it’s
the little things really
that keep me
sane

or

at least
somewhat less
crazy
than you
perhaps

like morning coffee
candle fire
scented bubbles
in steam

but they often remind me
of other things too
like getting too close to the heat
and
the inevitable burns
from staying
too long

so

here’s one little thing
that won’t leave a scar
though it brands me
as volatile flame

but some days
it’s all
that quenches the rage -

this shrink
in this bottle

for life

Tree Hugging Lessons start early in our house

One of my favorite Dr. Seuss books has always been The Lorax, and it has inspired all sorts of artistry in me over the years, tree-hugging, pseudo-hippie-freak, liberal environmentalist and conservationist, and reincarnated dryad that I am.

It’s always been incredibly important to me to instill the same love of nature in my children. The photo to the right was my son’s first (documented) lesson. We thought it would be amusing to literally hug trees, and for a six month old, it worked. Mommy and Daddy are very silly if his giggles are to be believed.

So when I heard that The Lorax was being made into a movie, I was absolutely giddy. When the paper came home from my son’s school announcing that the school was sponsoring a Family Movie Night at our local theater to see the movie for only $5.00 a person (including adults and siblings), I was all over that. The movie reminded me yet again, both why I love Dr. Seuss (Happy belated birthday, BTW, Theo!) and why I love this book in particular.

My son is eight now and definitely “gets it” but we still have work to do with my four-year-old daughter apparently.

The Song of the Dryad
Originally posted on June 17, 2009

"A Tree Falls" (March 8, 2012)

I speak for the trees
for the dead falling leaves
for spring buds revealed
for hardened knots concealed

I speak for the woods
for somebody should
for the things that we waste
for things uneasily replaced

I speak for their souls
for their lack of control
for their sad siren songs
for the trees have no tongues

~~~~~~~
“I speak for the trees,
for the trees have no tongues.”

~ The Lorax by Dr. Seuss

 

Grace: To Forgive... Devine

Grace.

It’s a vague concept. It’s possibly one of the most difficult concepts to grasp for a lot of people. It’s one I’ve learned a lot about – particularly in the past two or three years.

Forgiveness.

It’s allowing yourself to let go of the hurt, the fear, and the anger. It’s allowing yourself the freedom to live again, to not be ruled and oppressed by past transgressions – whether those of others toward you, or your own toward others.

Acceptance.

It’s refusal to fight when you can no longer agree. It’s the need to remember the common ground, the reasons you cared in the first place, or the reason there was even the power for someone to hurt you. There is no pain from someone who doesn’t matter. It’s a decision to take that power back and to find the boundaries that protect that, and allow you to find some sort of life again.

Reconciliation.

It’s about allowing yourself to love again, to live in the good and in the now. To find the joy in what remains in the rubble and start over from there to rebuild. It’s knowing where the limits are to allow you to keep what matters and to protect you from falling back into those destructive patterns. It’s not about reissuing the all-access pass, but it’s saying, “you matter enough to me to work through this pain and reestablish a relationship that keeps you in my life, even at a guarded level that will keep us from further hurting one another.”

Love.

It’s about giving and receiving more than what is deserved, and knowing it’s all that makes life worthwhile.

Grace.

Tiny pieces left behind
A cup
A shirt
A sweater

Like art
Or poetry
A scrap of the soul

Immortal
Once I’m gone

It’s a new year. Everyone is doing these turning of time posts. A year in review. Resolutions. Goals. Hopes. Dreams. Prayers…

All I can think is… I don’t wanna fail. So I’m not doing any of that. I’m not setting myself up with goals or resolutions that I’m not going to come close to achieving.

What I am doing is looking at me. My tendencies. My strengths. My weaknesses. My patterns. My extremes.

I’m all or nothing. That’s me… take it or leave it. And it’s been known to destroy good things in my life to various extents.

So… in 2012, I’m going to focus on balance. Physical, mental, emotional, spiritual… Meditation, yoga, writing, and relationships… just to name a few areas. No goal. No pressure… just focus.

One word: balance.

• how to smile like the Mona Lisa and why you should
• how to breathe and relax to take care of yourself
• how to balance thought and emotion
• how to determine your needs, wants, values, etc. through a mental/emotional inventory and pro/con lists
• how to deal with stress, crisis, and pain through “radical acceptance”
• how to communicate effectively by listening, clarifying, and thinking through what you want to say before you say it.
• how to maintain relationships, and not allow the “little things” to destroy you
• how to be confident, assertive, and true to yourself (without being a bitch)

It’s twenty hours of my life I’ll never get back. It’s twenty hours of my life that keeps me out of the hospital. It’s twenty hours of my life that have kept me focused on growing emotionally and mentally. It’s twenty hours of my life that make me look at that list above and become really frustrated.

I’m frustrated that I’m not “normal” already. I’m frustrated that people can’t see the growth in me already. I’m frustrated that I live in a black and white world that creates the separation in my mind, when I want to live in a world full of color and depth.

Dialectics are all about the opposites in life (good/bad, thought/emotion, talking/listening, needs/wants, truth/lies, fantasy/reality, etc.). This therapy is about learning to see the shades of gray (and the colors, hues, and tints as well), to find the common ground and the balance of the two. Admittedly, balance is not my strong suit, but I’m learning; I am not the same person I was a year ago (or even a month ago). It’s a long hard road for me, but I see my destination and it’s beautiful.

Personally, I think the world would be a better place if *everyone* would learn these skills.

Another collaborative piece: A friend of mine at Fusion Photography sent me one of his favorite photos and asked if I’d be willing to write something based on it. Below is the photo and the poetic ghosts it inspired. Thanks for the inspiration and the chance to collaborate, Dave.

~~~~~~~

Releasing the Ghosts

Only they can see
what lies ahead
still locked behind the walls
of things we all pretend to know
that’s made reality charade
within the cells
of what remains
long after life is gone
where so many walk
this one-way road
to freedom from their souls

tiny slivers of shame
no evidence remains
no prints
only pain

nothing left to reveal
malicious intent
in cold icy glares
of a shaft through the heart
the dagger of doubt
disappearing at once
in the conflict and heat
cold, clear accusations
but no support
in these facts

it’s the perfect murder
with the edge undefined
nothing left here to see
but the shattered remains
in these crystal slivers
of death

Look in the Mirror

I’ve spent a lot of time pondering the “princess” image lately. There are several reasons for this, the main one being my three year old daughter, who is firmly entrenched in the “I a pretty princess” stage of her childhood. Even as the little rough and tumble tomboy that she is, like most little girls, she knows she’s a princess.

Why does she want to be a princess? I’d say it’s cultural, and to some extent it is, but she’s never seen Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, or Snow White. She’s seen several Disney “princess” movies, but most of them are not the Anglo-stereotypical princesses. Her favorite is “The Princess and the Frog,” and today I introduced her to Kida in “Atlantas.” Those are her kind of princesses. The ones that run through the bayou or the ones who fight for the preservation of their people. The ones who have a unique beauty and a specialness all their own.

But while her definition of a “princess” is skewed a bit by her mother’s anti-cultural biases and desire to create a well-rounded world-view in her children (rather than an Anglo-centrist one), she still knows that princesses are special, beautiful, and cherished. They also get to wear awesome clothes and everyone looks up to them. At the heart of it all, whether you call it a “princess” or not, these are the things every girl wants.

My father always told me I was his princess. And frankly, every person after that who dared refer to me as such gained automatic “romance” points. Silly little thing, perhaps, but I knew it meant I was special, and irreplaceable to them. And yes, like every person on this planet, I struggle from time to time with my self-esteem. And being called a princess highlights (and fills) a small piece of that need in me and I respond to that.

But what I’ve learned from my daughter? No one else needs to call me a princess to make it true. She is a princess in her very own right, and I’d love to watch anyone try to convince her otherwise. Maybe once in a while I need to wear a pretty dress and dance around in front of the mirror to remember. That’s what she does… Often.

Tomboy Princess

This bandage has completely shredded
It’s never been quite right
And we could never make it stay

I never was a doctor
I’m far too squiggy for that

This cure’s become the illness
Further reason for your pain
Despite intended purpose
It irritates and siphons more
Of the raw and dripping red

So much for scars
This one won’t heal
As long as I’m still here