Nothing hurts you more
than to ask for Love
and then decide
should look like...
because nothing looks
and yet everything
is made of it.
Sometimes, poetry catches me unawares. I’ll be busy hoarding information when suddenly unnecessary words pool at my feet, asking to be soaked up.
I feel obliged. It is my language after all, and I would hate to be negligent, only to slip over these spilled stories later when I’m even less attentive.
Injuries caused by un-mopped words are brutal, but mostly to unassuming loved ones who begin to carefully avoid you because you’ve forgotten to contain the gob of your words.
So, I take my mind into the early morning hours and begin to wring them out. However, I often find that I’ve become so saturated in unnecessary information that I’ve mildewed. What stories are worth saving? What shall I dip in Vinegar? And what requires the wire bristle brush?
This inner purging of excess external knowledge requires a good airing and a quiet place to squeeze the life out of this mind that has become so engorged with information.
For me, when things get complicated, and intellect becomes the only expression I have to express what’s most perplexing, poetry shows up. Life then becomes a boiling pot to which I must skim the fat.
If I only live the lard of life, I know I will survive. Sometimes it’s the only way I know how to survive.
This seems to be where my life is right now; in need of mopping, boiling, and skimming. It requires the simple reduction of what I know, feel, and sense into one potent, lived experience.
Through the clutter of words so eagerly offer others, we often neglect to listen to what most longs to be in conversation with us.
This is often because we don’t know how we feel, and even when we do, the bid to express it feels like pouring tea in the dark…a lot gets scolded that’s not in the cup.
I’ve felt this overcompensation of words-for-wisdom recently, especially here on Substack. I’m trying to share something fundamentally ineffable and fumble with the only container I have, spilling out in fear that the light of simplicity will not be regarded. We are often measured against horizontal lines rather than vertical ones are we not?
And I wonder at what point in our journey did the idea of complexity equate to truth?
I remember last year when I began to resurface from the worst of a psychological crisis; I didn’t want to speak. I became mute for 2 months because I felt that nothing I said was true or had any reality to it. I just wanted to be muzzled by the steel trap of silence so others would not dare dangle their questions at me.
I’m grateful for my self-muffled retreat but also glad it eventually loosened enough to allow for meaningful conversations, with not only others but the deepest part of myself too.
I am, however, still weary of adding noise where Silence speaks so eloquently. And when I feel this need to downsize my narrative, poetry moves in - and I move out of the way.
I would love to share this intuitive way of wringing out the truth of your accumulated information by guiding you to write your own poetry. So, starting today and for the coming month, we’ll be journeying into the Heart of simplicity through poetry.
Everyone in this newsletter will receive a short written poem each week
Patrons will receive an extra audio reading of the poem with a story behind it, along with guidance on how to write your own soul-drenched poetry (this is especially for those who can’t possibly imagine themselves cultivating such a skill)
Together, we will slowly work the raw threads of our Hearts into the wheel of our pens, possibly discovering what story the deepest part of us wants to tell. I hope we will have the courage to share our work in this safe space and to connect with others through their unique and potent expressions.
Let’s begin with this week’s first tip below.
Tip 1 – Expand your language
We limit our life experiences through the use of language. However, this means we can also expand our experience by broadening the use of our words too. Before encouraging what’s hiding within us to resurface, we need to be able to give Mystery a more playful place to inhabit. Here are some ideas to expand your dictionary, offering your soul’s expression a wider conduit to move through: