Stride ~ the idioms

~to hit one's stride~

each day with intent

forging a path to somewhere

preparing and plotting a course

then literally setting out on foot

stretch and warm the muscles

tighten the strings on my shoes

the lean slightly forward

and begin with the first step

the breeze against my face

and the rhythmic sound of my feet

is becoming a soundtrack of motion

the only thing accompanying me

as muscles start to burn

and breath strains in my lungs

I focus all of my thoughts

and stride and breath become one

standing tall, shoulders back

deep and full inhale

exhale hard, making room

for new air to fill my lungs

speed is not of any note

as I face a steep incline

distance is the measure

as I lean into the hill

at the precipice a sharp inhale

the path before me levels out

my steps propel me forward

and I find a steady stride

~to take it in stride~

practice daily, center yourself

 with intent and an earnest plan

read and pray and focus

and then open your eyes to see

train your body, train your mind

feed your spirit and your soul

relish the ache that you feel in both

as the dormant parts of you wake

open your eyes with possibility

this is the first time this moment has ever been

before the weight of the world descends

revel in the simple joys

sunrise, singing birds, the quiet of your mind

the simplicity of your soul

the moments before the world awakes

there is plenty of time each day

to feel what life will present

to find the appropriate reactions

and make the required change

but in the first moments of morning

in the first breaths you breathe

steel yourself with the strength

and the take the day in stride

Paper Airplanes of Onionskin

her eyes take in the pages

of the volume in her hand

written in blood on onionskin

life made real on a page

she studies the intricate lines

the ink infused in the thread

then holds it up to the light

to gauge the permanence of the stain

with its cockle finish and texture

the words could be easily erased

but with the volume tight in her grasp

there is no way for this to take place

she crafts these ledgers herself

knife wielded by a deftly skilled hand

peels away the layers

laying out sheets of the cepa skin

she binds them tightly with silken cord

a place for the story to be told

then wraps it in thick strong leather

to protect it from the cold

she keep the pages viable

from becoming cracked and worn

in slightly humid temperature

 always safe and warm

she works diligently at her craft

in the late hours by candlelight

music floating through the room

to keep the distractions at bay

the stories keep her rapt

each page revealing the next

her task to create another page

as each previous one is read

in her workshop with tool lined walls

she takes great pride in her skill

at being the force, the impetus

that demands these pages be filled

at times the reading gets tangled

the words on the page begin to blur

the scrawl becomes a scribble

and the meaning can be quite unclear

this is when she tears the page

from the stricture of the book

and folds it with care and caution

with the same skilled, artisans hand

then she launches it gently

into the air and it sails the room

 she sits back watches with pride

as her paper airplane flies

 

~for my muse~

 

 

https://soundcloud.com/andreathepoet/paper-airplanes-of-onionskin

 

 

 

Education

In three days’ time I will feel you more deeply

a flood in me will violently unleash

Desire unbound will drive me to distraction

I’m not so sure I can take much more than this

Awakened and layers being peeled away

education in the finer arts

I, the student, feeling as if I know nothing

clumsy, unsettled, yet craving ever more

We talked of mirrors and being seen in them

the reflection of oneself in someone’s eye

How that sight can make one suddenly run

the illusion of themselves to clear to see

I feel the depth of that mirror in my soul

that the way I see myself has suddenly changed

That I have been exposed in all my need

and naked I am fighting this desperate need to bolt

Bolt away or bolt the door, no matter

the end result the same, safely away

From the eye with the dead set stare

that looks upon and in to me

Unwavering and level

even as I writhe in pain

I am raw with want for you

I ache for your attentions on me

I cannot cover the desire

in the crafting of words and poetry

You are far to skilled and far too strong

for me to play the role

That I have always played

that I was the one who was strong

To never have been in a place that was safe

to readily let down the guard

To admit to hurt, to wanting

I do not know how to feel

The intensity of these things

and so I’ve cut them out

With sharpened blades on darkened nights

to make them go away

The scars like badges of honor

that I hoped would speak for themselves

But the questions never came

and still the scars remain

You, this stranger, thousands of miles

a million lifetimes away

Saw the scars I’d hidden

and have begun to call them by name.

Leaving hints and clues

opening long closed doors

Now that they have heard their names

they have learned they also have voice

They whispered only briefly

as instantly they were heard

And reassured by a guiding hand

that they need not know the words

To speak slowly yet freely

but now they are starting to scream

You smile at this, I know

but it scares the life out of me

I’m losing control of my control

and you tell me this is alright

So badly torn between the longing to feel

and letting that need expose all of me

 

 

~for my muse~

Owning my surrender

I have never written on this blog before anything that is not poetry but since the point of this whole thing in the first place is to chronicle a journey, this is part of that journey.

It’s no secret, if you’ve read my work that I am an addict. Almost 15 years clean but sobriety is an issue that has recurred and continues to be a struggle. I am taking a trip soon that will offer me the opportunity to see some old friends and spend some time in a situation that to me feels like too much temptation and just an atmosphere that would be better avoided. As the time approaches I can feel the tension growing and just and unease about the whole thing.

The thing about addiction for me that is so frustrating is the feeling that I somehow have ended up ‘less’ than everyone else. “Why can’t I just have a drink at the end of the day like anyone else?” There is a whole series of ‘why’s” for me that fall into that category and in the end I feel a resentment like I have been cheated out of something…interesting thought really as for me it kind of seeps into other areas of my life as well. I find when I am struggling in situations where I feel the most helpless is when I want to drink. Like somehow since I can’t get what I want I have an “I’ll show you” kind of feeling with taking a drink. The thing is the only person suffering from my choice to take a drink is me. I suffer the consequences of those decisions in the moment, because chemically alcohol affects me differently than ‘regular’ people. And I also suffer after the fact the repercussions of the guilt and shame for not being stronger than my addiction. What happens to me emotionally after drinking is an overwhelming feeling that I am not worthy or good enough and that of course is what perpetuates addiction, that is when taking the next drink (or whatever your addiction of choice) numbs that pain and keeps you feeling nothing yet spiraling further down and so it continues.

I’ve recently been up against this wall again off and on. I am going through a situation that I am struggling with compounded by life (well, who doesn’t have to deal life right?). So heading toward the trip mentioned in the beginning of this I decided to take myself out of the situation and not attend the function. The response from my friends was ‘we won’t let you slip, just show up’. While that is a nice thing to say, it really doesn’t touch what is going on. It isn’t anyone else’s responsibility to keep me sober, it is mine. Whether or not I chose to take a drink in that situation either is not the issue at hand, it is what I need to come to grips with emotionally about ‘why’ I feel the way I feel about it. I am not yet a place where I understand those things yet and that is the reason to not be in a situation where I am likely to find myself frustrated and anxious.

The thing about recovery in general that I really struggle with is that the healing process has behind it the idea that you have to surrender your helplessness against the disease before you can heal. That for me again perpetuates the whole idea that I am somehow ‘less’. I am not helpless in any way and to drink is a choice that I make. For me, I need to understand why that ‘less than’ feeling is there, where it originated, and how to heal it. There is no surrender, in fact for me, it’s more of a battle to get to the heart of the matter and heal it.

Taking ownership of this situation by opting out of it is a huge step for me in saying ‘hey, I’m not ok’. For me it’s always been a very ‘hidden’ thing and not something that I openly discuss while it is happening. I don’t reach out in those moments when things are at that point. Recently I wrote a piece for this blog called “Addiction Feels” that describes the moments leading up to taking a drink and what that feels like physically and got some wonderful support from a friend and from the blogging poets in this community. That support is what I drew from in making the decision to not go into a situation that I have reservations about and to trust my emotions and unease enough to know that even though it may seem that I am overreacting, this decision feels right to me and I am allowed to trust that and not worry what anyone else thinks or fear that I might be seen as weak. That again, is a huge part of this for me, that ‘surrender’ thing feels a weakness. So in this decision I feel like I have taken control of something that often feels like it controls me.

I feel a little stronger today.