First-Born Child

Hello, dear readers and fellow poets, writers, mystics, all! Well, there are only three days (counting today) left in April so I felt a great desire to write a new poem! Wow, you have inspired me and motivated me to keep going. You have confirmed to me that I can still write fresh, new poetry, instead of just working on older pieces. Sometimes I work and work on them just to prime the pump. That does help when the creative process has to step aside because my energy bank account is low. As I’ve said before, I have folders of poems to offer and will go through them after April, National Poetry Writing Month. But now, I know that I will continue to write new poems, mining the ever-renewable resource of language for that glint of a phrase, and the fire in my heart to type it, work it, publish and share it! I have other plans for my blog, secret plans (because I don’t know how to do them yet!), someday, soon to be revealed.

This piece is, well, where did it come from? Not a movie or an incident, just from my ever-healing subconscious mind and my love of words. It’s like dreams, or tarot cards, or any symbolic event that leads one to the truth within. With that, I present:

FIRST-BORN CHILD

I kept my cool under the fire
the fire that begat
the first-born child of the world

I watched
and I knew
that child would need more love
than we ever thought we had to give

that child would be fire and stone
tossed in the middle of the ocean
lost in the subconscious
of all her descendants to come

that child would be a stone
far too heavy to carry
but she would carry herself forward
oh yes, she would be the stone

buried in my heart
the one that burns red and white hot
the one that became
lost in my subconscious

and I must let her go
I must throw her into the ocean
and watch her thrash new lands
into being

cooling and steaming
and birthing
new lands for her children…

and never look back
never despair
never doubt or worry;

for this is the first-born child,
the fire and the hope
for all our descendants to come.

Lady Diane Randall

Our Patterns – Our Past – Do Not Define Us

Another “response” (e.g., Forgiveness Redux) to someone’s blog. This time it’s about recovering from anger, resentment, fears, and lifelong patterns resulting from those feelings. Patterns are not who we are. Emotions (high or low) are not who we are. These things can be healed. The energy we’ve spent on being who we are not can then be used to be the creative, beautiful, inspiring true selves we were always meant to be. Not spiritual monks or clones, but uniquely and exquisitely human and divine, just the way we are. Herewith the main part of my response to a blog about our inner obstacles to being at peace within:  

“1st: When you look at your scars, touch or massage them gently and say it’s all over now, you’re safe, I love you. I am safe, I am loved. Feel your breath, slowly, in and out.
2nd: When you have … upsetting thoughts, put your hand on your heart and breathe, and love your heart like it was a baby. You can go to the bathroom to do this if others are around.
3rd: Each time you remember a…(stressful or anger-filled) incident or person, breathe in love, breathe out love.
4th: Each time you feel any kind of tension or upset over anything at all, say to yourself “I must be needing some healing right now;” or “something must be coming up to be healed,” etc.

“You cannot forget about that (person or traumatic event)… I know this. But you can take back the power you’re giving them with your resentment and rage. Sometimes the anger we feel is partly toward ourselves for “putting up with” or not seeing in advance what the problem was, or guilt if others… were put in harm’s way. Guilt is a big trigger for anger, and we get angry at the person who caused the chain reaction. But it doesn’t help at all. Guilt needs to be healed, definitely.

“You did the best you could… Although you won’t ever completely forget, I don’t think that’s what (your therapist) means. It means the (painful) thought or memory… will lose its power to hurt you, or at least the hurt will only last a moment if you:
1. Feel the feeling, ALLOW it as you continue breathing and feeling.
2. At the same time or quickly thereafter, turn to self-healing thoughts.
3. If needed, tell yourself it’s okay to release the feeling (anger, guilt, anxiety, etc.)

“That’s your healing practice, your spiritual practice. And it’s a life-long practice but, for me, it works.

“Just had a great affirmation recently: “It is alright for me to take care of myself,” which I then changed to: “It is vital for me to take care of myself.”

“Thank you for sharing so I could have this opportunity to heal my secret scars as well.”

Blessed be, all! 

Forgiveness Redux

This is a copy of a response I made to a fellow blogger. I feel very inspired by her story, by the response I wrote, and I believe – I know – that there is something in these words for me, more than just hey, look at me, what a great teacher I am. In fact, this morning, I was questioning myself – doubting my faith I suppose. I had done a spiritual tarot reading for a woman who’d just come out of a three-month rehab program, and the cards were so strong, so good… except for two, which I downplayed (the excitement of the powerful forces of the other cards,  and her excitement in feeling so much better). I now remember I did try to add some advice to her about staying strong when things feel tough, they will pass, etc. Anyway, today, she’s back in rehab. Or at least I assume that… but now that I think of it, she had mentioned she was going somewhere for a month, so perhaps this was all planned. All I know is, I came outside and there were her mother, boyfriend, and suitcases, and my neighbor, rushing to go. Perhaps I will find out that the reading was accurate and all will be well.

Back to my original point, the blogger’s story (from transcendingborders) of forgiveness prompted several responses and mine, and I believe sharing my response will spread the power of healing and of forgiveness in many more ways than I, or anyone, could possibly know. Herewith:

“Forgiveness heals the self and has the added potential to send healing vibrations to the other, who does not know that they, like you, like all of us, are a divine being. When we know that, we can release our unhappiness and learn to not take things personally (another benefit, or meaning, of forgiveness). Easier said than done but each time we do it, it does get easier. Each time we focus on what is positive within ourselves and align ourselves with other positive people and ideas, we get stronger and more able to forgive.

“Things like this happen to all of us, but I also believe that often, someone who is a shining light of love is a very tempting target for someone who wants to hide in the shadows of jealousy, hatred, etc. They come from fear of the light, from fear of being responsible for their words, fear of having to give up their identities as “tough” or “smarter” or whatever. In truth, they are jealous, fearful, and inside feel very, very alone. Forgiveness helps us to “let go and let God” handle getting into the heart of any such beings.

“However, forgiveness doesn’t mean to condone bad actions; in fact, it gives us greater clarity in choosing how to deal with those actions and people. It takes great courage to forgive, to release toxic relationships and feelings, and it heals our OWN inner self-judgements; it strengthens us. Thank you dearest, for your sharing your courage and your heart. Those you uplift far outweigh any naysayers; that’s the true beauty of love and forgiveness. Blessed be!”

Warrior’s Breath

Hello, dear Bloggers and WordPress lovers! You know, I’ve mentioned before that I have ms – multiple sclerosis – so why does the urge to write come late at night, just when I’m ready to sleep? Sleep, sleep, beautiful sleep… Ah, well, I know why it comes. Because it’s been waiting to come, waiting while I watch tv, have “cereal time!” with Sadie, my dog who learned to beg for it once she figured out the timing- she’s a smart one, and fat, too! (Sorry, animal purists, I try not to give her too much…co-dependency and all that…) Anyway, being in therapy as I am and glad of it, too, I’ve learned to pay attention to my feelings. It’s hard to NOT pay attention when they grab you from  inside of your chest and a rolling train of ugly thoughts crashes through your mind. That’s what happened after I watched Powwow Highway; everything gets quiet, then the inner action begins and the BEST thing for me to do is write a poem. Even if I have no idea what the feelings are about, just start writing and all will be revealed. By the way, even though Powwow Highway is a Native American story, the term “warrior” is the same in any culture, any religion, time or season… It is the Spiritual Warrior of which I write, the one in me that I Am.

Warrior’s Breath

I wish I’d known how to do this
when she was born
I bore those pains
like a cat that’s been too long in the wild
I screamed a primal fear – not
a cowering fear – no,
a fear that makes one dangerous
a primal fear
a deep angry fear but a fear,
nonetheless,
and that’s what’s done the most damage.

I wish I’d known it’s alright to feel, sure
it’s alright to fear
until you decide you can’t stand it anymore
can’t stand to be controlled
from the inside
like a puppet – no wonder we all feel so isolated
so unworthy so unreal – I can’t
seem to cure it send it out to be transformed
into something worth
believing in
I wish I’d known it’s alright to feel sure

I watched you wrap yourself around my heart
tonight – reeled me in just when I wanted
to relax
to ignore the fact that you are not one to be
ignored.
And I felt your grip, the one that always comes
tight! in the heart chakra
tight! in the chest, closing off my breath
and I sat with you this time
you climbed into my mind
oh yeah,

roiling and coiling
one urgent story
after another not pretty ones either
and after a while I start to think
I might get a revelation
or I might start believing you
and that’s not good
but just like that birth
that moment cannot stay; nothing ever does
and so – this time – I sat while it all
walked through me, waiting…

and then, I pushed back
I breathed, man, I breathed hard…
I pushed my ribs out and breathed
a warrior’s breath
release! my breathing was easy
release! my chest was relaxed

and the Beloved’s gateway opened
to the truest Love I’ve ever known
and multitudes of thought left sweet silence
in their wake
just like that baby so beautiful fear couldn’t stay.

Everyone thinks it’s impossible until it happens to them.

Lady Diane Randall

Authentic, Like Me

No story – well, there’s always a story! But tonight I just thought of National Poetry Writing Month and this is what came out, thank the gods of creativity and whoever was brilliant and kind enough to put WordPress into being!

Authentic, Like Me

One point over the line of demarcation
between myself and “clinical depression”
they say
it’s all in my head
they don’t understand
it’s not my head that’s the problem – I don’t
listen to it anymore — It just keeps churning over
the same old pictures and words
like some Hollywood movies that claim to be “new.”
How many are lifted right off the reels

of old classics
of the first celluloid flammable films…
and books, ha! They forget
that some of us still remember
books, luscious and dusty but still
as new to my mind as to the author
who penned it by quill or pencil, by manual which
begat electric, electric that begat “selectric”
with its pounding, whirling ball of
letters, numbers, symbols, and signs.

They forget that we remember the old, old tomes,
volumes of poems, covered in linen or leather –
so, when we see the “new” movies,
hear the newest songs
and read the latest pre-fabricated plots
designed to make obsolete
the sublime joy
of thumbing through
the delicate parchment pages
of an authentic dictionary –

well, I just wonder
how a one-sheet questionnaire
knows anything of my mind
my heart
or the words I have yet to reveal,
words that are real, unique – authentic,
like me
like the Muse who inspires
and Spirit who sends the lines
spiraling down my spine

just waiting, waiting for me to type
write sing dance depression be damned
slam them into being?

Postscript: Thank you, magic banyan tree,
my favorite of the three,
for the gift of a Ticonderoga #2 pencil
you left for me (yellow, of course,
and sharpened, almost new)
years after I’d written a poem
or two
or twenty pages of
streaming sobbing laughing lines
while sitting between your roots;

years
after sitting on the ground
was no longer an option.
But you and your sisters knew this:
authentic, earnest, soul-digging words,
like me,
like trees,
like magic,
will never ever give up
and never, ever die.

Lady Diane Randall

I Colored a Dream Today

Good evening (here in US anyway) everyone… I haven’t posted in a few days. Although I’d intended (hmm…) to write “one poem a day in April,” I have not been up to doing so and decided to let that be okay. But here is one I just wrote. I believe that my poetry, like many of the other poets’ works I’ve loved, streams through me, bringing up from my subconscious  , well, who knows what? There’s a story behind this one but sometimes… well we write in metaphors so why give it all away? Besides, I love open interpretation. It happens anyway, no matter what we explain, whether we’re writing or speaking or just having dinner, everyone walks away with a different perspective. And that is the most heart-healing poetry of all. That’s the reason I really share it. I am so happy to be here on WordPress and so thankful for those who liked some of my posts and those who are following my work. I feel the inspiration here, the camaraderie, and I love it. If you haven’t heard from me when you’ve been so kind to “like” or “follow,” please know your words and actions of encouragement mean so much to me! Happy soul-digging! P.S. To all Rumi lovers out there, you may note his influence on me at the end of this one.

I COLORED A DREAM TODAY

I colored a dream today
orange yellow blue gold
I colored my own dream
not his, the one whose hands I still feel
wrapped around
my neck

but not in a good way

it never really is, you know
why does sex look like wrestling
why do we scream in anguish
why do we hurt each other
and still say yes
and still say yes?

His dreams creep into mine
his faults become my own
and prophecies, I can no longer say he was wrong
but then, why the colors?
why the angels?
why do they tell me

that the past is not what I remember
and even if it was, it is only
the colors
the gold and the blue
the yellow and orange
that remain real and true?

I am

not who I thought I was
who he (representing all, truth be told, as it must)
told me I was

pierced through the membrane of my mind
convinced me none could survive
the turbulent crimes committed there

and yet, I sit here –
about to do it again – break another vow
and I know this time

dammit, in my heart in my soul in my body I know
that it has to be done
and that I am the one to do it
I will break another heart
besides my own
but they never think of mine when theirs is torn

So, leave me to my destiny
even if you do not understand
that all is as it should be

and I will do what I must, I will face anyone – anyone –
even you, my Beloved,
especially you,

always, always you

Lady Diane Randall

 

Stars Making Love

Hello, Lady Diane here! A new poem fresh off the keyboard… another one with a disclaimer. (Should I really do that? Isn’t that like “explaining myself,” which I am SO done with?) I’ll keep it short (promise!): the words come out, I must have felt that way sometime, so I’m keeping it “as is”, not trying to fix every poem. I do know that men are experiencing spiritual evolution/realization just as much as women are. Okay, MAYBE I’ll change it someday. But it’s got alliteration, you gotta love that… Anyway, hope you like it! Blessed Be…

Stars Making Love

I’ve made many a man cry before.

imagine a sky so vast you can see the curve
of the earth

her heart melting
her love making

continents move and break and heal

I move I melt
I love I heal

I’ve made many a man cry before

imagine stars
making love

men would cry to get a glimpse of that

but they still wouldn’t
get it.

Lady Diane Randall