Wounded Healer III

Goddess of Forests

I’m shedding everyone’s tears
but I can’t shed my own.
I’ve got it all under control in public;
I’m a mess when I’m alone.
Pain has injected itself into me;
I can feel it bite through each bone.
I’m decaying on the inside,
but this body is not mine to disown.

My heart and soul are drowning,
and I can’t stretch my hands
to reach them through my throat.
They’ve absorbed too much;
they’re heavy,
but I can’t save them.
I can’t drain the tears and blood;
I can’t heal them.

So, I’ll shed my tears through my mouth.
I’ll cry with my hands and feet,
with my words,
and with my songs,
and with my dance,
till I feel my heartbeat.
I’ll shed my tears as sweat;
they can’t pass through my eyes just yet.

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Ups and Downs

Time is like an abusive partner.

It breaks a person,
sometimes when they least expect,
but it helps them heal,

till it breaks them again.

Rise Like a Phoenix

Cry if you need to,
so you can laugh.
Bleed if you need to,
so you can heal.
Destroy if you need to,
so you can (re)build.
Let certain things die
if they need to,
so you can live.

Transform Your Pain for Healing

death_the_lovers_temperance_lg

When we die- when a strong change befalls us, it’s up to us [choice] to struggle to find balance again. When we choose light, we become a light ourselves.

Remove the cover;
let your pains escape.
Mold them into words and music;
anything you might be inspired to make.
Let their flow lead you to be river;
take as long as you need to take.
Be willing to swim, let go and heal;
be open to new changes in shape.
Don’t cover;
choose to recover
for your very own sake.

You’ll be surprised at how creative you can become when you are angry, in pain, when everything within you just hurts. The high level of joy that whatever you make/achieve will bring to you if you choose to heal through it, by not just ignoring the pain but by expressing it, is immense. Find relief, satisfaction and happiness in/through (not despite) your agony.

Death V: Death is a Caring Snob

jimoh-buraimoh-meeting-of-elders

Painted by Jimoh Buraimoh

Death is such a selective listener.
It heard you groan and cry in pain,
and it came over to take you away.
It chose to not hear my pleading,
my wails for it to let you stay,
as I asked God to grant you healing.

All Will Be Well

It’s okay if it didn’t work out,
I don’t work out either,
but I am fine,
and everything will be fine too.

The dream that you wish will come true.

Kintusgi

Kintsugi-Bowl

In Japan, ceramics are not thrown away when they are broken/shattered. Instead, they are repaired through an ancient practice called kintsugi (金継ぎ), or kintsukuroi (金繕い), and it literally means golden (“kin”) repair (“tsugi”). The broken pieces are attached together with precious metal– liquid gold, liquid silver or lacquer dusted with powdered gold, and the bowl, cup or whatever the ceramic is, is beautifully enhanced after the process.

The Japanese art of kintsugi teaches that broken objects are not to be hidden. Instead, they are to be displayed with pride.

What we can all learn from this is that we can heal beautifully if we allow ourselves to go through the process. It’s up to us to decide whether we want to dispose ourselves- our desires for love, happiness, success and good change- or choose to heal our wounds with liquid gold, irrespective of how much it hurts.

Scars from our healing are not to be hidden. The saying “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” definitely applies here.

I am Not a Savage

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Pretending not to have a soul
while desperately needing a soulmate.
Proudly stating that one is a savage,
and one does not have a heart,
while constantly feeling one’s heart ache.

Not being vulnerable is
what we consider honourable.

We become honourable,
yet not able,
not able to freely live,
not able to freely love.

We put ourselves in chains
because we don’t want to be slaves,
but by doing so,
we become slaves to ourselves.

It’s okay to address and discuss emotional issues, even if the events that now hurt you happened when you were two years old, and perhaps you tried to talk about it but you were told to shut your mouth. Proper healing is essential for good survival, because you deserve a good life. Even if you have two more weeks to live, do so with true peace in your mind. 

I recently had a conversation with my mum about an event that happened over a decade ago. “Mum, when I was like five, you flogged me for this and that reason, but this was what happened, if you’re ready to listen.” She did, and she apologized. Look, I am not a ‘savage’. I was hurting, and she needed to know, so that we could be true friends.

The thing about not addressing issues is, you might not just hurt yourself, you might hurt the people who love you, the people you love/will love in the future, consciously or unconsciously, in a bid to not get hurt again. Sometimes, you’ll get defensive when you don’t need to be.

Also, if you think you are going to hurt people by discussing the reason why you’re hurt then it’s necessary that you do so. “Dad, when I was three, this and this happened and you didn’t listen.” When you ‘destroy’ old structures built on lies, you’ll be surprised that they can be ‘rebuilt’ in 3 minutes when the foundation is placed on the truth. Maybe those old structures don’t even need to be rebuilt; maybe they need to be replaced with trees that give lots and lots of oxygen.

My point is, help yourself, or let someone else help you, if you’re hurting.

Give yourself closure.

First Aiders for Broken Hearts

Wind-Song

“Wingsong” by Michael Escoffery

No one can touch
a broken heart like a writer.
Even doctors are not skilled enough
in matters of the heart like that.

The writer drills the love-hole in
the reader’s heart further with their pen,
which may or may not be painful,
removing the rest of the waste
that was left behind,
or that the reader had tried to fill
the empty space in it with.

Then they may fill the hole up with words,
promises of a love that would be easier and sweet.
That is the most the writer can do,
for no one else can completely heal
the injured heart except the one
that the reader truly loves.
Else, their heart may never be fully healed,
and they may hurt themself and others.

If the reader does not dig the writer’s words out,
and they try their best to trust again,
they may be fine till “the one” comes,
the new one that will give them new love,
for the writer’s first aid keeps the
heart alive till the reader meets
and becomes their own healer.

Painting

Her flowers grew from her seed;
her poems grew from her pain.
She had to bleed to be free;
then she danced in a trance with the rain.

She’s a pain-ter.
She kisses grief on the lips
and moulds it into art.