Zen Mamas

The world is filled with Zen masters who live outside monastery walls.

We color mandalas with sidewalk chalk.

We ring meditation bells of rainbow-colored xylophones.

Our mantras are the stories we read with ego-melting repetition.

We hold asanas with babies in and on our bodies, going about our day as if our muscles are not on fire, not letting on how our bones beg for rest.

After enlightenment, we cook dinner and fold the laundry.

We pull energy from the depths of our fatigue.

Our life is one continuous act of service.

We practice breath work by blowing bubbles, exhaling with artful control to get the most out of each dip of the wand.

Our ascetic practices include eating the food scraps offered by our toddlers and what our babies throw on the ground, making meals out of bread crusts and apple peels.

We nourish young lives with our bodies.

With discernment, we are creators, preservers, and destroyers.

Embodying eternal love, we are One with the universal life force.

Though we may not wear saffron robes or have the luxury of sitting in quiet contemplation, we are here, humbly filling the world with Zen Master Mamas.

Strong

Let’s start where we are

At the end of my rope again

Wanting to kill my body to liberate my spirit

Free myself from the grips of your jealousy

Your hands can’t grasp the air, can’t contain that which is intangible

Only the heart can do that

I want to throw a wrench and stop the drama-go-round with a screeching halt

Would it shake you awake from the illusion of reality?

Would it finally lift your veil?

I have felt hunted by you my whole life

How refreshing to be the one to hold the knife

I want to get out of my own way

I balance a negative thought with a positive one

Remind myself that I create my life each moment through perception, attention, intention

Even now, you are another a poppy in the field, trying to keep me knocked out instead of awake, empowered, enlightened

Wrapped up in visions of destruction, I remind myself that I have a choice every moment

I turn my mind’s eye to that which uplifts me, and give a wink

How much more energy would I have for that which I love if I let go of that which I loathe?

I don’t have to prove that I am strong anymore

I don’t have to take your shit anymore

You are the one who needs strength

At my best, I pray for you and the healing of our relationship

At my worst, I fantasize about taking a shit on your grave

Thread

It is you again

Suicidal ideation, my old friend

You are the shadow lurking outside my window

You are always there in my time of greatest need

When my sanity is hanging by a thread

And I am tempted to see if I’d be better off dead

I hang off that thread and gaze over the precipice into the dark abyss

I let go with one finger, only four more, why linger?

My thoughts are a razor blade cutting into the thread like a sharp violin bow

Drawn across the thread of my sanity again and again

Though the depths call me and freedom beckons me to let go

I tie a knot at the end of the thread instead

I recall that nothing lasts forever, not even my shame, not even my pain

I know that I have infinite potential

I set my intention to direct my attention and begin my ascension

I climb, as I have many a time

Suicidality, old friend, thank you for coming to visit but I don’t have to invite you in

Over the years I have transformed, but you remain the same

I know you want only to relieve my suffering, but there are other ways to achieve liberation from suffering which do not involve breaking hearts

I meditate on that, to start

I feel my feet on solid ground again

I bow in deep gratitude to you, my friend

Hero’s Journey

On this long journey

between cadaver dissections and treating infections

between hand disinfections and anesthetic injections

may we pause for reflection, reconnect with our intention

may we cultivate connection, and to our loved ones, display affection

to our own needs, may we pay attention

may we vote in elections

and to injustice, voice objection

may we have predilection for self-correction,

not be afraid to change direction

may we not beat ourselves up for inevitable rejection

may we forgive ourselves our own imperfection

medicine is a practice, and we will never be perfect

but it is enough for us to be on this hero’s journey

Victory is every step

Super Power

Compassion is my superpower
But that does’t mean I have to suck dick for free
The world is gonna have to learn to get itself off without me
I’m learning how to live my life for me
I can forgive you for hurting me because I understand                                                 You know pain as the only way to be

I used to be like you
Then I let my inner light shine through
I hope that I can shine my light on you
So that you can feel compassion too
Until you are healed through and through

We are all healers in the process of healing ourselves
That is our super power
We help each other heal
Though we are all wounded
Our strength lies within in our Achilles’ heel

It feels so damn good to feel
Especially after the burn of the salt you rub in my wounds
simmers down and the scar of compassion grows around
Scars just show how well we are able to unite back together
After the world rips us apart
What more of a super power could we want?

Disclaimer

Disclaimer:
This compilation of late-night writings
Is both incomplete and highly imperfect.
It will be obvious to some readers
How little I know about grammar and punctuation (or how little I care to follow the rules).
To such readers, I genuinely applaud your expertise on written language, which is a testament to your hard work, intelligence and privilege.
Please excuse my coloring outside the lines and confines of language rules: I failed to pay attention in school and I have a rebellious streak, so my writing style results from my ignorance of writing rules and my desire to break the few rules I do know. With all due respect, I think we have more pressing matters at hand than minding our p’s and fucking q’s or qu’est-ce que c’est (pardon my French). If you frown upon the improper use of a semi-colon, then perhaps you would benefit to empty the contents of your colon, and I mean that with sincere well-wishes for your colon.

Intention:
I hope that the words I have (sometimes sloppily) strung together will touch your heart, perhaps make you laugh or cry, and most of all help you heal from the painful experiences of your life. We are all injured children who will hopefully heal in our adulthoods and stop the inter-generational cycle of harming the very young. Although life is inseparable from suffering, it is my humble hope that my poems will help prevent and alleviate the suffering of others. If I help just one person, my efforts will have been more than worth it.

Introduction:
I write poetry about child abuse, rape, sex work, addiction, PTSD, womanhood, abortion, break-ups and broken hearts: the personal experiences of my life. Although these themes are laden with suffering, I weave a glistening thread of hope, healing and humor throughout the tapestry of my life and my poetry. May you find that thread within you and hold onto it in troubled times. Although the road to recovery is rough and we stumble along the way, may we continue forward always. May we be healthy in our hearts, bodies and minds, and may our spirits shine bright.

-Sage