly or unknowingly - in ourselves. We live stories that either give our lives meaning or negate it with meaninglessness. If we change the stories we live by, quite possibly we change our lives."

i think that is what many of us are doing here in this medium, telling our stories, defining who we are to the world (and to ourselves) through our stories

i have defined myself by the stories of my life....the roots of most of my stories (most of our stories) are found in childhood. i learned who i was by those experiences. it was then that i began to tell myself stories of who i was (am).... i have lived by these stories, and have reinforced them time and time again through the years. the sad thing is that these are not positive stories. they are hurtful, and no less because i'm the one who tells them to myself.....i know that i am not defined by my childhood, but i am defined by what i believe about myself, and much of that echoes back to then....

so, how to change my stories, the ones i tell myself that try to silence my voice....the ones i tell myself about who i am that cause me to want to retreat back into my fortress, to not talk to the people i care about, or write...

this is how....by just doing it....

"... and what does it mean," I asked, "to follow your heart?" She laughed and beat on her drum. "So you want my secret recipe?" she said. I said yes. "To follow your heart is as simple as closing your eyes and listening to the rhythm of your soul song. Once you find the beat you will always walk in tune..." (from the Persistence of Yellow by Monique Duval)

that is what i want, to not let fear of that unknown place, a new way of being in this world, hold me back from allowing myself to remove the noise, and in that ensuing silence, let myself hear the rhythm of my soul as it sings...and to live in love, and not in fear, to be fully present in every moment....

old habits not only die hard, they fight back, clawing, biting, and kicking.....i fall back into old patterns again and again.....i find perverse comfort in the familiarty of the self-destructive, soul crippling thoughts.....it doesn't matter what my head knows...it's my heart that needs to hear....

and it will..i will have faith...i will have faith...

six years ago
two little spirits
entered my life
teaching me
how much
love
my heart could hold...

watching them grow
teaches me patience,
and reminds me
to treasure
the moment....

it's a new year......traditionally, it seems, in north america a time for reflecting on the past, for thinking about the future...

what do i say...? where do i begin...? it's taken me half my life to discover who i am, and who i've become (because we're all in the process of becoming, each day of our lives...)

i met someone recently who caused me to hold a mirror up to myself and i saw someone looking back who i hadn't clearly seen before, but who'd always been there...i can only thank her for that...

i'm at a crossroads of sorts (oh, so cliche, but true). i'm starting to take some risks in my life....one of the many is putting down into words the chaos that swirls in my head, in my heart, or in my soul, and putting these words out there....it's scary, but gratifying...kinda like life...?

when was it that hearing the wind began to frighten me?
as a child, i relished it’s strength, loved listening to where it had been

now it speaks to me in different languages
in its unstoppable force, i hear my mortality,
in its battering of the roof top and shaking of the windows, i hear my fears

perhaps i need to go out, to leave my pretend shelter of wood and glass
and meet it in its environment,
and introduce myself to it again...

vulnerabilty....

a scary place to be
for most of us..
we teach ourselves
to be impenetrable
we pride ourselves
on self-sufficiency,
to not need others

and in doing so,
we deny our spirits...

sometimes it's the saying of things
aloud
that makes them true...
that's why we hold back
giving voice to what we know....
because
what we make true
creates who we are

and

sometimes the saying of things
aloud
frees us from self-constructed prisons....
because
giving voice to our experience
allows
us to let it go....
and we then
(re) create who we are

you help me
to make the small forays
out of myself

by lending me
your sight
of this world

by being
who you are

by just being....

my narcotic

was
to go numb...
don't feel
it's too intense
afraid i'd get lost in my mind
never to touch
reality again

the problem with choosing to feel nothing
over feeling the darkness
is that
i'd trained myself,
quite adroitly,
to also question
joy,
and love

i'd chosen perception
over reality,
control
over risking

i'm risking now,
but only a little,
baby steps

i want
to be who
i am
on the inside

i want
to shout out
to the world
what's inside my head
what's inside my heart

i want
to let go
to live it fully
to not be afraid

i want...
like i said,
baby steps...

family

what is it that binds us?
shared memories?
but versions
of our histories
invariably differ.

common references then
to a past recollected....

seeing each other
through a veil
of previous experience

what would we
think of one another
without
the recollections
of what went before?

it’s not the blood that connects us
it’s the choice
to remain,
to be,
family

“you should float between the borders” she says

oh, but i do, I think
i exist between the borders
have dwelt there, and here,
for a lifetime, or two, it seems...

between the borders that define sexuality,
between the borders that define culture, dual identity,
between this living in, and out, of my mind
between the borders of your skin and mine,

boundaries defined and blurred

celebration and denial of self

knowing and not

patience and haste

between, between, between

between here and there
nowhere it seems, at times...

in my vulnerability
in the fragile state
where i feel like
anything
and everything
that touches me
sears my flesh
and blisters my soul,
this is where i find my strength

“Some days bring you more than 24 hours ahead in your life. It’s like your back tires are stuck in the mud, spinning around and around, until suddenly you hit a rock and you take off. Life is like that. It spins over and over in the same place for days, weeks, months, then something happens and you’re blasted light years away from the hole you had dug for yourself.”

Author - Sylvia Olsen

That’s what I’ve been doing these last years, spinning in the mud, waiting for the rock.....