Devotion

What’s underneath this madness? Devotion?

I cant see a future without him now that I’m standing at our death door. It was fun to play with the idea of leaving when I was still in a familiar hallway.

Now I am numb again. Familiar only to my pain, and not ours.

But it will return.

Rumi says, keep digging your well, water is there somewhere.

Is it devotion?

~Nikki, The Soul Reporter

Coveted

I feel coveted and
sometimes admired, but nothing else, 
never held. 

I also don't hold, just space and frequencies, 
probably, also responsibilities
but not hands or faces or 
give hugs and kisses. 

I've a lot to learn 
A lot to give
A lot to receive. 


~Nikki, The Soul Reporter
Photo by Raphael Brasileiro on Pexels.com

Indestructible

I wake up wrapped in a hidden grief. A grief so big I’m grateful it’s hidden. The personal losses and changes, along with the national and global might take lifetimes to process and who even knows what is left over from other lives. It truly does seem to be too much and yet, here we are, here I am, here is Life- an undeniable and indestructible force.

~Nikki, The Soul Reporter

Closing the Doors

Might as well find the joy while the world burns, right?

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I am shutting the doors, I have decided, to where the trauma lives.

I am not shutting the door because I want to avoid what is there.

I am shutting the door because for 30+ years all I have done is open these doors.

Within the rooms I have explored, processed, dug deep and long.

There has been healing and transformation. Incredible insights and connections made.

There has also been torment.

So today I messaged the therapists and the energy workers and said, thank you and goodbye.

I want to enjoy my life for a change, I said. I want to hear my inner voice again.

I have seen hell, so may as well turn around and see what else there is.

~Nikki, The Soul Reporter

Tiny Spurts

I feel like I move through quicksand to return to you
Grasping, climbing again and again...

~

These tiny spurts of running
These tiny words of poetry
They may all amount to something 
A marathon or a book
Or just may be tiny spurts
So I don't sink into the sand
To say at the end I never stopped grasping.

~Nikki, The Soul Reporter
Photo by Diego Madrigal on Pexels.com

Tell Me Everything

A poem.

Tell me how much you love him

Tell me how much you want to leave him

Tell me how he hurts you

Tell me how he loves you

Tell me why you’re afraid to stay

Tell me why you’re afraid to leave

Tell me why you fear you’ve been replaced

Tell me what you still want with him

Tell me how hard this has been

Tell me how this love affair began

Tell me how he holds you back

Tell me how he lets you drown

Tell me how you hold yourself back

Tell me how you let yourself drown

Tell me how you suffer

Tell me everything until there’s nothing left to tell

Tell me everything so we both understand and can move on.

~Nikki, The Soul Reporter

The Moon Turned to Snowflakes

The moon turned to snowflakes

The night a woman’s rights were taken. ~ a dream I had

That was the dream the night before RvW was overturned. The sun, to my left, and the moon, to my right shared the same panel of sky. I stood in a boat, on the ocean, near the shore. I was mesmerized by the moon, for the sun was just a faint, dull circle shrouded in gray haze. The moon, also shrouded but not in haze, but within a shiny half black and silver cavern. I could not take my eyes off it. And then the moon crystallized, transforming into giant, majestic snowflakes. A mist began to overtake land and sea, and the tide turned; chaos ensued and I had to get to shore. But the point was the snowflakes.

~

At the request of a therapist, I’m again, picking up the book, Women Who Run With the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes. I reread the introduction. In it she lists symptoms of a woman who has lost her Wild. I have the majority of them, but this one captured me: “…or intertia because that is the safest place for one who has lost her instincts.” I opened my journal and wrote: I have lost my fucking instincts! Last time I truly had those was in my early 20’s. I was with a child, but without a man, and not tainted, domesticated or yet fully reactive to my childhood trauma.

Not only have I lost my instincts, I’ve lost my creativity. It reminds me of season 4 of Stranger Things. Eleven has lost her “superpowers” (of course given and rediscovered to her by “man.”) Like a miner I am digging, seeking in the dark where I lost my superpowers. Was it one event or the slices and cuts of many….? I am also asking, is it too late? In Stranger Things, they keep seeking, digging and fighting and face the darkest spaces and entities just to understand, restore balance and help the people.

The reading of “Wolves” is naming the longing, the awakening of my Wild and also the resistance and push back to what oppresses it. I’m seeing how deeply I have blamed myself for the inertia that caused the weight gain, the depression, the silence, the relationships I am still in and the books I’ve still not written. I’ve been domesticated, altered and suppressed by the patriarchal culture— maybe not specifically and overtly, but generally, collectively and covertly. Inertia, then, was and often still is my safe place.

But I am awakening, beginning little by little to open my eyes, seeing the oppressor for what it is and seeing the impact it has had on me, on everything and everyone. Yesterday on my walk, I took the “short cut”, over a wooded bridge across a marshy area. I stopped and noticed the red-winged blackbirds in the reeds, the cattails bowing like patrons at a queen’s parade and the water, murky with green algae film. On the surface it looks stagnant and toxic— inert. But, who or what but Life itself knows what is present below, what organisms are a vital part to all of Life.

I have become swamped. Heavy, murky, seemingly lost my way and can barely move. Within my own inertia a self has been formed, a self safe and hidden in the murky waters, afraid to move too far from the swamp. Stay too long, naturally toxins, disease and self-defeating behaviors flourish. But open my eyes and really see where I am and start to smell the stink of unmoving water and start wiggling my fingers and toes, and becoming mesmerized, not by something more in some other place beyond myself as I did in my youth, but mesmerized by what I know is already present, and becoming the snowflake inside the moon. 🌙

~Nikki, The Soul Reporter

Guest Post: we and the cosmos

By Lou DiVirgilio

What would you think, if I ask you to explain the workings of the Cosmos in relationship to us earthlings?  Do you believe there is a connection, and if so, how are we connected? Here is the dictionary definition of the cosmos: the universe considered as a harmonious and orderly system; a nebulous definition at best, no help there.

All societies are created out of the minds and ideas of human beings.  That there should not exit a direct causative relationship between the thoughts, conduct, and ideas of human beings, and our society, would be absurd.  Add to the above reason that human beings are, in composition, microcosmic representations of the macrocosm, and that relationship should begin to crystallize with  in you the kind of relationship that exists between you and the Cosmos. The knowledge of the processes and phases that function within human beings can be applied by direct analogy to the processes and phases on a larger scale, namely our human societies, and the Cosmos.

We humans, are primarily operating on a lower, animal level of our capacities, even though, in truth our total composition is capable of operating at an extremely high level. The animals have a certain ingrained instinct for letting other animals be, but because we humans place extraordinary attention on our minds and it’s thoughts, we intital our thoughts to move freely with no control, and thus strangle our higher capacities.  We become satisfied and entrenched within our lower perceptions.  These lower perceptions amalgamate into a certain stable, cliche truth, which in turn brings us a certain amount of reliable stability. We take our reality from our senses: sight, smell, hearing, taste, touch.  Our senses are a part of our material faculties, therefore they are objective, and present a physical reality.  However, our senses receive input on a multi-dimensional field, but consciously interpret only a fractional part.  For example, physics tells us that the total known range of light waves is from far infrared at .3 nanometers. Yet the average range of light waves, visible to our vision, is from 400 to 700 nanometers.  We therefor, see only the smallest fraction of what is going on.  Since our perceptions focus on a very small fraction of the comprehensive whole, our understanding is consequently greatly limited.  Therefore, we should not give our senses much credence.

To Continue reading, click on Lou’s blog.

Guest Post: withdrawal

By Louis DiVirgilio

I am leaving behind the rest of my kind, and removing myself from the race.  I am washing clean society’s scene, and rinsing my mouth of bad taste.

I am withdrawing from muzzled mouths, machine-gunning blank words with each round; from the printed accounts of gruesome, terrible crime; from the noise and the dirt and the slum and the grime.  I am leaving this ocean of bullshit, far, far behind.

As the earth spins in orbital glide, the sun shades its back and lights its front side.  Untold lives end with the night.  Untold lives begin with the light.  Life seems to float on a pool of extremes; floating from best to worst or worst to best, with occasional leveling.

I’ll not be swayed.  I am determined to leave, and once I am gone there’ll be no weeping on my shirt sleeve.  Withdrawing from an economic mutation; free enterprise, capitalism, and press-chasing power; from increase the imports, tariff the davenports, duty-free whisky quarts; from inflate the dollar, deflate its value; tax all the income, who is the victim?  From grow with the country, consume a T.V.; use a lawyer regularly to gain a 3% increase in G.N.P.; from inflation, taxation and money orientation.  I am taking leave of it all, and I’ll burn my credit card as a symbol of withdrawal.

To continue reading click to Lou’s blog here

Guest Post: Who Am I

By Louis DiVirgilio

“Who am I”

This is a difficult question to answer, although most people will have their answer at the ready.  They will begin to give a litany of their identifications; I am a human,  a male, a son, a father, a white man, a Christian, a student, etc…  Yet, does their identifications explicitly define the question of “Who I am?”  It does up to a certain narrow perspective.  If we include only the material aspects of our perspective, it does deliver a relative truth of who we are, all in terms of our material interpretation. But it seems we always identify ourselves with what we see, with what we touch, with what we smell, with what we hear, with what we possess, all exclusively with the objective world.

There is a poem written by, Edwin Arlington Robinson, called “Richard Cory.”  Richard Cory was, “empirically slim, always human when he talked, admirably schooled in every grace, richer than a king, he even glittered when he walked;” simple people wished they were in his place.  Yet, one calm, summer night, went home and put a bullet through his head.

Of all of his accomplishments, and material possessions, none brought Richard true, lasting satisfaction or joy.  What was missing in Richard Cory’s life that made him take his life?  There is a song that asks a question, “Is that all there is?” and the answer resounds, “If that is all there is, what’s the use of living.”  As human beings we have a cosmic, interior urge to expand.  If we live in a 6′ by 8′ room, we will aspire to live in a 12′ by 12′ room, and if that room feels enclosed we will look for a larger room.

Click here to Lou’s blog and continue reading