I am sorry that you did not know
But I did
I’m sorry that you cannot hold
What I did
I’m sorry but the things I saw
Were mine
I had to learn the best way to carry it
And to fold them all inside
Didn’t work
So I wrote them in a note
Cast adrift in an envelope
And it blew upon the breeze
It contained the essence
Of a scent
So beautiful
To me
It looked like grief perhaps
I saw love
I don’t know what you witnessed
Only
I saw love
We own our life, our memories, everything that happens to us – we own it and that’s the trouble. It’s a closed circuit. Everyone who has ever lived and died – every animal down to the body of the tiniest bee – is still right here – changed energy perhaps. But it didn’t leave.
And our body, our memories – they are like that too.
There is no way to rid ourselves of what we carry inside – memory is what it is. The past is always dragging behind. But it is ours. If we cannot unburden ourselves of it – we can at least decide how we carry it.
And that is ours too. The decision.
Some choose to leave the vessel that contains it rather than live within the closed circuit alongside everything else that hurts them.
But there are so many other ways to brave the dark but live for the light. And the more you look and search for light – the more of it you will find.
I thought of this when I came up with the idea last month for poetry workshops. Because my poetry was a wonderful device for showing me the lessons of life. It allowed me to take whatever pained me and get it out of my system while still holding that valuable remnant – the lesson.
The memory is there, but whenever it hurts, I write through it and eventually that awful heavy feeling in my chest lightens. The emotion walks the bridge – from heart to tongue and leaves my circuits.
And of course it may come back and then it is a rinse and repeat process. Until eventually something special occurs – negative turns, not into positive but into neutral and then neutral drifts upwards to something that feels like compassion, for self for everyone in any situation.
If you sit with fury long enough, with rage, it will eventually abate. That won’t happen though if you squash it down – then it just becomes resentment and pain and an odd unidentified morass that feels like some sort of tripwire covered sensitive agony. And it builds into ugly ugly ugly and even harder to be close to.
Anyway, poetry workshops.
I’ve had no takers for the idea which I must admit I have been too busy to advertise and most people here on WordPress are adept at writing and walking their own bridge anyway.
I spoke to another writer – a wise man reached out and he said “leave the door open, that’s all you can do”
So the door is there – on my website and right here, if anyone wants to reach out and write with me – I’ll pass the nails – you can begin constructing the bridge – from heart to tongue not even as a workshop but one on one.
I don’t mind when.
So true, whether you repress it or hold on to it, fury brings nothing good. That’s why it’s so important to process our emotions and move on. Poetry workshops do sound interesting, may take you up on that offer when things calm down a little more for me.
This makes sense to me.
I think that whenever we access a memory it may be restored to subconsciousness with links to the emotions and other thoughts we’ve had about it when it is in consciousness – or to put it another way, if I can use your expression, the way we carry it.
Wise words and advice.
David I like the way you took a thought and filtered it in your own way but it resonated back like an echo. Beautiful. And thanks for reading.
Perhaps we ‘fish’ in different pools with a common source, Kate? Regardless, I thank you for your generous reflections of life.
Kind regards,
DD
My pleasure DD and yes – different ponds same source and what an amazing source it is. I enjoy your pond as well thankyou
Art is transformative isn’t it. Whether it’s through writing, painting, singing, dancing, or countless other forms, creating allows us to release pain and grief or just ponder and play. Sometimes it’s everything rolled into one experience. A profound gift of this human experience. Thank you for the share, Kate. I’m interested in your poetry workshop offering. We use poetry in the narrative therapy workshops I co-facilitate. 👍🏻 Perhaps after summer… 🍂
Sounds lovely Michele – whenever you would like to try. I’m not sure what format I would follow entirely but I don’t think an idea should always wait for perfection, it arrives with the practice itself.
Thank you, Kate. We’ll sort out the when and I applaud your thinking! Progress over perfection. 👍🏻
I love how this gently unfolds to its stunning summation: i reminds me of Jim Croce’s ‘I’ll have to say I love you in a song’ —
I don’t know if Jim Croce John I’ll have to look him up
What a beautiful, gripping poem. I love it, Kate.
Thanks Janet, I appreciate you letting me know x
I especially like the image you create of using words to create an escape hatch and a bridge to let strong emotions out safely.
Paper or screen
Keyboard or pen
It doesn’t matter how but words must be let out of the shackles we keep them in – safely. Words are the vessels that emotions nestle into, they feel safe there contained something known. Language exists to provide a means of communication with others, but most importantly I believe, with ourselves. Language enunciated, from thoughts to verbal usage allow understanding and insight. Without it we are blind to massive part of our own intelligence and nervous system. I’m passionate about poetry because I have found it to be essential to my own processing of events both past and present.
Yes, I believe that, too. Poetry is a distillation of thought into its essence. Sadly, I’m no poet, but I think that’s why I am drawn to writing flash and micro nonfiction. I have a tag on my blog I call False Dawn that contains posts that are no more than a few words, that seek to capture a moment. Your sentence, “Without it we are blind to massive part of our own intelligence and nervous system” is intriguing.
The more I write poetry – well the type that I write which is simply how it comes out – the more I chart into the other parts of the mind – we are as broad and deep as the universe Elizabeth and I say that with zero hyperbole – I’ll have to check out your blog more extensively – I love the flashes