“‘It is always what is under pressure in us, especially under pressure of concealment — that explodes in poetry.’
Taurus poet Adrienne Rich wrote that in an essay about the poet Emily
Dickinson. She was describing the process of tapping into potent but
buried feelings so as to create beautiful works of literature. I’m hoping to
persuade you to take a comparable approach: to give voice to what’s
under pressure inside you, but in a graceful and constructive way that has
positive results.” ` Rob Brezsny in today’s Free Will Astrology
I have been working with powerful
intentions. This sounds so simple.
How can I convey the energy
that sweeps through all of my carefully
constructed fences, the ramshackle
remnants of protections created
as a small child, intent on survival?
If you say the right word, I will respond
from under the blanket
I’ve flung over this wobbly table,
either shivering, silent,
too timid to peep, “I’m scared!”
muttering to myself, finally
daring to dart out and defend
myself from the crushing
bulldozer of mob rule. Which probably will
catch you off guard. New phone, whodiz?
I admit, I appear
to be a calm and loving woman.
There is no surface indication of the
trauma I have buried. It feels so very naive
to state an intention to move into a new
awakening of my being on this planet,
even in the safe container
of a course designed to help me
traverse the minefield of scattered
pieces of myself. I have walked carefully
for so many decades, never sure
whose casual comment will detonate
the unexploded ordnance,
flood me with panic
as victims of violence
rise to the surface, screaming,
“Not safe!” I am sitting tonight,
with an original idea of settling before
sleeping. Instead, the work goes on
til the wee hours as I greet each torn
wound, marveling at the high intelligence
and cunning wisdom of a child
who built a raft to navigate
the raging rapids — even as she
toward the waterfall of certain
destruction. The will to live,
to survive whatever life presents,
is an honor to behold.
We look and listen and presence.
We cry and wail and mourn.
Sobbing together until finally
there is a calm space
to invite her: peer through
the eyes of the woman I am now,
free all this canny skill
into a new waterfall
of abundant creativity.
Inspired by the Daily Addictions Prompt: Abundant