Mental Health, Poetry

Irrational Reptile

With tough, leathery skin,
it’s a wonder she moves without notice.

Yet she skulks and slithers
throughout the mind,

the soul,

the psyche

leaving a trail of bad decisions in the name of self-preservation

Seeking only comfort and survival
not peace or progress

After years of hiding in the shadows,
she is an expert at skirting around the edges,
dropping pebbles here,
rolling beads of water down there,
until they gather in a puddle,
pushing behind the eyes
pulsating in the inner ear
an ache in the chest
an unease in the soul

Don’t trust this,
she says.
Run the other way,
she says.
And if you won’t listen,
she whispers ways to sabotage

All so softly that you don’t even question that her voice isn’t your own.

Living, Poetry

Inert AM

A pair of disapproving elderly librarians
judging my three-time renewal of books

But I got special permission from the head librarian

A fleece-clad stranger cuddled in,
stealing blankets and real estate

But she’s asleep, so we’re asleep

The intermittent voices of a tin-can radio man
interrupted by the ever-increasing beeps of the alarm clock

Up and at the absurd


Faith, Living

A Magic Number


I think I was brainwashed as a child.  Ha ha, weren’t we all?  But I’ve been meditating on the concept of three lately.  For some reason, it’s cycled back through my subconscious – and this song came up.

A man and a woman had a little baby,

yes they did,

they had three in the family –

that’s a magic number.

Those lines cycled around my subconscious on an endless loop growing up.  It was always those lines.

Apparently I didn’t absorb the other math concepts in the song, because instead of 1+1=3, I decided to go for three kids rather than three total family members.

But three always did have a special connotation for me.  As an only child, it was always three of us in my family and what a nice little tight-knit crew we were.  I was assigned the number 3 jersey when I played CYO basketball for several years.  And speaking of spiritual organizations, there is, of course the ultimate – the Holy Trinity.

Revisiting this song in the context of today’s antiseptic if tolerant culture, I was super-surprised that the lyrics alluded to the mystical trinity.  Whoa.

There is a reason comparable concepts cycle through the universe’s subconscious.  There’s that, and the super catchy ditty that gets stuck in one’s head like an ear worm.  But all kidding and brainwashing aside, there is a magic to the way things grab onto us and won’t let go.  My man and I could have had a little baby and stopped, but I wouldn’t see the sparkle in each of their magical little eyes.

A few years ago for Christmas, I chose a card that said peace, joy, and love to accompany a photo of our three girls.  Each of my girls has one of these characteristics at her essence.  There is no measure to that number.

anxiety, Identity

Getting to Point A by Starting with ZZZZZZs

It occurred to me last night, as I drove in a dream-like state from sheer exhaustion, that the dreams we experience in REM sleep and those that our soul manufactures for our future do, indeed, intersect.

In the land of greeting cards and self-actualization, dreams are lofty ideals.  A higher state of being to which we aspire.  Some goal, which in the practical nature of the ‘real world’ seems too good to be true, unattainable.  If we could do anything with our lives, it is our dreams we would live.  Some bliss-inducing, talent-utilizing best form of our lives.  The realization of our truest potential.

In the land of our subconscious, dreams are bizarre alternate realities.  Different worlds where I tour Jamaica with Ziggy Marley, but don’t leave the restaurant until I collect the empty glass spice jars from the table that came from my kitchen.  Where another woman literally tries to insert herself between me and my husband.  Where I’m forever late to work, in danger of missing the bus, grossly under-dressed for some huge milestone in my life.

Ironically, the only way we remember dreams is when our sleep is interrupted.  The whole story, the important details would be lost if the alarm or an insistent child didn’t come calling.  And usually that’s perfectly all right.  More beneficial.  All those anxieties that would eat me alive – or that at least would gang up with those that torment me in my waking hours – are processed by my subconscious so I don’t have to worry about them later.  I’ve always been one for multi-tasking; if my brain can tick a few worries off the list while I sleep, fantabulous.

If my subconscious can harness its power into removing some of my anxiety while I sleep, I will be more able to achieve my waking dreams.  More at peace, calmer, even-keeled, ready to step up rather than be dragged down.  The physical processes of sleep prepare our mind and psyche to focus on achieving that other sort of dream – the ones that don’t even occur in our wildest dreams.

So while one sort of dream seems unattainable, the other bizarre, one begets the other.  Our subconscious and our soul working in concert to give us true vision.

I would LOVE to have dinner with you – if you bring the spice!