resilience

More Love Stuff

~ Emma ~ 2 Comments

I started a poetry writing course this week. It was a good idea, I think. Except today I’m having all sorts of rebellion against it primarily because at this point in my life I feel pretty done with education and everything that comes with it. I did not know I would feel like this prior to enrolling. I am glad I signed up though. Intuitively it feels like the right move. And I’ll definitely learn some new skills and tricks and be able to take the feedback and apply it and that’s cool. But, do I even want the feedback?

What is it for? Is what I’m asking myself today. Bigger picture, higher reason and intention behind this. I never have really thought about changing or trying to improve my poems, so what’s driving this?

I think it is to glean a little bit more about my propellor and the wind speed as well as the velocity. To know the exact direction the air is blowing here is a little tough, but there’s definitely a wind force that, I’m trying to just let “be” without searching too hard to fully know how strongly it’s going to blow or for how long and in what direction.

We do things because we enjoy them and there doesn’t have to be a reason. There are all sorts of life events that drive us closer to something while also at the same time, driving us further away from something else. That’s just the momentum of life and of growth I guess.

There are things about this course that are irking me but it’s mainly because of introverted-ness and just wanting one on one with the instructor and not to have to interact with any other students, or participate in any of the group things, like the discussions and such. The first assignment was to write about oneself and introduce ourselves to the class. And I found that exercise impossibly difficult. Writing about who I am, what I like, what I do – I couldn’t access nearly the same kind of creative juices to produce something I was even just okay with, from doing that exercise.

Writing is a lonely, (in a good way) solo sport and that’s why I love it. It’s isolating and that’s why I love it. It’s singular and that’s why I love it. It’s private, hidden (until it’s not), and it’s one of my favourite things to do with my time in whatever form.

So why sign up for a course where other writers are going to hear me, see me, feedback me, and sort of know me? Still not sure, but it’s par for the course (no pun intended) with stuff like this, no way around it really. And I am actually enjoying reading some of the other students’ poems.

The prompt for the start of this blog this past January was, an important relationship ending that had sparked a lot of intense emotion and inner turmoil as well as a transformation that came out of left field. It was as if writing was not an option now. Why? Poetry started to spew out and it was like, what? Funny how break-ups do that. But it’s more than this.

I think of all of the most wonderful poetry that’s ever been written and at least 70% or more has got to be related to some kind of heartbreak, lover entanglement or distressing or obsessive infatuation to the point of demise, kind of writing. But why? I think it’s partly because we know it’s an all too common and shared experience, and we are humans after all, looking to belong to and be a part of some sort of tribe, even if we are introverted solo natured people. Those parts of ourselves have nothing to do with the primal parts of being human.  

Writing about love brings us back to ourselves and at the same time expands the tribe.

Love and its impact. Love and its overwhelm. Love and its underwhelm. Love and its proximity. Love and its consequences. Love and its addictiveness. Love and its tight or loose parameters. Love and how it’s measured (I don’t believe it can be measured though). Love and how it’s given, how it’s shown, how it’s received. Love and how free it is. Love and how unconditional it is. Love and how binding it is. Love and how controlled by it we can get. Love and how conditional it can be. Love and how it royally fucks with your brain, while you are swimming in it and also when you’re drowning from it.

Shall I keep going? I’m almost out, but I know there’s more.

The reason I write is love. I love writing, the act itself and I love writing about love and from love. Even when we think love isn’t running our lives, it is. It is the driving force behind everything and the reason we are here.

I’m grateful for the man who is not even close to knowing the degree of impact he made on my life, for helping to inspire a further awakening, (I feel like if I awaken any more though, my third eye just may never close). An awakening that would not have occurred without him. They are right when they say that certain people are meant to show up in your life to teach you very valuable lessons and to help you become the person you are supposed to be. Even if they are only meant to be with you for a season (or nine).

When I told my poetry instructor about how I came to be writing poetry, she replied that for years she had been writing fiction and then boom, a horrible break-up and there she was, arms and legs deep in only writing personal poetry, no more fiction or short stories for her.

Love does stuff to us that we should never ignore.

I think about Shakespeare and the other love poets and I think about the students in this class, and all of us writing poems from our places and our certain states and how really, it’s all just the same. It’s pretty simplistic. I mean not all poetry is about love, but it is actually, even if the content has nothing to do with love. It’s still the love of doing and the pain of maybe writing, but it still is coming from a loving place, even if the words are cruel. It is your soul’s expression and mode for healing…for something to alter, to awaken…in that moment or in the moments after. Is there heart behind this? Of course. Is there rage, anger, sadness? Definitely. But those emotions never cancel out the ability or the power of the heart.

When you receive a bunch of external validation, approval, acceptance and appreciation (and maybe throw some infatuation and idealization in there too) and then all of a sudden it’s gone, you need to reach and rely on the reserves you have inside yourself, to provide all of that just from you. And relying too heavily (or at all) on any of that from external sources, never a good outcome. Even if you had a decent relationship with providing your own validation and such, you can still get high off of constant praise and affection and adoration when there’s a steady stream coming from something outside of you. And it can end up drowning out your own voice. And when there is a disproportionate reliance here then the result is something like, oh I don’t know, Romeo and Juliet.

I think about the level of chemical withdrawal that Shakespeare must have been feeling in order to write that play and wow, that’s some serious shit.

I still don’t want to make changes to my poems or experience constructive feedback in order to improve them. I think they are perfect just as they are. Each one holds a great meaning for me. I wrote them the way I wrote them not for validation or to impress anyone but to hear myself a little bit stronger and a little bit harder and a lot more intentionally. To see myself more clearly and to let myself know, that I am seen. To help fill a bit of a void in my life. But it turns out, voids don’t last forever and they’re not actually real to begin with. The voids exist by our own doing and they can very easily be undone and you can find your way back to yourself, to that void-less, free, and whole you.

I think that the greatest acts of love are not the ones we do for others, but are the one’s we do for ourselves. And maybe running after love is a part of loving ourselves but, choosing not to race after it or chase it, can be an even bigger part of allowing more love into our lives purely because we already have and we already are, all the love that we need. And that is something I think we only discover once we have been changed because of one or more, of the various presentations that love has made in our lives. It jolts us and it’s the undoing and recreation of ourselves as a result.

If I could give any advice to Romeo and Juliet it would be: “Don’t off yourselves just yet, this isn’t that bad.”

River Dance

~ Emma ~ 2 Comments

The wind blows her hair in front of her eyes. She can’t see. The icy cold river rushes over her legs and she stands on uneven sharp rocks and pebbles, her toes gripping beneath the bedrock for support and grounding. A trickle of blood runs down both arms into her palms. The air is crisp and fresh and the breeze has just enough momentum against the current that she feels frozen in place, ripped between two forces.

The river flows faster now over her legs trying to destabilize her, but the wind holds her in place, she closes her eyes and lifts her arms out in front of her, palms facing the sky, opening ready to receive. Her brown soft locks whipping around her head in a frenzy. The water is so cold and shocking the temperature reaches her bones, but she remains still. Legs bolted down as the current rips around her. The trees like gigantic green smooth monsters surround her. She is steady, standing alone in the wild.

Blood drips from both elbows down her arms into her hands, dripping from her fingertips into the water. Her chemistry feeding the trout, the minnows, the algae, and the salmon and the stones. She sends her love deep into the river with every droplet. The red runs around her feet and legs, the cool red lines on her arms tickle as they move. She crawled through the forest to get here, her arms covered in scratches, bruises and blood.

She wants to move and walk back to the edge of the river where her wolf stands but she can’t. He watches her and his gaze never leaves her form. He paces along the side of the river then sits. Paces then sits. Paces then sits. He wants her back where he can touch her.

As she tilts her face up towards the sky, the clouds begin to move. They were halted but then received permission to move again. She holds a gift that doesn’t lie, doesn’t pretend, doesn’t wait and doesn’t bend.

As the sun begins to grace her face, the heat slowly initiates tingling all over her body and through her soul. As the clouds part just enough, as her wolf steadies himself, hovering, as the blood dries up along her arms, as the branches and leaves begin to speak, she looks around; below, beside, above and behind, and then within. She screams, smiles and then exhales. She is not alone. She speaks to the earth and the earth responds and always listens and never leaves. Their energies dance. There is a secret between them now that no one will know. She opens her eyes.

….

John enters Chloe’s apartment and takes off his shoes. He can smell her lavender oil from the hallway, it’s strong today. This is his new favourite smell and he’s wilded out that he loves it so much. It smells like her. He pauses and closes his eyes before walking into the living room. He’s feeling relieved and so excited to see her. His bare feet along the carpet make him feel cozy and he loves her colourful, bright decor. He stops.

“Hi beautiful. God, it’s amazing to see you, I thought about you every day.”

“Hi John. Wow, why does it feel like it’s been a year and not just a month? Please hug me!”

Chloe looks up at him like it’s the first time she’s ever seen him. Mesmerized, captivated and adrenaline pumping. She gets up off the couch where she and Sam were sitting and jumps into John’s big bear arms, legs wrapped around his waist, he grabs her waist and then wraps his arms around her. Their arms squeeze each other so tightly she can feel his heart beating rapidly on her chest.

She feels so protected in his arms, and so small. He can hold her up with one arm. They hold this hug for a long time. He can feel her energy is quite intense today, more intense than usual. She knows it too. She knows he knows, right away, and she’s grateful that he can read energy just as well as she can.

There’s definitely something different, slightly amiss and he can’t understand it yet. They hold onto each other a little longer. He feels the same, just as she remembered and maybe even better? There’s something a little amiss with him too though, she can sense something is different. His arms are tighter around her than usual and his heart is really racing.

He takes her arms from around his neck and she plops down. He looks at her arms with a “wtf expression”, runs his fingers delicately over her scraped and scabby elbows and forearms and looks her straight in the eyes, takes both of his hands to her cheeks and does his usual gaze with his deep brown eyes that penetrate her soul like nothing else.

He is concerned and confused.

“Whoa, what happened Chloe? Jesus it looks like you fought a mountain lion or a wild animal got you or something. Did you get into a fight with Sam, he couldn’t have done this. Where did you get these injuries and scrapes? Has anyone looked at this? When did this happen it looks fresh, what’s going on are you ok? This is going to leave a scar I think.”

Chloe walks back over to the couch and sits down. He follows and sits beside her.

“Yeah I’m okay, it’s nothing to get worried over. I’m cleaning it and taking care of it. I fell on my walk in the park the other day, down a bit of a slope so, I got kind of beaten up by the gravel and grass and sticks on the way down. But I’m fine. I went down to the river to wash and clean myself up after it happened, it’ll be fine. Doesn’t hurt anymore. Was a shock but I made it back in one piece, all good.”

He stares at her and doesn’t say anything right away. He’s thinking. There’s something going through his mind that he doesn’t like. He feels like she’s lying, but why would she lie about this to him? This is the first time he’s seen her in a month and he doesn’t want to confront this feeling he has at the moment, so he hits pause in his mind on it, for now.

“You look different, a bit thinner and like, I’m getting a stronger warrior vibe than usual. You sure everything is ok? A month felt so long, did it to you too? I thought about you every day.” He puts his hand on her leg and slowly strokes Sam’s chest as he purrs next to him.

“Sam is pretty scrawny too, did you guys do some extreme thirty day fast or whacky diet or something?”

She can feel the tears starting to well but she holds them off. She desperately wants to tell him the real story, everything that happened in the woods during their month apart, but she just, can’t. There’s too much unfinished business still, and she needs to resolve it before letting him in on her secret. She needs to keep this just for herself for a little while longer.

They’d been dating just a year, and Chloe still wasn’t sure how far she wanted to let him inside, they were taking things slowly, and it felt really comfortable and right but, the last thing she wanted to do was scare this one away. This one gets her, she gets him. But this…this might scare him away.

“Are you hungry? Let’s eat cookies then go for a walk, I made your favourite. I’m surprised you didn’t smell them when you came in.” She says with her usual enthusiasm.

“You know I don’t turn down your cookies, but, you are my favourite cookie and your smell beats this other cookie smell by a mile.”

She looks at him with a sweet smile, shakes her head and moves closer to him and plants her lips onto his, pausing right before she does so she can look into his chocolatey eyes. She missed him and she’s surprised at how much. Sam jumps off the couch and they stay lip locked for what feels like, a month.

Let Me Love

~ Emma ~ 2 Comments

Maybe we fall in love because we are supposed to break and have destroyed the person we used to be. Maybe we ought to run towards love precisely because, it might destroy us. And not just run towards love for the ordinary reasons of wanting to feel seen, appreciated, desired and cared for. Maybe we are supposed to throw our hearts out there as often as possible when opportunity arises instead of running from love and protecting our hearts. There is a far greater purpose in love than we ever realized I think, and we can’t reach this transformative realization until a period of complete destructive emotional collapse occurs.

Maybe the very nature of having loved is the process to enlightenment, growth, and the shedding of a layer that wasn’t supposed to be there forever.

The lessons, the difficulties, a wreckage of a part of ourselves that needed to be dismantled for good. Never to be the same person again, except now, that person today…an exponentially higher, stronger and more beautiful and powerful person than ever before.

The gifts of love and of loss, a personal gift to our sense of self that is completely aligned with our evolution. And even if the Universe could prevent it, it still would ensure your heart experienced the amount of demolition necessary in order to be reborn into the shining star that’s been there all along but just hadn’t yet reached that level of break in order to achieve the ultimate break-through.

Maybe being a love addict isn’t that bad. We are addicted for a reason, and that reason is always taking us closer to ourselves, raising our vibration so we radiate more and more within and outwards, so when people see us, meet us, hear us, touch us, they receive the love that is in ever abundance within us, that we carry always.

If someone is starved for love, I truly believe that eventually, the Universe will send them a special soul who has so much love, extra love to spare, so that that person’s empty and dry cup is finally able to be replenished.

Love is always the answer. Radical, messy, patient, unconditional love. No matter who you love, why you love, how you love, where you love, the purpose is just to…do it.

We are here to love and that’s it. Not to achieve, not to impress, not to harm, not to graduate with honours, not to win the most games, not to perform or to please, not to buy or sell the most stuff, not to show off, not to follow the leader, not to land the dismount, not to change what we look like, not to shoot for fame, not to climb the ladder, not to see the world.

The world is here to see us. To see us give love, receive love, to be destroyed and resurrected by love, and to never stop.