How to be yourself: an empty map for soul-finders near and far

begin to draw
any road or tree or key will do
whatever you draw will work
will fit
will find the next path or freeway
from then to now
to never knew it could be like this
heart spinning like slap-happy dizzy stumbling
holy holy moly love!--
this

or that--
again and again, frozen, lost in your creation
not sure which one or way came first
more like head spinning, ache, cry, whine, why is no one coming?
especially not me?
waaaaaaa!

this much, we guarantee:
you will let yourself down

down, so far into the underworld of optimism
that you'll wonder why anyone hopes at all
ashes, ashes--
the cool ground a sturdy stillness
of what it's like to get real
beyond laughter
beyond wailing
beyond it all

really, there is only this
only you, no matter how it shakes out
no matter how you wish you were
there is only this, only you
only this, only you

repeating like a meditation as you lay curled
in the shadowed surrender of coming to terms
until you know the land well enough to crawl your way around
and crawl you will--
the strong bone of your forearm learning how to lean
without collecting so many bruises
the fragile cap of your knee like lite feet dancing across coals of fire
and your soft whispering monologues recited like a Lakota--
knowing every ditch and daffodil between you and the
infinite horizon

you are collecting your secret passageways
you are collecting the language of birds
you are collecting the stars as they shine, shine, shine by the moon
you are collecting lovers and companions and heartbreaks and stories for the grandchildren
you are collecting your own evaporation, body melting in the heat of the truth
you are collecting everything you need
and it will all burn

brightly, with fury
without an ounce of fear
it will burn
and so will you
your map outliving you for just a moment longer
until it, too, floats
like a legacy
like a red balloon into a light blue abyss
up, up, up
silent
free
here
gone

everything burns
brightly
ever more reason
to throw yourself in
fully

Grieve like you really mean it. A freestyle poem for tough times.

Freestyle, no edits. From my body, to my heart, to my mouth, to your ears. (With some fun technology tossed in the middle).

The audio, in real-time:

 (5 minutes)

Grieve like you really mean it

grieve like you really mean it because life is hard but you’re still alive, you still have this

this

this look out the window at the bird on the shovel hanging out of the wheelbarrow in the afternoon light

you still have this

this shadow of the chair standing still against the wall while the shadow of the leaves dance around it

you still have this

your beautiful body in the mirror, that woman you’re learning to make peace with amidst all the pain, all the things you never thought it would come to

grieve like you mean it because you are still alive

and it is a blessing to feel sadness so deep

sadness you want to find someone else to blame for

sadness you want to break things over

sadness you wish you didn’t have to feel

yes—I’m talking to you

to that part of you that knows, not in your head, but in your body

how badly you need the sadness

for all those winters you avoided the cold

for all those summers you stayed by the fan

for all the times it rained and you had an umbrella

you need the sadness

us humans are good at creating shelters, homes to live in, comfort, stability

but even we cannot avoid the pain that comes with being alive

even we have a price to pay

and maybe it’s not so physical

maybe we don’t as often suffer the terror of tsunami

or the chill of a tornado… ripping and ravaging our towns

but we are left broken-hearted

we are left alone in our rooms when we thought we had forever

we are left at the doormat of the home we no longer recognize because it is not embodied and imbued with the life of our parents or our children

we suffer, we suffer despite our shelters

suffer like you mean it

wail. do not wait.

wail loudly. now.

if there is suffering in your heart, find the song, find the poem, find the picture that breaks you apart and let go.

you deserve it.

to know that you are part of all things that have to suffer

it is the price we pay for life, it is the price we pay for beauty, it is the price we pay for breathing and for smiling and for laughing and for orgasming and for kissing and for eating delicious foods and tasting blueberries explode in our mouths; it is the price we pay

it is its own form of beauty

all that have had a lump stuck in their throat for years know that when they finally break down in tears, it is freedom

grieve like you mean it

grieve like you mean it

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 

The invitation:

Deep loves,

I've been in a dark hour of the soul over here, transitioning and growing up in ways I was never expecting. My answers to these questions are emerging like flies on the wall; an overflowing trashcan, asking to be emptied into poems:

• What’s between you and that life-changing release of grief? 
• What gets in the way of letting your guard down and letting it all out? 
• When you do… when you grieve like you really mean it, what are you letting in?
• What or who are you forgiving?
• And what happens, in your body, as you go through this experience?

The comments are yours for the taking. Simmer on it. Speak to us. Or muse in your own private space. Extra credit if you're currently in an especially tender spot in your life.

I honor and appreciate you so much for being here.

madlymadly for you,

rachael

not mine

Consider this your invitation, if you feel so called:
What world is not your own?

be with mine

Be with Mine from Jodi McLaren on Vimeo.

Heavy heart, I'll carry you tonight
I do my best, to try to see the bright side
I take you out downtown, just you and I
The roads are blocked, the traffic is thick

I start to cry
I start to cry, to cry - y- y- y 

I used to see your face more than my own
I used to touch your skin more than my own
I used to hear your words more than my own
I used to feel your love more than my own

What's there to feel? In my bones, what's there to feel? 

It's kind of funny, it's kind of sad
How it's so easy to hold the hand
Of someone else in their imperfection

why can't I, why can't I
be with mine? be with mine? 

I believe my heart was made to heal,
was made to breathe in love
and then exhale
and with each breathe released
I can choose
the song I sing 

so I'll let it out, let it out.

~~~~~

Jodi,
Thanks for giving the gift of being with yours... your whole self, your whole life, your whole everything. I adore every shade and side of you and your process. You truly do inspire me. Here's to being with ourselves, through and through, and when that becomes too much, remembering that we can also be with each other. Forever and ever, amen.
Love,
Rach

When everything falls apart

crossed between shadows and light this morning at Qualia Coffee.

Everything will be okay, she told me, because you are brave.

Her r's rolled like a lopsided wheel, not quite as smooth or sultry as an engine's roar... more weathered, more rough. Rough also was her touch, her cool heavy hands slapping and rubbing the side of my arm like a woman in the field smacking dirt from a dirty rug. Our colors contrasted like shadow and light, only I was the shadow, despite her dark skin. No, I was nowhere to be seen on that beautifully made bed with the golden glow filling the room, filling my lungs, filling the spaces between her wise words, her motherly body and mine. I was dark like an audience, happy to disappear and listen.

Turn the page, she told me.
Do a ritual. 
Buy new underwear. Burn the old.
How open is the window in your heart?
Open it all the way.
You must open it all the way if you truly want to turn the page.
How open is your window?
If you were writing in your journal, what would you say?... You know, if you were just to write how you feel? How do you feel?

I'm tired, I told her. So so so tired.

Good, she said, her hand doing a healing dance on mine. You are brave. You have done a very brave thing. It is the time to rest. But do not look back while you are resting. Turn the page. The future is bright. Everything will be okay because you are brave.

She trailed off into stories of brave shadows who learned how to come into the light, and I believed her. I believed that I was brave, that I could begin again, that everything would be okay. I believed her simple message, her strong hands on my tired body, her smiling eyes loving mine even though we just met, even though she knew me not.

I believed her maybe because of the rough way she rolled her r's, or her rough hands, or her free body in exactly the position it felt comfortable being in. I believed her because she believed in me without hardly knowing me, and there are few things more medicinal than confidence and a calm touch when everything falls apart.

~~~~~~~

What's your saving grace when everything falls apart, loves? What sentence, phrase or face gets you through? Let's make a pool of wisdom. One we can all take a little dip into when the heartache gets too hot.

madlove and a grateful heart,
rachael