What three seeds do I plant today? What will grow strong as I enter the shade? What will nurture me in winters' ash white blues? A steady rain washes me free of my senses A snake dots the sky waiting to be connected Poetry whittled out of days old bones. Clackity clack clop its hooves down the road. Pages inscribed on dusty mirrors. Catching a tune before we drift off with the loons. Sea of angels, sea of sleep. Spiders dancing wherever I dig. Sea of starships, sea of leaves. What 3 things are worthy of me?
How easy I forget myself as I tumble down the hole falling into the wound again that never seems to be whole You know the kind I am talking about it stabs and festers at your spine The kind that never heals itself because we pick at it until we die I remember the night you sewed it up with golden threads of light How you shoved all the hurtful people inside then used your needles to sew it tight You smeared a purple salve on top and said, "Now it is healed." But there is always work to do for any wound to properly seal. "Here is what you need to do so you don't go spelunking in that hole. First, your honor crazy by painting a lot at home. Then you let your son lead you, helping him build new worlds. Write a bunch of poetry. Send it out into the world. No matter what you overhear, do your best work with your head up." I see my body fill with light, I lose myself in an expanding pinkish glow I see myself as a globe of love I see myself as I am really known: the fruits of my labor crack my heart into a sea of sparkling stars. "Keep repeating yourself daily until these actions become routine. Close your eyes and listen well, for I am your familiar in everything. Close your eyes and listen, pay their neglect no mind. Go ahead and be yourself, even if they don't need your kind."
Your gift arrived early, so I opened it. It was meant to be opened early. If I had opened it on Mother's Day, the disappointment may have hurt more. Opening it alone in my office protected you from criticism. I have overlooked the cheap gifts before. Today felt different, though. Inside the box, a blue cardboard box with unidentifiable blue flowers with black centers that reads Be Yourself in italics. The glue coming apart at the seams. Warped from the heat? I look again. $2 sticker on the bottom. Inside a yellow dollar store bag, three dish towels, two matching, one not, their tags still on them. I am grateful I opened the card first. Its message was touching, but dubious, even if true. More than you know, you make a difference in this world... More than you know, you spread smiles and laughter... More than you know, you inspire with your kindness... This gift hurts, more than she will ever know. Now I understand why when I ordered her gift and shipped it, the inner voice said, Just buy one thing. I thought it was because I am trying to save money. Now I know it was because her gift would be rushed. Thrown in a box. Tags on. So unlike my mother. That's when I decided to let go of the responsibility of liking everything she gives me. That's when I decided to honor the message on the box and be myself. No gifts, please, will be my future request at holidays. Your presence in my life (even if limited to texts or phone calls if I call you or letters) is the gift. For once in my life, being a mom is gift enough. Knowing the right thing to say in any given moment. Even if in doing so I release one more thing that keeps me tied to my own mother.
Opening our eyes paper thin sun warm skin not burning, not yet Opening our eyes crystal clear tears reflecting your confused anger Opening our eyes danger, danger here fists clenched, eyes blazing Opening our eyes not our rage to bear we uproot, leave you Opening your eyes sunlight singing you back home you wake up, alone Muscle memory. sunlight shaking you awake you burn the photo Present or past? Choose. hurt the ones who love you now or let your mom die Opening your heart cremating childhood remains tend your son's garden Muscle memory. son yelling in your ear, "Hey!" hold me, hear my voice Open up, irises. See us as we stand before you. Love, imperfection. Startling voices. We didn't mean any harm. Let go. Open up.
If you saw me, would you crush me? Would you step on my neck and kill me? If you saw me, would you greet me or would you turn your head the other way? Does my color make me any less fragile? If you encountered a field of my children, would you raze them to the ground? Am I only a statistic to you? Does my annihilation keep you alive? Do you choke me because I grow from concrete? What about me is so threatening that you must pin me to the ground squeezing the life giving oxygen out of me until I am no more? What was it that arrested your humanity and turned you into a vise?
My cousin died an untimely death in October. Only thirty-seven years old, he was hit by a car when he had pulled over on the side of the road and run out of gas. Nobody knows exactly where he was going. Given COVID-19, maybe he had wanted to travel. He had been out of prison for about a year, started his own business, and was sober. He had found God as he knew God, and was moving forward in life.
His death caught me off guard because it was sudden and accidental. I felt confused and sad for a week because I wasn’t sure how he died, and then it hit me: what if his soul hadn’t passed over to the other side? As a shamanic apprentice, I was aware that psychopomp might be necessary: because of my cousin’s tragic death, his soul might not be ready to leave earth. In psychopomp, a power animal spirit will speak with the soul who is stuck on earth due to a violent, traumatic, sudden or untimely death, and if the soul is willing, the spirit will guide it to the light where it can be at peace. I journeyed to my power animal to ask for help in my grieving, and to understand the truth of my cousin’s death. I witnessed my power animal perform psychopomp for my cousin by being merged with the animal spirit so that my cousin wouldn’t see me and feel disturbed or confused by my presence.
I felt great peace seeing my cousin go to the light and be with God. I felt even greater relief writing my aunt and uncle a sympathy card, assuring them that my cousin was in heaven with his master Jesus. There was some doubt on my family’s part that he wouldn’t be in heaven due to his troubled experience on earth. However, I knew from his correspondence with me while he was in prison that he had converted to Christianity, and that his soul was at peace. Although I now identify as pagan, I still hold my initial Christian walk throughout my young adulthood as an invaluable experience, in that it led me to value service, social justice, equality and nonjudgment. As a shamanic apprentice, I believe that Spirit takes multiple forms, and that it is important to honor the various modalities of those we serve as Spirit’s representative.
I also found out that my cousin wrote poetry, and so I decided to go ahead and post the two poems included with his obituary below to honor him and let his words live on here on earth. I hope his message of redemption in spite of hardship brings you hope, regardless of your religious beliefs. I have also included this Nickelback song, “If Today was your Last Day,” to honor my cousin’s journey, and remember that every day is a gift, and we need to live with purpose, gratitude, bravery and dignity.
The New Me By: S.C. Hello, Me, it's the new me Old me you're dead I am a new creation through Christ Jesus Old things have passed away The new me has begun now I will shoot my shot and this will be to the whole world I needeth no bullets nor a gun This battle will be won Fought with the word of God My aim is true and so is my heart The target has been acquired Sickness, sin and disease is being destroyed Through Jesus Christ who died on the Cross Thank you, Jesus! Not Afraid By: S.C. I have fought from birth Born with a noose around my neck Battled rejection, addiction, evil spirits, prison Been poisoned Sickness and disease lived in bad difficult straits But when redemption stomped Satan on the Head through Christ Jesus Satan lost the taste of victory over me My Savior not afraid of death Went to the gates of hell and stole the devil's horse and rode hard Side by side with the Holy Spirit slashing demons the whole way Long Live the Lord God Almighty Thank you, Jesus, from my heart I want to be a warrior for real like you I am not afraid to live for God and Jesus Christ my Savior
A painting I made to show how grief feeds new life.
Thank you for reading, and feel free to share stories of how you honor your loved ones who have died in the comments section below.
Here’s a link to the October issue of Ang(st) Feminist Zine. The theme is hair. My piece is titled “My Unkempt Angel” and discusses my experiences in childbirth. The above image reflects my piece’s theme of hair as spiritual consort in challenging experiences.
Trigger warning: many of these pieces evolve around our relationship to our hair, but how our perception of it is informed by our culture, family, significant other, etc. There is some explicit content, but it merits close study and compassionate witnessing, as it highlights the all too familiar struggles women experience around body shame, self-image, sexism and self-acceptance within dysfunctional homes, relationships and cultures at large. There are some pretty amazing photos, comics, illustrations and short prose, fiction or poems within this magazine, so I encourage you to take your time and really immerse yourself in the fifty pages of content.
