Tag: therapy
A Poem is Born
Not all poems are conceived in light
Some of them are buried in darkness
Surrounded by dirt and soil
gritted teeth
and clenched fists.
Sometimes the lyric is a resurrection of rage
a fire that is only quenched through spilled ink
on blank pages.
Sometimes poems are tears
because not all compositions are conceived
in well-lit rooms
some poems are seeds that only grow in darkness
or did you not know that is how seeds grow?
Hidden, covered and planted in the dirt
the sun coming in from someplace outside of itself
water pouring in from someplace outside of itself.
Some sonnets are crushed grapes
crumpled and left for dead
or did you not know that is how wine is made?
Something fermenting
festered and developing into something worse.
Some poems are nearly dead
before they reach the light.
Or did you not know that is how Messiah rose?
from the grave
from the pit
from the earth.
When you feel that you cannot write
that your life is a laughing contradiction
thrown back into your face
a joke everyone gets but you
when your hands tremble with uncertainty
too weak to hold the pen
too fragile to unvirgin the page
Write anyway.
Because not all poems are conceived in light
some of them, the best of them
are buried in darkness
and covered in dirt.
until suddenly, like a sprouting seed
a poem is born.
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Therapy
No one can tell me
that writing
is not
therapy.
Something Genuine
The door to the patio is open, and the screen door shields me from the insects that I may enjoy the brisk caress of the wind on my skin. And as I inhale the fresh taste of the evening air, enjoying the end of a peaceful day, I think about the genuine that often come from writing. You’d have to excuse the poetic tone of this post. It’s my thinking voice I suppose. The one I use when I’m writing this down in my journal before typing it, twirling the pen between my fingers and tapping it against my lips while staring out in space. Anyway, back to something genuine. To think back on my own writing or to read someone else’s, I feel often that there’s a realness here. Somewhere between the heart and spilled ink is an authenticity few will express verbally. Something about speaking without moving our lips causes us to speak the truth of our hearts. Something about writing it down instead brings about a depth. Something about the movement of mental messaging brings out the emotional intensity many will not express otherwise. I wonder if this is why writing is often associated with therapy. For what is not spoken is often written. Not that everyone writes for such a purpose, but it is historical that writing is an exercise that has caused many to heal or to reveal or stumble upon truths otherwise unknown or not dealt with. Something about how the subconscious mind is uprooted when we write. It is an interesting thought I sought to share before the memory or moment escaped me. Speaking of escape, it’s time I publish this post and retire this laptop for the night. I’ve got laundry to finish and this breeze sure feels good.
For Those Who Are Sick
If you want to follow this blog, I warn you. We are emotional, here. We are sometimes frustrated, tired, and some of us are beaten and broken; looking for words that will bring calm to storms that have not passed yet. For the messiah himself was sent to those who were sick. Some of us are sick. Walking mistakes looking to be healed in places technology has not tapped into yet. Waiting for the ink in this pen to heal the shattered pieces of our souls. You see this pen, all courage shaped in my hand, is here to lift the fallen, to restore the broken, and to heal the hurting. The people here, those who follow this blog and the person who owns it, do not all have it together. So, if you want to join us I caution you: We are not robots mechanically maneuvering our way through social media. We do hold ourselves accountable, I must add for excuses do not live here, but we are not fake. We do not inhale html codes and hyperlinks, and our blood is not made of oil. Though I cannot promise you that we won’t leave stains, for we ourselves are stained. And yet, we know that we will not always be this way because our mistakes make room for healing. So we look for evidence of growth in the strangest places, like cracked surfaces, rocks, and hard places. Welcome.
Building Mental Strength
For many of us we hear a lot, and some of us even speak a lot, about change and revolution and encouragement and just overall maintaining a quality of life we have come to understand as a positive one. This is the reason many of us have decided to blog. We post motivating quotes, speak about our struggles, triumphs and overall how we maintain the daily grind. In return some of us hope to receive insight while others hope to spread it. It is the reason for life coaches and therapy sessions. We do these things to improve or to heal so that we can go on to implement those very important changes and become overall better people. One thing however that sticks out to me from all of this is mental strength. Building mental strength in our lives and maintaining it on a daily basis. This is not always easy but it is worth more than the physical changes we tend to seek after as we strive to implement them in our quest to do better in whatever area we need to. This is important because most of what we need to go on in life requires a certain level of mental clarity and strength to produce. Achieving this often requires work on the mind itself, ridding it of everything that acts as a negative force against positive change. It requires we empty ourselves so that we can be built back up again. Otherwise nothing we try to alter on the outside, no dream job or career, no encouraging word, will matter. It probably sounds personal and that’s because it is; building and maintaining mental stability is a personal journey for each of us as we strive to improve our lives but it is critical to the operation. It is critical because it is we who often get in our own way; it is our own thoughts and our own fears. It is critical because you are only as strong as your mind is. To change the way that you live, ultimately, is to change the way that you think.
Writing Addiction: Part 1
I once heard that “if you wake up in the morning and all you can think about is writing, then you’re a writer” (ok so that was actually Sister Act 2, but I did say this is what I HEARD).
Are YOU addicted to writing?
Are you SURE about that?
• Symptom #1: You Take Your Computer to The Movies
Now that is what I call OCD for writing, except this isn’t literal (I take that back, for some it just might be). With the technology these days, trees must be rejoicing from bark not shed for pencils….uh oh, I feel a poem coming on, but I’d stick to the topic here. Don’t wanna get stoned or nothing…you guys are tough.
So instead of walking around pen stuck to pad like we used to, there’s no way I’m gonna miss the opportunity to write a good story because of bad memory. So bye-bye eraser and hello backspace! From mini computers, Mac Books, Tablets, Notebooks, Lenovo’s, and even cell phones, all are getting in on the action. While many are not literally “taking their pcs to the movies”, today’s techno-nerds are practically glued to the cell phone. No matter where you turn you will not escape the hype; everyone has their fingers stuck to text messages and their eyes in one location: down. Every ten minutes we are scanning our fingers across tiny screens, updating social media post, scratching our heads for the next idea, and rolling our eyeballs at the slightest interruption. We spend hours researching, reading, revising, proofreading, and oh? That thing called eating? Not until this sentence is finished. Actually, this chapter. “Is that coffee?” We’ll take it!
Does this sound like you? If your husband/wife finds him/herself competing with you and the notepad on your smartphone, or you can’t stay away from the power switch and alphabet keys long enough to look up, I must say, you’re definitely showing signs of an addiction. Hey, c’mon now, don’t look at me like that. You do know the first step is admitting it….don’t you?
The PBS Blog 