I wrote this piece in 2009, after my life had been turned on it’s side by my partner’s death and before it had been turned upside down a couple of years later with my own breakdown. I post it today for National Poetry Month because the therapeutic value of poetry is often quite literally a lifesaver. This reminds me not only of why I write, but also that everyone has a story, and sometimes those who hurt us the most have reasons beyond our own perception or even comprehension that may or may not justify their behavior, but at least offer an explanation to the quintessential question “what the bleep is wrong with you?”. Once confronted with this, we have an opportunity to see how we really aren’t so different from those who anger us. This allows us to transform our anger into forgiveness with compassion, rather than using forgiveness as a reluctant act to bring us an ever elusive sense of peace. When we can connect with those who harm us, and with those whom we harm, the healing power of forgiveness transforms our perception and experience.
I remember clearly the way I shook with rage as I desperately tried to vent my frustration… the more I vented, the more I shook, until my heart started beating so fast and hard that I knew I would have serious physiological problems if I didn’t stop… in a final act of hurt, I plastered my anger, my own victimization, across the screens of anyone who dared read that page. I went to bed, knowing full well that I was only fueling the flames that started all of this, so I went back and erased what I had written, and wrote instead a farewell to this drama… I pulled back, as I had tried in so many other ways, and saw the bigger picture and had a sense of peace from it. Later, the other person chose another target and continued their game, and I kept checking on the latest happenings, observing the whisperings of schaddenfreude in my own soul.
Later, I watched a movie of justice and vindication, and saw myself as fugitive from my own understanding of justice in my behavior… the leash of spiritual awareness tightened around my ego, then let go to see what I would do next.
I went back and looked again, and saw the circles of justice happening without my help; another transgressor of dramas past had come round with a refreshing perspective, however fleeting my mind wanted it to be, I had to thank him for sharing in an effort to encourage more of the same, rather than the macabre features that characterized many of his past offerings .
Today I realize that the wisdom found in art is often a prayer more than a statement… a mirror of potential that accentuates the quintessential expression of spirit through self. I look at my own offerings and find polar expressions of my own experience… as an artist, I take the emotional realm more seriously than most, often more than I should. I delve into the wealth of experiences my life has offered and ask Spirit to guide me so I can make some sense of what seems to be out of my control; ultimately finding that boundaries and definitions are as fluid or static as my own will… in the course of this exploration, forgiveness of my own shortcomings, bias and material desire yields to Grace, and I fall into her safety…
You and I
are not so very different
we want the same things
study the same philosophies
live in our own heads more often than we care to admit
live in our hearts long enough to fathom the depths of the soul
we see the unseen beauty in things most care to not look upon
we hear the deeper meaning of words and music
we answer the call of a soul in need
yet we choose opposite paths in the face of conflict
neither is wholly right or wrong;
simply reflections of the potential of choice…
the more consciously i choose to see myself, the better i will understand you…
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