"The heart breaks and it breaks
and it lives by breaking.
It is necessary to go through dark and deeper dark
and not to turn."
-from the Testing-Tree but Stanley Kunitz
Are we afraid to FEEL?
Today I was feeling frustrated, enraged, contemplative, sad, and unsure. Among many other feelings... I felt big waves of heat rising out of my body... the pain in my neck and head subsided during this time. I believe it was because I was allowing them to express themselves through my body? I sensed that instead of holding it in, instead of staying cold, closed, I was emanating this heat from within.
There is a strong creative force within all of us. We use it daily, but not always to it's full capacity. I wonder what could be just underneath everyone once we step into that deep sensation? How could we be if given permission to feel?
I have also found that when I truly feel, the pressure of my allowance pushes up through my body, passing through my diaphragm, pulsing through my heart -breaking it and expanding it simultaneously, as is necessary for such change- and moving through my throat and into my vision. Sometimes if I am not compassionate with these movements, I will be left with a headache of un-resolve. Eventually that will settle back into aching feet, reminding me to get grounded and trust Mother Earth.
Heres a draft of a poem, free form and flow:
Dried Up Spirit
I often feel so far away from
The connective tissue
to saturate in my tears
The river-bed has been dry for
My throat is the basin in parched sun
Where birds once drank
Now caked in mud from abandoned honeybag ant-hills
My lessons are shriveled up in the dusty sand
Footprints stirring around the Gum Tree
No body there to greet me
Why don't the spirits sing to me?
A single cloud in the expanse above
so still, but with a ferocity faster than no eye can see
Maybe there is a song for me?
Even if it is lost in the dry blue and red desert sea.
A song leaves my lips
W h o a m I ?
Dancing on my sapless lips
The Sacred answers
"Right below the tendrils of your breath"
The spirit stood singing back to me
Soaked, simmering, waiting deep beneath my feet
Far enough away my tongue could not taste
Close enough for my skin to always have felt
Here is my body
Sitting in the local library
made upon dried river beds
people and species laid to rest
The lizard, the caterpillar, the fly, the kite, and the magpie
The wandering children
The tables and glass separations
The rainless reflections
The dark black and blonded hair
The discomfort that is impossible not to bare
But just there.
In the fleeting grief of my breaking heart
I find it all