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Meh. Break Up Poems.

1.
Straight off the train and it’s hanging in the air.
Scanning everywhere
For a glimpse of a moment gone by.
I feel his hand on my thigh.
Your name in lights, literally, above the night.
Your name in lights, literally, above the night.
It’s that time again
When we began.
The air feels just right.
Such a waste and such wide-eyed delight…
Fireworks
Featured heavily
Inside and out.
I watched through the lens of love
And you were next to me
Seeing clearly
What was in front of you.
Seeing only that.

2.
I’m too finely tuned to tango.

I serve up my heart raw
Like a high delicacy
When I open
To dance.

You smell the iron sweetness
Emanating from my neck
And the hairs stand up
On the back of yours.

However far afield
I feel your radar find me
When I open and emit
My full embodied pulse.

It is safe and sad to be shut up tight,
My body sluggish and sorry
Headed for hibernation,
Hiding from hurt.

It is ravenous and mighty
To let all the feeling
Frozen deep in tight musculature
Throb and release
In salty dissolution.

It is all my beauty and power
Bound up
Packed away
Pushed away
Kept at bay.
Kept quiet.
Lest you hear its call and turn your head.

And it would be nothing to you
To undo me completely,
Surfing and swirling in salty, scarlet waves
To invigorate yourself
And leave me there in pieces.

So I dance alone far away
Safe without postcode
And just feel the pulsing sonar
Of your attention
Through my body
Like a drum.
Like a warning.
3.
If you just want
To pick at me
Like the lukewarm remains
Of a meal you weren’t really hungry for
At the time.
Do not.
4.
I am furious
That I let you touch me
So deeply.

I am outraged
That it meant
So little to you.

I am sad
That we do not know
How to love each other.

When you touch the heart
Of a woman
Whose love is an ocean.

Be ready
To feel the waves
When you dip in your toe.

Or stay on the beach and watch.
Perhaps I am too terrific to touch.
5.
All the things I love
That you love too:
When I celebrate them
I celebrate you.
Why is my face always leaking when I do?

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Stories

Check In & Baggage Drop

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As I sat rocking on the bathroom floor, unable to stand from the agonising twists in my belly, sweating and pale and vomiting from pain, I knew that all I could do was sit with myself through the intense waves and know that they would pass and I would be OK. I couldn’t move from where I was, or do anything to stop the pain. At the points where I felt that I would pass out and perhaps I could not after all cope with the level of pain I was experiencing, I came to the conclusion that I had no choice but to cope. I was not in any danger just having intense sensation, and there was nothing I could do to change it in the moment so I just had to accept it and ride it out. Time was gone, the intense physical experience demanded my complete presence and filled the entirety of the moment. I just breathed and cried and surrendered.

September a month of much letting go – of old stories, traumas, delusions, dreams, attachments, plans, a home, a base, a lover. So much that comprised the little house of forms and ideas and assumptions and safety and comfort I had built around myself has gone this month. Much grief has been surfacing, rising in waves at inopportune moments, demanding my embodied presence. Perhaps predictably, I experienced the most intense bout of menstrual pain I think I have ever experienced as my womb released all it had been carrying. I could do nothing but bleed, cry, groan and allow the waves to pass through me, I could keep nothing down to numb the pain, my body gave me no choice but to feel it and let it be.

That night, after the physical pain had subsided, a wave of emotional pain passed through of similar magnitude. Grief, rage, fear, catastrophic aloneness, confusion and a sense of being totally at sea and disoriented took over my entire space. I wanted to do things to numb it. Play out patterns, reach out for reassurance to where I know I probably wouldn’t be met, chase delusions of intimacy, cling, adapt, try to make myself the right shape to fit into someone’s pocket, guess the right choices to be adored, surf social media, write angry poems, convince myself I don’t need anyone, find a valley to hide out in, do something else, anything else but feel it…

As I began to fear the feelings of desperation and loss would overtake me completely, feeling increasingly lost and disoriented and alone, I remembered my earlier experience and that all I had to do, was just to be there and feel my feelings, in all their overwhelming intensity, and know that they will pass and I will be ok. To know that they are releasing now because I am strong enough to allow myself to feel them. To know that my system is cleaning itself and nothing is amiss.

I can feel a deep swirling tide of emotion wanting to come through. It leaks over the breakwater every night. I have been busily lining up retreats for myself where I can get deep enough out into the countryside to let it rip, let it tear through. I feel a need to take myself deep into nature and solitude so I can roll around and roar it out like an injured animal hiding out to heal.

I remember this morning, vomiting from pain until there was nothing left in my stomach at all. In the end I was drawing up dark blue/green bile from the depths of my being, like nothing I’ve ever seen. I thought of the word bile, and of anger. I thought of how the liver holds repressed rage and grief. I knew this was coming from the deepest place in me, literally. I realised what was coming out of me, and why I had to let it go, and that I really needed to stop holding on. I remember saying to myself “ok I get it, I get what this is about….surely that is is it now, is that it ??” retching myself inside out as the biggest wave yet of pain racked my body…. And that was it. As abruptly as it had all started, the pain stopped. Just really stopped happening, the cramping stopped, the nausea stopped.

To end the month, we had a second new moon, known as the Black Moon, in Libra – the sign of balance and relationship. I decided to let go of the pain I was literally carrying around with me and continuing to relive again and again.

When I moved out of my home and bundled my belongings into storage, I decided on a whim to keep and carry with me some journals from a time in my life where I experienced major rejection, betrayal and a series of events which devastated my confidence and sense of self worth. To protect myself from this pain I had framed it for a long time as a series of valuable lessons in non-attachment and unconditional love. This is true, I learned alot about those things for which I am massively grateful, I also experienced a lot of trauma and pain. Which I could barely admit to myself let alone anyone else.

I felt attached to these journals and like they held so much that was of value and that it was important to hold onto these experiences. It felt so necessary to treasure all the pain as learning experiences. I felt like there was a story that held value and had to be told and never forgotten. Again, this is partially true. There has been much learning and there are stories to be told. I realised on this new moon, that I had brought these stories with me to release those that no longer serve. To let go of the pain, the anger, the self doubt. To keep only the gifts from those experiences and let the rest go.

So I sifted through them, page by page, feeling into each passage of writing for what it was carrying. Some carried hope, joy, a sense of expansion, enlightenment, love, clarity. They stayed. Some carried stories of my own smallness and the most magnificent giving away of all of my power. These went. Some carried raw pain, repeated on a loop, helpless, blinded, thrashing and frantic. These went too. Shredded by hand and gone from my space.

In a way these stories, and the anger and grief attached to them, were also forms of security. They were the structure around which I oriented my sense of self and the blueprint for relationship. They were not serving me well in either of these roles and it was a painful realisation.

With so much now gone, I face the void again. Knowing that the cave I fear to enter holds the treasure I seek, doesn’t make it any more enticing. Having been here before on such a precipice, wrestling with so much Unknown, surrendering so much to the flames, doesn’t make it feel any safer this time around.

“Our Descent starts with disillusion and ends with dissolution. There is no escaping the process, and it can be hard. The Descent is a time of helpless wandering, of grief, rage and alienation. There is no quick way through. But the destruction which takes hold of us is required to initiate us into the mysteries, to set in motion the long, difficult game of transformation. In staying with the dark, we gather the strength which we will need to find the way back to our path and to face the rest of the journey ahead of us. In that place of destruction, gestation and rebirth, we begin to learn the answer to the biggest question of all: if we strip away everything we are told we must be in the Wasteland, what is left? When everything we once valued is taken from us, what then do we become?” Sharon Blackie – If Women Rose Rooted: The Power of The Celtic Woman

Image: from a collection of photos by Jon Crispin of suitcases left behind by inmates of the Willard Asylum in New York

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Dear One

Dear One,

I adore you and I miss you and I don’t know what this sadness is but I know it isn’t love.

It’s something else that’s passing through that comes bubbling up when my heart is touched.

I’m grieving what feels like a loss even though I know you are not gone.

In fact you are closer than ever but feel very far away.

When we meet the light is blinding and the shadows loom.

I know you are busy with your priorities and that I am not one of them.

But hear me, I am your soul. I am with you always waiting for you to stop and to feel my presence.

Just stop a minute, breathe, put everything down, listen to the songs I am singing to you.

It’s very old stuff this feeling and this pattern, I know it.

I feel sad that I pour out vibrant rivers and you look away.

I feel sad that I am the ocean and you are thirsty.

I speak the pain of self-abandonment, clawing at passersby for relief from the gnawing inside.

If you don’t think this is about you, it almost certainly is.

Look deeper.

If you think this is about you, it almost certainly isn’t.

Look wider.

This is about all of us and its older than time.

We are two sides of the same coin, realising that we are at each other’s back always and yet believe we cannot see each other.

Don’t look around in front of you, sink back into what is holding you up. It was always there. It is a part of you. I am a part of you. We are whole.

I love you.

Be at home.

Rest in me.

Please.

I won’t leave.

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Let grief be an outpouring

“Let grief be an outpouring. When grief is allowed to exhaust its expression, then behind it is a profound silence, it’s like rest. No one can tell you when that rest is finished, it’s an intuitive thing” ~ Mooji

Saying bye bye to a heart’s companion today, a short but very sweet love connection with a little puppy being I have had the privelege of fostering, I have noticed how quite intense but uninhibited grief just pours out in bursts. And subsides. And pours again.

And this time, my relationship to it is different. I am totally okay with its presence and full expression. In front of other people, alone, with sound, without, at random moments. It feels really good and healthy, like good digestion. I’m not holding it in anywhere to deal with later on, I’m not holding on to its arising and making it a permanent state of being or the theme of my day, it’s just coming, and flowing, and gone.

Feels good, and different. I mean, it feels intense in the moment, but I no longer label it as a bad feeling, just a healthy release from Inside. Feeling the benefit of some big releases (real eases) in recent weeks, and also that this moment of grief and letting go, allows remnants of moments past to also be released, as much of it is without a clear source and with no thoughts or images attached to it. There is melancholy, but its not colouring everything as much as other times.

 

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If you love the world, it will break your heart. And if you don’t love the world, it will break your heart.— Eric Allen Bell

Every day learning to be love is like learning to walk on hot sand.  This is the core of everything, the root, the causeless cause, and so – fundamentally – everything else I have to offer and reflect on comes down to this. I didn’t know how to begin, so I began at the end of everything. Hoping I can work backwards from here!

If I hadn’t felt overwhelming pain, my heart wouldn’t have the capacity to experience overwhelming  joy and love. It was only after grief softened the ground that love could sear through the permafrost and crack my heart wide open like a river emerging from deep underground, carrying me through the rocky rapids, splendid scenery and deep silent pools of my subsequent experience.

To speak it straight from the heart like a laser, feels hot and dangerous. Why is love so taboo? Why does it get boiled down to Hippies and Clintons and Twilight – all the life oozing out of it and leaving behind an amorphous untextured gloop? A seeping social miasma, another set of standards to measure up to, another norm to swallow whole – sharp square edges and all.

If I speak of love like this does it offend you? Make you squirm and look away?  How about this…? The awesome, magnificence of love in its glory is immaculate and terrible, with manes of ice and flame, and shimmering brutal claws. It’s not all roses.