Transformative Prose
The Titanic and I both suffered physical damages, yet I am still afloat.
We humans live in both worlds, the material and the ethereal.
This affords us the privilege of feeling it all: the marvelous and the mundane.
I like to hang out in the field beyond words with the bodhisattvas I admire most.
But if I’m not careful I’ll miss the present, to my own detriment.
May I always return from my celestial travels to again feel the breath in my lungs and the grass between my toes.
I used to think that he was the Big Thing, the key to my happiness.
I fell for my teenage crush like he was the sole source of ecstatic love in the world.
When my feelings were not reciprocated, my thirst for the Big Thing all but destroyed me.
Now I know that no one can give me the Big Thing.
Nor is the Big Thing to be found in any book or food or herbal supplement, not in any class or retreat, and not in any one place or experience if it is not in equal distribution throughout everything, everywhere, all at once.
I am the Big Thing, and so are you.
I loved you because I loathe myself.
I blindly pushed through the red flags you were covered with, armed with an explanation for every asinine decision.
‘You did what?’ you asked me, eager to pile on the shame men reserve for the women they dishonor with their advances.
I accepted that I made a mistake but I was mistaken that I owed you anything, let alone my life.
By eating apples, I realized that I am the universe experiencing itself.
I am the fruit of the tree of life.
Born into this life, we are light wrapped in sinew and skin.
We’re given 5 liters of blood and a breath of oxygen.
Labels are soon affixed to our tender human egos like our gender and race.
Yet our spirit remains nameless, existing beyond the limits of time and space.
Beings of pure energy physically embodied, we are lighting in a bottle.
I struggle with perseverating on traumas both ancient and recent.
I know my mind is searching for a way to protect me, though in doing so it binds me tightly to the experiences that seem to scald me.
I used to want to sever my ties to the subjects I perseverated on, to ablate the neurons in my brain that remembered the most painful moments and thought the most disturbing ideas.
Now I know that every challenging experience holds within it a gift, the lotus seed within the mud.
I invite you to try this: recall a traumatic memory, and ask yourself what lesson can be gleaned from it.
For example, in remembering the times my body has been violated, may I be reminded that I am worthy of respect and healthy boundaries.
In linking trauma to sacred life lessons, you will transform the uncomfortable memory into a powerful tool to heal yourself.
The traumatic memory may remain searing lifelong, however you will hold the gift in the palm of your hand and therefore be able to use it to create the life you want, starting with feeling better right here, right now.
When I do this I feel peaceful, hopeful, and at ease.
May you always find the gifts you need to soothe your heart, mind, body, and spirit.
If you look deeply enough into anything, you will see everything.
The motion in the stillness, the health within the illness.
The simplicity in complexity, the you within the me.
We are cut from the same cloth, woven by threads of love.
The same love that ushers us into and out of this world, and holds us tenderly in our moments of need.
Meeting this moment, I see the breath in all things, the potential of even seemingly inert objects to transform again and again.
Behind the curtain of marriage I treasure the single men I know, each one a potential gem who would surely treat me better than my husband does.
I imagine how they would listen to me as we engage in stimulating conversations over a meal they provided, how respectful and grateful they would act, how passionate as lovers, how giving and attentive.
I fantasize about men who balance their check books and clean up after themselves, men who are calm and communicate maturely, who do the damn dishes, who save money or at least spend it on their family, who let go of past hurts, evolve and hold space for me to do the same.
I try to make myself at home within the sound-proof confines of my marriage, though the walls threaten to close in and crush me; both execution device and tomb.
Within the secret tortures of my marriage, my husband and I fight fervently leading up to the moment that we arrive out our friends’ houses, quickly plastering smiles on our faces as we ring the doorbell.
My veins are scalded by resentment for all the ways my husband takes miles without giving an inch.
I scan the horizon for a silver lining, a way to improve my situation: so far marriage counseling, life coaching and me doing the work on myself have all fallen short.
Yet deep below the cracks in our relationship, I sense a fertile humus.
We share more than our sordid history together; we make a home and a family.
We are united in our love for our baby, though we often disagree bitterly on how to raise her.
We share a commitment to our life together and a vision of our future, though we put different amounts of effort and resources towards both: in our relationship, I do all the earning and handle all the responsibilities for our household.
He drags down my energy and my finances, invoking a slow and destitute death.
Perhaps I’m not in a position to judge him: maybe he is the better one and I am the bitter one.
For now, I remain hidden behind the curtain of marriage, bound to my husband and yet alone.
In the field beyond words
Our spirits meet
I’m not too blinded by the light to see your energy and delight in the way the wildflowers sway with us
Physically, I am bound in this life
In spirit, I am boundless
That field beyond words is our playground, filled with passion and joy, gratitude and care
It is easy for relationships to seem perfect when they aren’t actually happening
I wonder if you have a sense of my spirit’s desire to bond with yours
I used to think all beings were one spirit, but it is more fun to flirt with another than with self
I used to take for granted that a spirit bond was enough, then I lost the one I loved
His absence taught me the importance of being there, of showing up
I stand here in the field with so much love to share
I ran outside to see the super moon
My eyes caught only fire flies, and that’s when I realized
Like the moon, we are all mirrors for the sun, specks of stardust
I ran outside holding withered roses, cursing the thorns in my haste
That is when I tasted the truth that my lips don’t only produce diamonds and flowers, but toads and vipers too
I was only kidding myself that just because I act selfless, doesn’t mean I don’t have selfish desires
Narcissism is the sharpest edge of the empathic knife with which I forge through life
If I didn’t possess any of those qualities, how could I have attracted those types to me?
With renewed gratitude, I love my humble husband
The only thing he fills my hands with are his own, and that is enough
After the last dish was washed I ran outside, overwhelmed with anger and grief for what I cannot undo
I struck a chair pose, sitting into my discomfort until my thighs burned and my mind emptied and my excess energy evaporated upward, toward the super moon
The weight of the world falls on her shoulders
She must be strong because no one else will do what needs to be done
No one is coming to rescue her
She imagines her life with someone else and doubts it would be much better, though she knows it could be worse
She’s already walked through hellfire again and again and kept her cool, more or less
She pulls energy out of the depths of her exhaustion
If a woman’s work is trivial enough to remain unacknowledged and uncompensated, why can’t men do it?
It falls on her
Her body bears uncounted molestations and rapes
Scores of sexual harassments inhabit the confines of her memory
Her brain is bruised from hitting the glass ceiling of sexism early and often
She upholds the same world which holds her down
She grows life, labors and births it, gives her life to raise the future of our species with limitless love and forgiveness
Can she forgive herself for sacrificing to the point of self harm
Can she learn how to love herself and put herself first, or at least not dead last every time
It falls on her to teach herself unconditional love
She must break through the plastered facade of perfection which first protected her but then imprisoned her, revealing her tired yet tireless shoulders finally ready to rest
I’ve let it all fall on me, but I am ready to shake off my load and give to the Earth, give it to God
As above, so below
As within, so without
Without her, the world would fall down
She doesn’t drop it because picking it back up again is harder than holding her ground
She knows she is the one
Sage Burner Poetry 