Flame

Your rage strikes my heart like a lightning bolt

Cracking it open and setting it afire

I am at a loss for what to do, so I warm my hands over the embers and wait

To transform, part of me must die

I cannot rush, only trust

How many times can one heart break?

As many times as it takes

To learn the sacred lessons

To consciously unite with the divine

Time and time again

Pain is pain, sensation is sensation

No matter the form or formal education

Lucid dreaming just before waking

I see a sea of broken hearts glowing in the dark

Each a floating lantern offered up

Burning with the same flame

Off My Chest

I need to get you off my chest

I’ve never felt relaxed in my life because you raised me in the war zone of your wrath

Bombs of panic explode in my mind all day every day

Choking me with your smoke and mirrors even though you are far away

My ears ring with your shouting

You were the biggest little tyrant

Not even two years my senior

Yet always more needy

Mandating, yet begging

I didn’t realize the power I had over you, and still do

You were the one dependent on me for affirmation, not the other way around

I didn’t have a choice then, but I do now-

To live a life without your storms brewing on my horizon

I’ve never slept well in my life because I thought you were going to murder me in my sleep throughout our childhood and adolescence

I used lie in bed wearing a cross around my neck with a note attached to it asking you to think before acting, waiting for dawn to break, dreading another day with you, feeling trapped and hopeless with no end in sight

I never felt protected, respected, seen or heard by our parents

In moments of desperation, I wish you had killed me

Instead you continue to torture me passive aggressively, and I am passive passive aggressive

Silenced, as if buried alive

I toss and turn, tormented between insomnia and nightmares

I’m trying to think before I act

I am upset that I’m even thinking about you now

I am upset about how you get upset ‘at’ me: you throw your rage at me and have me clean up the mess, time and time again, left to calm your ass down as if your reactions were justifiable or somehow my fault

It was never my fault

I am not responsible for how you feel

Leave me alone you evil bitch

I want to scream at you with the force of 35 years of repressed anger and tears

At the same time, I am trying to let go of the hot coal which burns my palm

I am trying to let the rippling waters of my pond be still

I am trying to not be irritated, for only then will you no longer be irritating

I am trying to take responsibility for my thoughts and feelings

I am tired of trying so damn hard

I am ready for ease

I am ready for peace

I am ready to breathe

Please, get off my chest

I don’t need to ask- I am responsible for how I feel

I’m not sure what to do next

I’ll probably meditate and self-medicate with raw emo poetry

Like the note pinned to my cross-necklace, you will probably never read this

But maybe those who matter will

Those who feel they are suffering alone

May find healing in this onion peel

And breathe just one breath more freely

For this I humbly pray

Namaste

Workaholic

I went into medicine partly due to heartbreak

The exhaustive training of medical school and residency was a welcome albeit ineffective distraction from my sorrow and loneliness

24-hour shifts are a convenient justification for not keeping in touch with loved ones

Even though the real excuse is my social anxiety and sense of inadequacy

Living within hospital walls, I suspect that I am not the only physician who became a medical doctor to try to forget unrequited love, to escape the world of human relationships

My older colleagues work far more than they need to to make ends meet, far more than any reasonable person would work in a week

Who needs friends or feelings when you have patients and science?

Our skin grows pale under fluorescent lights

Our vision becomes shortsighted as the screens stare unblinkingly

Our hearts forget how to feel carefree

Our muscles atrophy as our brains hypertrophy

Our minds become boxed in with facts, our mental filing cabinets overflow

I am a recovering workaholic working alongside workaholics who do not appear to be in recovery

Perhaps they suspect the same of me

Heads down in the trenches, none of us can know another’s heart

We can only know our own heart, if we listen

We carefully administer medications, surgeries and therapies

We measure progress in numerical metrics of lab values, calculated scores and vital signs

We arrive early and stay late

We work day and night without a break

We always have too much on our plates

We deprive ourselves of sleep, fresh air and food

We know why we have irritable moods

Practicing medicine is an unhealthy, imbalanced lifestyle and we know it

We can only ever heal ourselves

I’m ready to show it

I am finally healing my broken heart

I found that I had to begin at the start

Childhood wounds tangle and bloom

Trauma begets trauma until we change our thoughts, words and actions

Breaking old patterns even as we hold traction

I am love itself, I am the source of what I sought

My cup overflows, it was not all for naught

Corona

I wear my crown of martyrdom

On the front lines, yet still at the back of the testing line- haven’t been tested

I think of you, virus, though you do not think of me

Coronavirus, on the news

Coronavirus, in my body

Is the aching in my muscles and bones your calling card?

You desire to enter my cells, virus, as much as I long to keep you out

Together, yet separately, we hunger

You want to pick my lock, use my typewriter to transcribe your RNA, then mail your enveloped self-promoting propaganda air mail special to Hadestown.

Don’t bring me down on the way, I pray

Not like this, not today

My heart breaks to think of those who have lost their lives to you, and those who needlessly will still

My head is intoxicated with fear

You always seem too near

Perhaps we Americans deserve the repercussions of our recklessness

Though it is the innocent who pay, as usual

Another day deep

I march on with trembling hands and heavy feet

Tracking invisible mud out of the wards and onto the street

Ashamed to stay in the job I was fixing to quit anyway,

Ashamed to leave now and abandon my post

The war is on, dwarfing the existential crisis of living the life I want versus fulfilling my societal obligation

I am among the minority who have a medical education

Only in following my heart can I grow up at last, no longer a slave to the judgements of others who do not bear my burden

My mind’s liberation opens up like a blue sky

Back to here and now, overcast again

In clinic and in the hospital

I struggle to bring my heart into the mundane and mission-impossible tasks which overflow from one day to the next

Virus, I gaze at your storm clouds accumulating on the horizon, and feel small

I see your silver lining, as I am well practiced in finding positivity amidst disaster

You are rich in potential

Look at the way you are uniting humanity, virus

People are taking care of themselves and each other like never before

Practicing presence in hospital hallways and supermarket aisles, smiling shyly at each other from behind our suffocating masks

We are finally being mindful of our precious resources, thinking globally and acting locally for sustainable solutions

We are cultivating more community and camaraderie than we could ever quantify

Teamwork and solidarity are weaving our spirits more closely together even as the physical distance between our bodies grows

I take a step back to take in the beauty of the tapestry you wove, virus

You bring opportunity for innovation and flexibility, you demand it

Many of us no longer take life for granted

We are cleaning our hands as often as we always should have

People are being prioritized over profits as we focus on what is essential

We settle in, acknowledging at last that we are in the same boat

Living in unspoken gratitude for each day of health

Please don’t rock my boat too much, virus

Though you are armed with cunning skills

And you may bring about more positive change still

I plan to ride out this storm, though land is not in sight

Virus, perhaps you could rest tonight?

Virus, my type II pneumocytes are mine, my lungs are a celebration of life and you are not invited

I wind-down after another day on the front lines,

I give thanks to those who are doing their part in time

To those in the comfort of your own homes,

Please stay where you are, be satisfied

Coronavirus, we will destroy you with patience and ingenuity, with solidarity and community, with soap and water, and with love for one another

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

When the High Wears Off

You can drink and smoke and swallow

Sniff and huff and wallow

Burn it up, inject it in

But no amount of noise will silence the din

I hear the roar of your pain

I see the fire in your brain

Anxiety and depression rage

Fueling the words on this page

I’ve tried it all

I’ve had a ball

I’ve lived through hell

Just to tell

What I have learned

What I have earned

Highs are temporary

Where will I be

When my next high wears off

Highs always wear off…

After chasing many a transient high

Which only left me feeling low

I’m building upward toward the sky

Growing that inner glow

I’m creating a sense of safe space to come home to

After another long day of battling anxiety monsters and depression demons

My mental sanctuary is invisible, yet indispensable

It is my daily practice, my intention, my breath

My practice is to remind myself that I belong here

Even if I don’t believe it at first

I am worthy

Even if I don’t allow myself to receive at first

I am a person

Even though I’ve spent a lifetime of feeling lesser-than

Of feeling like I owed my life to strangers

I’ve survived so many dangers

I’m lucky

I’m ready

To start living

To feel beyond high

Cultivating a sustainable solution without bodily pollution

Emotional storms are best weathered while wearing a life vest

So I envelope my chest with positive visualizations

Letting my heart garden blossom and thrive

With this breath, I am alive

I am beyond high

Alice in Recoveryland

Alice had her heart broken

When she was quite small

And healing a broken heart

Isn’t easy at all

So she drank

To forget it all

But she couldn’t forget,

Even when she felt tall

In fact, the more she drank

The more she felt like she was falling

And falling…

Until- kerplunk!

She hit rock bottom, landed on her badunk

She had no where to go but up

But getting up is hard when you are on your badunk

Though Alice was hurting, she was also incredibly strong

So she climbed and she climbed, though her journey was long

To this day, she is climbing still

She is higher than she ever felt when she was looking out over windowsills

In towers guarded by grumpy ogreish men

Alice is a survivor, and she’d survive it all again

Her heart may have been broken,

But it never stopped beating

Though the sweetness of love was fleeting

And the bitter years of sadness and tears

Left a sting on her cheek and made her feel meek

She is finding her true voice

She is exercising her choice

To express herself in this world

Hers is the story of one small girl

Who grew into womanhood

The only way she could

Smoking this, drinking that

Sleeping with men wearing mad hats

Alice is every woman, in a way

Doing her best to recover from her past today

Building herself a better future

Re-writing her fairy tale

After giving so many men happy endings

She is creating a happy ending for herself

Filled with love, hope, and peace

Our Mother’s Face

We thought we could improve perfection, Mama

When we drew lines across your face

Highways of asphalt scars connecting the

Clusters of concrete wounds on your cheeks

High rise buildings offering every luxury but you, Mama

We dig into you without asking, Mama, pounding into your bedrock

Even as you gently rock us to sleep each night, as if our actions are alright

We are the ones who refuse to turn out the lights

We don’t hear your wisdom, Mama, which you sing softly even now

We boast loudly but when do we listen, Mama?

We are shaken to the bone when we drill into you, Mama

Between fracking and petroleum, our hearts are in pandemonium

We make ourselves ill when we poison your blood

Dumping debris into your waters

We choke as we pollute your lungs

Pouring smoke into your atmosphere

We share a single circulatory and respiratory system with you, Mama

Our shortsighted deeds will always come back to haunt us in spades

We drink from your abundant cup, rarely satisfied that we have enough

We pretend to be separate from you even as we depend on you for our every breath, from birth to death

We think we know best but we haven’t fooled the rest, only ourselves

We act big, but we are dust on your mighty shoulders, Mama

Our mother has the most gorgeous face

Deep blue-green eyes and a sparkling smile

Bathed in rich brown skin, holding the miracle of life itself within her

Her beauty cannot be improved by anything man-made

To thrive, she needs only to be loved by those she loves unconditionally, by us

This is her divine lesson of self-love

Caring for the Earth is caring for ourselves

We spring forth from the Earth’s womb, are nourished by her breast, and remain connected to her indefinitely by an unbreakable umbilical cord

Though we mistreat you, we love you and we need you, Mama

You are the only oasis in the vast desert of the universe

We feel calm and content when we are close to you, Mama

Words are not your language

We must show our love for you through actions

Spending quality time with you

Living simply and sustainably

Voting with every transaction

Passing legislation to protect you from destruction by our hands

We have injured you too many times in the name of profit Mama, which only robs ourselves of true wealth: clean air, water and soil

We can’t buy more of you in any store, Mama

When we hurt you, we hurt ourselves more

You wait patiently for us to learn, even as we pillage and burn

You demonstrate how to love more completely, Mama, but that does not excuse our transgressions

This Earth Day, may we pause for reflection on our self-centered predilection

May we hold you in the center of our heart, where you always belonged from the start

Though at times we get distracted, more of your children are treading softly on you each day, Mama

May I be one such child of the Earth, and help others so inspired do the same

Your health depends on what we do today

May we lift our faces to you and see our collective dream come true

Zen and the Art of Driving

I tend to drive vehicles the way I live my life- reckless when I was a young sex worker (professional rape victim), and responsibly now as a woman with a career, committed to a life-partner with long-term goals.

When I was a child I felt nauseous during car rides. I vomited into faded plastic containers which always traveled with me.
As a teen I drove illegally, borrowing my classmate’s broke-down rust bucket of a car. In exchange he took much more from me.
On the brink of adulthood I got ticketed by a cop for not stopping at a stop sign ‘long enough’. I was driving because a friend asked me to take them to the corner store, and I said yes. I always say fucking yes, even when it puts my life in danger. I was rushing on the drive because I was freshly heartbroken, and wanted to hurry back to the party to be near the guy I love even now, even though I’d already lost him.
Every time I’ve gotten pulled over or in an accident, it was with other people in the car. My extreme empath tendencies left me lost in their desires- to drive faster, longer, drive when I felt exhausted or didn’t want to, ignoring my needs over their wants.
What I failed to realize was that I was the one who was driving, not my ragtag friends edging me on. Like a puppet, I felt pushed and pulled, never free to be me, always somebody else’s words coming out of my mouth. Far too many yes’s. Everyday, the struggle continues.
I am grateful for the accident, because it made me a safer driver, though I could do without the PTSD dreams of not having control on the road. Perhaps post-traumatic stress is not a disorder, but a natural reaction to trauma.
I still feel nervous around others: my social anxiety is always ready to rev its engine, and makes me a more skittish driver when I have others in the car with me, but everyday I practice presence, breathing, and empath empowerment.
I am in better control of my life now than I have ever been before, and I am a safer driver on the road.
Driving through patches of panic, I find my breath, and arrive safely home to the present.

Puzzle

I like to look at my map of the world and visualize the continents moving back together:
Puzzle pieces whose edges have been worn by time
I see how well they still fit, nook to cranny

Do you remember when you were all one? I ask the colorful curves of our earth
I wonder if the eastern shores of South America ache for the familiar embrace of the west African coast
Or if Cape Horn longs to kiss Antarctica on the lips just one more time

Traveling by map, I island-hop
I stop for a shag on the Shag Rocks and eat a sandwich on the South Sandwich Islands, both of which are east of Argentina and north of Antarctica.
Islands are the delicious crumbs of earth’s picnic

When I observe others struggling because they feel separate from All That Is,
I try to piece us back together
Though the salt water between us is blinding

I relax my gaze and see
That you fit perfectly with me
How we ever parted in the first place
Is the real puzzle