Pushing Through

I am inspired this morning by your 'pushing through' Jen. I have the exercise thing pretty much in place. Could be doing better with the weights but I do the bike regularly. I have also trained my stomach with months of under eating to just not want very much food at any one time. For the past several weeks I have not recorded my calories (1300 a day) and have eaten pretty much what I wanted. Doing this I lost a little bit of weight. I was put on thyroxine by my doctor a few months ago and I think it is kicking in. Yesterday I started back on recording the calories as I want to see what the effect of the thyroxine will be when I am under eating.
Where I need to push through is in the area of writing. From the time I was a child and particularly in a college writing class I have been encouraged to write. I self published a sort of memoir and then went on to publish another book based on my own individuation journey (Jungian terminolgy). I have been working on a novel for a number of years (mostly not working on it). I did not see myself as having the ability to write a novel (I marvel at those who do) and nothing so far has changed my mind. The arena in which I do seem to have some gift is poetry. The very best novels come close to or attain the level of poetry for me. It appears to be the genre through which the heart speaks the most clearly. As I have mentioned in a previous post it takes courage for me to write poetry. It is the genre that most undoes me and challenges the control I seem to need to be comfortable in my skin.
So, thanks Jen for helping me push through today and at least write something!(if only to bemoan how I don't write).
I have written many poems and have them sorted into categories. A few are COMPLETE. Many NEED MORE WORK. Others I descrbe as NOT WORTH A REWRITE. Bitterness is a COMPLETE poem and Into the Woods is a NEEDS MORE WORK poem.

Bitterness

I'd like to put my bitterness
out on the line
to blow and flap like sheets
in the cleansing, windy sun.
Instead of storing it
forgotten,
rancid food,
hidden in the coldness of
my refrigerator heart.

I'd like to open up the
frozen space
fire it with a savage love
and burn the bitterness away.
And as a flower in the sun
turns light-ward to bloom,
so turn my heart to love
and live in JOY again.


Into the Woods

We never mourn the
ugly things:
The cutting sarcasm,
the deadly neglect of your
child's birthday,
vindictive anger on the freeway,
and endless little bits
of blame
cluttering up your life like so
many toast crumbs on
the tablecloth.

We know instead the loss
of fresh towels laid out
for three
on Mondays,
the comforting, noisy bleat
of Saturdays'
lawnmower,
his trim-jeaned bottom
bending
over daisies,
the grin that says, Hi!
I'm home!"

We even mourn the myths that
never happen:
Like going into the woods together,
and staying in the woods together,
and living happily
ever, ever after.

I have made mention in a previous post of two poems suggested in a conversation that I had with Marth. I did a first draft of I Have Picasso Hanging in my Bathroom and was somewhat pleased with what came up. But it is in the NEEDS MORE WORK file at the moment. Today I am going to brainstorm the second suggested poem which is about how Marth relates spirituality to nature. She mentions that while walking the Preserve she must keep moving to connect to Spirit. There is not a poem yet so I will share what goes into the "stew pot" today.
By the way this poem has not yet found it's title.

Always moving - always moving -
like? walking, walking the Preserve:
ravaged by pain,
savaged by loneliness,
raging at God.
She says in fury "God, I gave myself to you! Today I take myself back!"
Wind - so much wind.
Pale - early moon like a pain dimmed soul.
Spirit moving - out ahead - follow me -
don't stop for the purple stain of lupine,
the breathless amber/gold/mauve sunset
can't stop to feel the wind,
the Spirit out ahead - follow, follow
- wink of the first star -
can't stop - can't stop.
being with the pain,
being the pain,
driven by the pain,
running from the pain,
raging,
sobbing,
dying,dying
-moving, moving,moving.

Perhaps more will go into the stew pot - I don't know - but like Marth's brain the pot will ferment and a poem will begin to emerge. For now, just waiting.
I always love it when I get into this process. It is a mystery to me that I don't do it more often. Will take a lunch break and then address some of the NEEDS MORE WORK poems.