Category: life

Intuition

The body has a voice –
not silent, nor harsh –
it is a knowing.

When ego drives hard –
screaming ambition
demanding to be heard –

Block it out!

Let your body speak –
waves of understanding,
gut feelings, truth.

Logic has no place here –
book learning seldom serves
the needs of the soul –

Set it aside.

Listen to your body –
that pounding in the chest,
that sudden surge of vertigo.

Intuition is cellular –
ancient, ancestral instinct;
trust the voice within.

(I originally wrote this in October of 2014, while contemplating how I let myself become so ill.  Admittedly, I had for years ignored my body’s signals.  Be well all.)

 

 

The River

There’s a river runs between us,
you and I; our thoughts, like tears,
are liquid carried by the current.

But you, and I,
we stand on the banks, oblivious,
ignoring the connection,
proudly touting our individualism.

Still the river flows
and all you’ve suffered
and all I’ve suffered
or dreamed, or imagined, or hoped
flows with it.

Step into the water with me,
feel our connection;
do not be afraid
for it is sacred –

wade deeper and know
you are not alone
for I am here
in this river
that runs between us.

(Originally posted in October, 2014. Edited here.)

 

Idle Mind and All That

What I wouldn’t resort to –
just to get away – meals
prepared by others,
cleaned up, too…

but really, is there
any coming back once
it’s all handed over –
I’d be afraid I’d lose

my identity, come up empty
embarrassed by how little
of value I have to give –
and the guilt would taunt

slap my silly ego, criticize
me for laziness,  acting all
privileged; worth is directly
linked to service…isn’t it?

And my shadow self would
appear – just break in uninvited –
and threaten complicity, beat me
down further, hope doomed

no way to justify my absence,
to keep the critics at bay,
I need to work, need to lose
myself in the routine of endless

chatter, a blanket of small talk
to keep me safe – busy noise
to drown out the thieving voices
and help me find myself again.

To Old Friends

There is comfort
in old friendships,
reminders of things
forgotten, of misguided
adventures, and the folly
of youth; and there is hope
instilled by the passage of time
and the evidence that while life
changes, some things endure, and;
it is in the comfort of old friendships
that we find strength to believe in ourselves,
and the will to penetrate lingering angst, and
embrace the possibility of a future with purpose.

(Photo is thanks to an old friend who presence in my life I continue to treasure.)

Protocols for Leadership

Be compassionate when leading,
encourage community,
promote vision,
invite discussion

remember that pleasing
is not always possible
and that balance
calls for give and take

that needs are real
and genuine emotion
in times of personal grief
can be a catalyst for others

beware hidden agendas
when conducting business;
help young people find
their own secret gardens

never try to be all things
for all people, instead
lend an ear, a shoulder,
a hug – be a facilitator

all is doable, when ego
is willing to sidestep accolades
in favour of a shared responsiblity
and service to the whole.

The Pilgrimage

A soft-sided, well worn, briefcase
sits slouched in a closet corner,
one side agape, a red lanyard
hastily stuffed inside –
occupational identification.

A row of black, brown and gray
pumps line up beside it, a thin
layer of dust betraying idleness.

Silent, unblinking, a television
recedes into the wall, flanked
by images of smiling faces –
shadows of nostalgia.

Stacks of books and journals
rumour a once scholarly mind.

The woman, once defined
by these trivialities,
is no longer here.

She has been called to another purpose.

(The Pilgrimage was first written in December of 2014, as I came to terms with the loss of my career due to ME/CFS.  Now, as we embark on a new path, I find the poem has new relevance.  This version is edited from the original.)

 

 

Always a Teacher

Set me on the open road,
encourage me to cross borders;
I am hungry for knowledge,
to hear a higher calling.

Cannot tolerate chained-to-
chairs education, imposed
immobility, socratic hierarchy
demanding conformity

spoon-fed compliance –
am too much my father’s
daughter, born rebellious
unable to mold myself
to prescribed slots

would rather initiate
discussion, engage, listen –
let shoes emote, tell their
story, develop compassion

never felt more than a visitor
in institutions, marks adequate
but brain absent, spirit numbed –
more punishment for delinquency
than awakening.

How can we convey the future,
instill optimism in prospects,
when the language of education
is secondary to how students
communicate in real-time?

Minds are energetic, curiosity
a given, youth crave elevation,
opportunity, measure themselves
against a system defined by rows.

How can I cross this barrier
of disability, open the dialogue
to ignite passions, propel learning
to open road scenarios, encourage
minds to cross borders?

(Reposted from December, 2106 in response to The Daily Post prompt:  calling.  Teaching, I’ve always believed to be my calling – loved it passionately, until I had to give it up in 2014 due to ME/CFS)

 

Shed Insecurity

At what point does insecurity subside,
shift into confidence, or are we destined
to infinite life lessons, half-hearted attempts
at moving on, convinced that the past holds
the answers, not willing to admit there is no
going back, and what does that even mean?

We elevate the educated to positions of power,
never questioning the depth of their experience,
nor whether wisdom gained is part of the equation;
what qualifications should someone have to critique
our capabilities, and why let the expectation of other
carve our performances, dictate circumstances that
may or may not couple with our aspirations?

We are creators in our own right: our ideas,
our dreams, all valid testament to our right to be;
we need to speak up when conditions don’t meet
our needs, when obligations exploit or humiliate,
take ourselves seriously, overlook insecurity and
step into the righteousness of our personal path.

(Image: tinybuddha.com)

 

Relocate. Reset.

Mom said she was going to leave Dad
couldn’t take it anymore
we moved.

Relocate. Reset.

Bullying at school was out of control
I couldn’t take it anymore
we moved.

Relocate. Reset.

Truancy became a problem
then there was the rape
school said I had to go

Relocate. Reset.

Sisters moved back home
one unhinged,  the other battered
Mom said it’d be better if I left

Relocate. Reset.

Shuffled boxes from one relationship
to another, changed careers
like hairstyles – bored?

Relocate. Reset.

Never did grow roots
too good at packing up
trouble comes

Relocate. Reset.

Tell you more, but we’re about
to pull out, the road is calling –
you know how it goes.

(Written in response to The Daily Post prompt: relocate)

Age and Obstacles

Sloth-like she shuffles
each stride an argument
against unwilling muscles,
ignores spasms, lips pursed
in concentration, advances

Cockeyed he totters,
step…hop…step, poker-hot
stabs punctuating his effort
moves swiftly as if to out run
pain, face set in determination

They are out of sync, oddball
awkward sightseers, obstacles
for the fast-moving able-bodies
that whir past unable to fathom
motivation in crooked spines.

The race here is against time,
propelled by insatiable thirst,
they forage for snippets worthy
of hoarding, squirrels readying
for winter’s harsh call, days

when minds still alert will hunger
despite bodies inert, they will
dine on memory, boast about
the daring, reminisce fondly
over adventures hard won.

(The Daily Post prompt is snippet.  Hope you enjoyed.)