Posted in Opinion, Poetry

Reflections this morning even as the afternoon approaches

I sit at my computer for most part of the day. One to check on the wordpress reader (sorry if I miss yours, sometimes there are just too many submissions to read them all), two is to post my two cents worth (hahahaha) and three is to do online university work, finishing my human services/counseling degree. Yes, at an old age, I am changing course. I am reaching out: the downtrodden, the confused and the otherwise loving people who have found brick walls, closed windows and very little hope to hang on.

Seems sad
it is
I am learning.
I kind of did
know this from the beginning.

Talk because I am
listening
I have walked in many people’s shoes
a pair of shoes that belonged to me
one day
when the shoelaces
untied, tripped me up
and sent me flying.

When I finally woke up
I saw what a mess I was.
Everything is rose-colored
until you open your eyes.
What we miss of life
dreaming and hoping and wishing.

Life lets us down
but it also teaches us
wisdom in small things
that matter. People.
all people. not just me.

The reason for evil in the world is that people are not able to tell their stories. Carl Jung

I tell my stories in poems. It is the best way for me to communicate. Being an introvert.

I thought perhaps she was crazy but she was only highly intuitive. Carl Jung

Yes, my words are dark. Yes, my words are encouraging. Yes, my words are down right strange. Perhaps maybe I am crazy, but I wouldn’t want it any other way. I have seen and felt and known life. And life is worth living.

 

Posted in Photography, Poetry

Wounded Healer

Washed ashore

I am
daring to be
look inside me
clearly I’m bleeding
skin is peeling
open wounds healing
anyone seeking

Help!

People talk about wounded healers. Carl Jung described this archetype as personal “hurt that gives a measure of…power to heal” and lived this life, as countless others, who dare to face darkness in order to open the curtains and let the light shine. Trauma causes pain and discomfort, but when processed, can open our eyes, wake us from a culturally induced slumber, and gift those who seek to conquer evil with purpose, to heal others.

As a child, I always believed I would be a teacher and counselor. My dreams were cut short by a series of traumatic events and those events were covered with superficial means to cope. I buried my pain in hopes that it never would surface. Yet from the depths of the ocean my pain rose to meet my fantastical reality. Chaos had arrived. I avoided the mirror. I avoided others. I became engulfed in the waves that crashed at my feet. Slowly, I floated out into the deep, to find I could not swim. Quickly, I was overtaken by depression, anxiety, voices, memories, and pain so severe I could not breath. I was drowning.

How did I survive? Countless hours spent talking with a trusted Christian counselor (I deliberately choose someone who believed) that I still confer when needed, started taking college courses to fulfill a dream, started blogging about my experiences of late and to muse about the past, and forgiving and learning to love with open arms. This is a journey that I am glad to partake, yet I grimace at my words. Are they good enough? I still feel inferior. I still harbor pain that is best shaken off. I still hold my breath in fear. The unknown is always a dangerous place. I guard my heart feverishly and give luxuriously. Take what you need and pass along to others along the way.

Psalm 22:24 For he has not despised or scorned
the suffering of the afflicted one;
he has not hidden his face
from him but has listened to his cry for help.

Always,

Happy writing,
jeannelizabeth©