my dream of a suitcase comes only with stress
the clothes to fit in are way too excess
tension mounts: I will miss my flight
nausea rises at my timed-out plight
I wake, and I feel bereaved of my stuff
it’s just my fear I will never be enough
NaPoWrimo Day 4: write about an image from a dream
my mermaid soul fears the sea,
the depths from which she came,
but the time is now to tumble turn,
to dive, to lose, to gain
Just when I’m about to give up on a creative life,
things from nature remind me of who I am and what I’m here to do…
The pale, pert optimism of spring daffodils
that always come up, no matter what, each spring.
The rustle of breeze against branch, a shiver of nature
that brings goosebumps when I’m aligned with my truth.
And a sudden, surprising deer, stopping in its path to pause and stare:
An emblem of creative spirit come to visit.
The melancholy moon, with a
bite out of its side,
does a smiley for the stars
surrounding.
The constellated night jewels
catch my breath,
lining up for their sightly
performance.
Minor. Major.
Who cares what key
they play their twinkly
chords in.
Their well-placed face,
their bling, their show,
will make the dark more
bearable.
Yet the brightest one
I only have eyes for:
It squeezes my heart’s
accordion.
For Day Two of NaPoWriMo: a poem about stars
It began with bricks, I guess,
built from the abuse above.
The big-smile baby knew no more,
no less. But she had no floor
or roof or wall, her
boundaries spliced,
her ego nil.
Her cement did set quite early.
It took years to even see that.
Dreams of locks not working
haunt the trusting times.
The little girl got trapped
with owning, booing crap.
To escape takes more than hair.
Say ‘boo’ to the witch that’s there.
This poem is number 24 in a month’s worth of poems for NaPoWriMo.
Inspired by today’s theme of masonry, mine is a Jung-inspired take on Rapunzel.
the pert petalled chrysanthemums
lean over their vase:
a tight little offering
from someone who can’t be arsed
to think of the meaning
of supermarket flowers:
chrysanths can mean death –
theirs as well as ours
I’m a yellow ribbon, a strip of citrine satin.
I have to stay in place or something bad will happen.
My favourite shape on earth is the cutest of all bows.
But woe betide my fate if I slip or make a show.
I’m always a close match for my Era’s underwear.
Any sense of contrast prompts her mother’s evil stare.
She ties me tight with fingers that feel they’re full of hate.
Era sits so calmly still, afraid to aggravate
the rage that simmers low in her mother’s uptight jaw,
prone to bubble up and spout its vengeful, spiteful law.
I’m meant to know my place, not venturing round or out.
To the rules of hair-braid ribbons, I’m perfectly devout.
If I ever dare to sin, end up all a-tangle,
I hate to feel mom’s wrath, and Era in a wrangle.
My satin is not meant to be pulled with cruel intent,
but my dangling yellow threads cause heated argument.
I know I am to blame for a temporary lapse of hold.
My lack of self-control’s bound to cause a slapping scold.
If I had stayed done up, Era’s tears might cower inside.
But that witch of a mother? She’s always time to chide.
I’d like to wrap my softness around my Era’s cheek
But she’s stinging from the slap. She dare not make a squeak.
In Era’s inner world, I guess she’s a rainbow child.
I wish instead of blows I could be her source of smiles.
You’re my big swathe of cuddle,
what I missed as a babe.
You’ve cossetted me through
the cool and the macabre.
When the snow’s outside
you’re an obvious choice.
You’re generous, holding,
you’re the thing I rejoice.
But you transcend all seasons
especially in spring.
You let me feel safe
when my words are growing.
How could I write
so much brave raw stuff
without my cuddly cocoon
and knowing I am enough.
“Superstition and accident manifest the will of god.” C. G Jung
“The ideal man bears the accidents of life with dignity and grace, making the best of circumstances.” Aristotle
My car got bumped today. To be specific, the other driver thought he had more space than was actually there and, in his impatience to get through the too-tight space, his car gouged the side of mine. Or at least, that’s what it felt like as his metal got intimate with mine. It sounded as though he’d put a huge gash in the side.
He admitted liability and ran off to get his insurance documents. I stood there in wobbly shock, mind blank with what to do next in this situation, while other drivers in various states of hurry swore at me to move out of the way. Not a pleasant or uplifting experience for eight o’clock in the morning.
OK, so the physical damage was minor. But emotionally the bump has ricocheted through my day. I certainly didn’t feel I was handling this accident with grace or dignity. I’ve never had to claim on my car insurance before, and I’m loathe to start now. But more than that, I always interpret symbolically the events major and minor that happen in life, believing that Jung says about there being no such thing as an accident. If that’s the case, then what could the bump on my car mean, and what have I learned from it? Is there a deeper meaning? What’s my soul trying to communicate with me.
As I always do, I turn to my laptop for inspiration and insight. Through my keyboard I make sense of what’s happened and seek some kind of clarity and release. So, intuitively, here are the different levels of my thinking:
Points 4 and 5 have the most resonance for me. Perhaps this tiny little knock on my car was a wake-up call, bringing me back to the moment. For other meanings, I’ll let them meander into my head next time I’m on a long drive (as ideas usually do when I’m nowhere near a pen to write them down).
I can already feel that the act of letting the ideas flow through my fingertips has restored me to some kind of dignity, and the bump no longer has its insidious grip on me. Perhaps it was no accident after all.
Tune into that intrusive music in your head to hear what it’s got to say. (pic:istockphoto.com/SilverV)
Oh, it’s SO annoying. Your head can’t switch off the replays of the most popular song on the radio you heard before dropping the kids off at school, driving to work, or running an errand. The catchy tune and chorus stick in your head ALL DAY. You think you hate the song, but the melody bounces around in your brain and chatters into your ears like your new best mate.
But apparently the tune that bangs on your eardrums all day – the so-called ‘earworm’ – is a song you actually know and like, according to psychologists from Western Washington University. Intrusive songs are most likely to turn up their volume when we’re relaxed and doing downtime activities like walking (or maybe the washing up) as well as when we’ve got a lot to do (like homework) and our minds are prone to wander. Annoying songs can creep in then, but are less likely to invade our ears when we’re focused on tough mental jobs and our minds are fully engaged. (If you’d really like to zap an annoying song from your inner playlist, here’s an article on how to get a song out of your head).
But how about a deeper viewpoint? What if the song that’s stuck is trying to communicate something else? What if the only way for your soul to get a message through to you on a particular day is by annoying you with seemingly inane lyrics and by banging your auditory door down with a song that has a deeper meaning for you? Listen in closely to hear what that repetitive chorus might be whispering to you.
When I need inspiration or insight, I trust that the lyrics from a song – popular or otherwise – will spring into my head. It’s a form of clairaudience, where intuition can guide me in a way that’s most meaningful for me that day. The message may not always be profound, but then symbols (visual or auditory) are often clever and subtle and need you to pay attention, interpret and trust them.
So, next time you can’t get words or music out of your head, remember to take note. It could be your inner voice trying to tell you something. Don’t drown it out.
inktuition 