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Miracle

by Amoret BriarRose

Monster is just the word you use

when you imagine yourself singular

searching out the silver bullets

wandering graveyards, interrogating ghosts;

monster is just the word you use

when you still feel you're imaginary

and you're checking every closet

dragging yourself under every bed.

Monster is just the word you use

when you fear your own appetites

out there wandering the forest

begging mercy of lesser beasts.

“Oh,” the girl said, shaking her head. “Don’t be so simple. People adore monsters. They fill their songs and stories with them. They define themselves in relation to them. You know what a monster is, young shade? Power. Power and choice. Monsters make choices. Monsters shape the world. Monsters force us to become stronger, smarter, better. They sift the weak from the strong and provide a forge for the steeling of souls. Even as we curse monsters, we admire them. Seek to become them, in some ways.” Her eyes became distant. “There are far, far worse things to be than a monster.” ~ Jim Butcher, Ghost Story

Apologies, but I do not have a blog post for you today.

Instead, I have poetry.

Lately, I have been interested in exploring the idea that some of us have inside of us a monstrous part, a piece that isn't easy to look at or talk about, a piece that is there to do what needs to be done even if what needs to be done is ugly or inhuman. This part of the self could be seen as a more damaged version of the anti-hero. My husband calls it the Necessary Monster.

I used to sing Ani DiFranco's song "As Is" and think of others. Now I think of myself.

And I've got
No illusions about you
Guess what?
I never did
When I said
When I said I'll take it
I meant,
I meant as is.

I have a body. I am a body.

My body is many things. My body is soft and supple. My body is flexible and strong. My body is prone to allergies and skin irritations. My body is ample hips and delicious curves. My body is endometriosis and blond hair. My body is tiny wrists and scoliosis. My body is tattooed kindness and frequent urinary tract infections.

I am soft, supple, flexible, strong, prone to allergies and skin irritations. I am ample hips, delicious curves, endometriosis and blond hair, tiny wrists and scoliosis, tattoos galore and UTIs, too.

My body experiences chronic pain. That's part of being in my body.

I am chronic pain. That's part of being me.

And sure, there are times that I have wished that I didn't have the physical issues I have. It has been comforting to think that someone else's body could not only be tried on, but could fit.

Some Rights Reserved by What What

I'm not sure where this post is going to go, but I do know that I need to write something about how I am feeling today, how grateful I am for the 12 Steps in dealing with my codependency, how grateful I am that recovery is possible, and how aware I am of the fragility of my codependent sobriety. 12 Step work has helped me notice when I'm staring into the abyss, and it has given me the tools to choose a different path.

This Throwback Thursday post originally posted at sirenafire.com in May 2013:

 This image was in my feed on Facebook a few days back:

I've been seeing a lot of messages lately about choices, as well as messages conveying that good and worthwhile things require a fight, a struggle, much striving and difficulty. Our culture collectively values difficulty (you could throw a rock and hit 10 internet pictures with savvy sayings about how a person needs to strive/fight/work/etc. for fill-in-the-blank-with-your-own-awesome-hard-won-thing) and thus we humans often forget that we can choose something other than the "good fight."

I've been doing spirit animal work with Fox, and Fox has been telling me yes, the humans love to believe in a noble struggle...but transformation can be easy...one just has to choose to let go and let the Flow decide the course, the direction, the meaning, the life. Fox has been telling me it is time to embrace this lesson:

Finding happiness/meaning/worth/your own awesome thing just requires transformation. Transformation is surrender in disguise, and the secret to the whole shebang is this: surrender is easy, and powerful. 

An Open Letter to Jane Kenyon

Jane, please-
It is possible to pick a flower and
not trip over the husk,
to squat in pure rejoicing
without looking forward
to the demise of the coffee cup
or the shards of your lover, broken on the floor.
Eat a sandwich.
Walk your dog.
Live your life.

Potential Energy

The seeds (sealed in a pocket
squashed in a small pot
with spongy, thirsty dirt
and simple instructions for planting,
a gesture, an idea of green)
surprise themselves and sprout.

I wrote both of those poems last year, during a shifting and fruitful time of my life. The first, "An Open Letter to Jane Kenyon," was written as I was reading Jane Kenyon:  Collected Poems. I remember very clearly being overtaken by both the beauty of her imagery and the depth of her depression. Jane Kenyon did suffer from depression, and to be clear, I do not mean to make light of that. Dealing with depression myself, I know that it does not allow the luxury of a choice of perspective. Thus, the poem has always felt awkward to me in that "What do you mean, writing to a depressed poet, telling her to stop being depressed? That's really insensitive!" kind of way...and still, something was there that I knew had truth. 

I recently went away to a weekend intensive hosted by Expanding Inward.  It was a wonderful weekend, full of revelations and tears...and not once during sessions was I hugged by another participant.

I was not hugged because I didn't ask for a hug.