Tag Archives: truth

Purging the Soul

Only now can she say
her soul has been purged
scraped raw, exorcizing
that which is best left behind

She has slumbered long
passing through months
followed by years
with the faintest of life-giving energy

Perhaps the past held its  merits
but those were not honored
and in the deepest, darkest night
merged with dreams as fools fodder

Awakening comes with acknowledgment
those omissions raucously colliding
with acts of substance

How does she feel anything less
than complete and utter shame?
her days are more numbered
than most and having less

She sees her squandered actions
Her thefts of objects, honor and time
so trivial, yet from desecration
comes her only hope of renewal

Let it come . . .

Your Rage

You – so full of youthful righteousness
from resolve etched in fear
slipping down the planes and lines
of your furrowed brow
glowering your rage and frustration
despair flung out, rolling in waves
warding off the heavens
with its glad tidings
and earnest appeal
granting no access within
wanting only to ward off all
who might crack through
that thin veneer and reach
the fragile underpinnings
of your heart
Try to remember dear one
all words are not weapons
some hold elements of honesty
to the eyes and mind of another

You are safe
though you choose to fear it
your childlike emotions
do not threaten me
Safe may not look like you
envisioned it
but safe nonetheless
You are loved little one
You are loved

Sibilant Murmurs

In the still, soft calm of silence,
the soul speaks its sibilant murmur
so hard to hear in the clangor
and clash of daily life –
in the quiet of night,
when the only sound
is the fountain of water
my fish play in –
I listen . . . for in those brief
moments, so precious and rare,
does the ring of truth sound
clearest – finding its way
past jangled nerves
and knotted, choked synapses
bringing the wisdom I seek,
the strength which I draw
from a wellspring of heart,
coming through to renew
my sense of vision
and lend credence to my reflections,
softly, gently guiding down
my troubled path of life

The Moment in Change

Pen poised in mid-air,
with mind musing upon
the course of destiny,
vaguely wandering in
floating traipses
shooting off into future dreams
forgetting the moment
given in tender love
for cautious care.

So quickly do I flee
from the pressures of time
into a world of imaginary dreams,
mystical illusions and cryptic
messages – forgetting that
only through a full living
does the journey seem brighter
and the path clearer . . .

When caught between
past and future
I stand in terror,
eyes fearfully turning first
one way then another
but never straight ahead –
fogs swirl in clouded images
through the mind
leaving behind a tension
of confusion.

Today is only like any other . . .
the past is all that is seen,
the future lies in a heavy
cloak, blocking out fresh air.

But the moment – if relished
for itself – treasured among all
others for it’s radiance, its life –
is a gift of the gods
given to the weary
to instill hope and faith
that other moments such as these
are there for the taking
and just as freely given

 

Who are you?

Who are you –
the child I have
never known?
I hear your laughter
sparkling and fanciful tones
rich and vibrant
or your anger
tempetuous, lightening
flashes of a summer storm.

I gaze with rapt amazement
at your studied countenance
taking every detail
into account as you
memorize each facet
of your existence.
A pack-rat, stuffing
incidentals into corners
for future use.

I listen to your
flamboyant giety
both mocking and
relishing the life
you call your own.
Sizzling in the excitement
of the moment.

You are . . .
a treasured gift
never allowed to bloom
until playing dress-up
was no longer a game
. . . you are
part of me.
Rarely acknowledged,
always sought.

 

Unknown Stranger

Watching you
from across the room
to see if your eyes
gleam into smile,
silently hoping
your thoughts might
rest on me.

Catching each flick
of the head,
each gaze as it rests
first on one
than another,
never staying
in any direction for long,
casually dismissing all
as beneath your station

Towering above others,
do your eyes ever
touch theirs –
or do head tops –
impersonal and safe –
hold your attention?

Months have been spent
discerning your patterns
yet still you remain a mystery,
beyond reckoning,
an enigma, a mystery
beyond my reckoning.
Each thought stays veiled
shuttered behind lids
never wide open.

You are a locked door to me.
A puzzle whose pieces
don’t quite fit.
Somehow never forming meaning.
A distant vision
on a sweltering summer day,
whose edges are blurred
by shimmering waves of heat.

If you knew
how I wish to unmask
that elusive mind,
exposing raw nerves
to touch and sensation
would you fleetingly run
or in my perusal
would you unfold
those tantalizing treasures
for a pirate hunt
in dangerous areas?
Allowing me
to explore your wealth?

What’s In a Name?

Lying in bed
gazing in darkness
reaching over to touch
an empty body
between threadbare sheets
close by – but
never touching
My Husband? Lover?

Does it matter
what the name is
when the function
stays the same?
A rose by any other name, etc.
Bodies filling spaces
useful playthings
meant for frittering away
another night’s boredom.

Used for stuffing empty holes
filling excess corners
memorabilia of the mind,
cluttered junk
receded into dusty, dark places
retrieved for a quiet chuckle
on a frosty night.

What is your name?
Forget it – don’t tell me.
They all sound the same
in the end.

 

Love is . . .

Love isn’t the brassy blare of a band, marching down the avenue on July 4th’s celebration. Oh, to be sure – that is part of it – loud jangles, crash of cymbals, heartbeat of drums. But love has many faces, some apparent, some quite deceptive.

Love is the gentle stirrings evoked by a walk after a thunderstorm’s power, smelling the earth, watching lightening flitter over the New York skyline, curled up on a rock, and telling each other of your pasts, and peoples – speaking in reverence and caring tones.

Love is the sharp pain of betrayal and the shooting stabs of hurt inflicted upon sensitive, fragile egos that make one near in anger and rage – defending yourself at risk of rejection – yet believing, nonetheless, first in your own sense of worth.  Being able to say “fuck you” to the one you love.

Love is the despair and confusion and insecurity brought forth in opening yourself up to another person.  Of being aware of his frailties and still wanting him more than ever – because of those faults not in spite of them. Of seeing the flaws yet not running away.  Of opening yourself , baring your soul when trust is just a mirage, still to become real from knowing your love, facing it and not walking away, and of having to tell that other person that love is there – whether or not he chooses to respond in kind.  Of wanting so much to hear the words “I Love You”, yet not pressing but allowing them to come of their on accord at a time of his choosing – if at all.

Love is passion and the exploration of a body found wildly exciting – seeking those hidden sources of pleasure, being sexually vulnerable.  And love is those quiet ripples that float through your body as you see the one you love or think of him during the course of your day.  Love is giving and taking- together or apart – the stillness of soul touching – the fire of lust, the knowledge that this is something different than any before or any after, but that a part of you, larger than ever before, rests in the hands of another, and you are content, or largely so, to have it that way.  Love is a gift from God to be savored, enjoyed revered, for each moment it is a part of you.

Love is encouraging the strengths in the other, urging him to grow and explore facets of himself.  Being a source of strength rather than drowning him in your need.  Love is knowing the relationship may end yet moving forward in self-determination, with trust and belief gathering your courage about you, a mantle of strength in the storm of emotion.  Love is knowing that love may change in form and substance, devolving into a well of despair, fragmenting, feathering away into a manifestation of a different making – yet Love still.  Love is holding still the trembling of the soul.

Love is the bringing into the world two children to bless this union. Children precious, deserving of all that is good.  Physical manifestations of love and passion.  Children who bear witness of good and ill. Who bear the scars of devastation.

Love is the torture of knowing your love was always far greater than his. Of sustaining emotional scars, physical bondage, inquisitions, blasphemies, of running and hiding to escape his wrath. Of finally, running away, knowing not to do so would mean your death, be it emotional or physical.

Love is the PTSD moments after the Fall. Twenty years later.  The choosing aloneness rather than taking the risk of opening yourself up again.  Of the nightmares that continue, again and again, of what it turned out to be.  Of the ending, cruel, painful, devastating in consequences not just for the two of you, but for the children brought forth from the union of those souls.  Of the never ending trauma that follows in your wake, curling in sadness and despair deep within.

Soul Mating with Yourself

Growing times, painful times
having to accept the inevitable
but resisted forces –
knowing action must be taken
yet balking. Wanting to remain
that shy young girl
nurtured by some handsome prince.
Always awaiting rescue
from sorrow and toil.
Understanding the moment has come
for responsibility,
to self and for self –
a decision between being
either best friend or worst enemy –
accepting the bonding
to that which lies within –
soul mating with yourself.

(written in 1982)

Combatting Bipolar Disease on a daily basis

Do you know that old time hymn “I’ve got the Joy, Joy, Joy, Joy Down in my Heart . . . I’ve got the Peace of God, Peace of God Down in my Heart”? Well for me, and I suspect, most BiPolar people, that just doesn’t track. The cynic, and the disease, tug me away from those feelings.

For me, a wellspring of sadness and despair coat my linings, much like that Pepto Bismol commercial. Anxiety flavors the mix. My heart is treacly coated with the stuff. I can be laughing, giggling, joyful even, and still can touch that pain and despair, still feel the anxiety. There isn’t any distraction from it. Even with a stable medication regimen, anxiety pervades my consciousness and dreams. I am haunted by Depression.

Amnesty International’s latest annual report speaks to a paradigm shift worldwide into Depression and Despair writes Mark Kerstan on May 27, 2017. I suspect much of that is normal despair, not the kind of thing BiPolars’ experience, but still, it’s a frightening fact.

Moreover, we need to continually monitor our frustration and anger levels as they are two heads on the same coin. Our emotions can escalate and drop at alarming rates and anger is a seductive release from the pent-up pain we carry within.

Coping strategies that work for some, may not work for others. Know them, read up on the latest research and articles, but ultimately you may need to pick and choose among them to find out what works best for you. Millions globally find much relief in Mindfulness Meditation and even though I practiced it for a year, I just can’t slow down the chatter my mind offers up. I have found reading and writing work for me. So does housework. Repetitive activities comfort others – coloring, sewing, cooking. Music therapy is wonderful. Some swear by Affirmations – put a poster of them up on your wall for you to tap into.

I do try to observe negative coping strategies and reduce or eliminate them. Some practices simply serve to agitate me further. I look for something that works better. For instance, when the sorrow and anxiety grow too uncomfortable, I look for someone I trust to unburden myself upon. It sounds crappy, using someone like that, but I try to respect their decision to not listen when they choose or need to. If they accept that role, unburden away, get that pain out of you.

Ask yourself, Do I want to be in control? Is that what is making me squirrely? Antsy unrest, obsessive thinking, and nervous irritability are symptoms of Bipolar depression or mania, with possibly a co-existing anxiety disorder. Everything feels hopeless. The mountain is too hard to climb and I’ve run out of power bars and water. Or my body is too handicapped to even begin the walk, even on a flat surface I am limited. For me, its a sure reason for anxiety and depression. I hate my limitations. Fear builds because I see the never endingness of my life situation.

And don’t even get me started on Money, maintaining friendships, or dreamed of escaping, having sustainable, or any, social life. Seeing and being all those things I dreamed of escaping – sands through the hourglass – fear builds. Just the daily stress of life can prove too anxiety producing.

What it boils down to is relatively simple. Find coping strategies that work for you. Keep seeing a therapist. Talk to others about your feelings, keep on the right medication regimen for yourself. Practice Humility – give up the need to be in control. “Let Go and Let God”. Radical acceptance – forcing yourself to see things as they really are (although I sometimes prefer living in my fantasy world), and not as they should be, is a trending treatment. Pray – turn your burdens to a Higher Power. When I do that I experience a measure of peace for a while – and then have to start all over again.

Even with all the helpfulness available to us, we BiPolars have to realize that we have a Disease that is not going to magically disappear. There will be good times and bad. We just need to find our way through the morass and use the tools that work for us.