I attempt poetry, but I never have really gotten into photography. That doesn’t mean that I’m not moved–straight to the gut–by some graphic art (does that cover photography as well as the other kind of art?) –my memory– Some photographs, and what they can do with them, is utterly miraculous. It’s like a finger through the skin touching my heart. I received this one in the mail recently–don’t know the photographer–but I’d just like to share:
Amazing sharing. I’m reblogging.
I am not good at communicating my pain. It’s my greatest weakness. I am terrible at asking for help, I am terrible at reaching out to you, and I am worst at this when I’m distracted by physical discomfort.
I have often been told what a “coper” I am. How well I cope with stressful situations, how well I cope with shock and pain. Not because I am coping, but because I communicate these things differently.
What is pain? How do you quantify it? How do you get across just how much or how little you are in?
I am autistic, which means that I have a social communication condition, which means that I do not naturally or intuitively understand or (perhaps more importantly) perform social communication.
Most of the time I can do it all. I have learnt your ways, I may not understand why THIS QUESTION needs THIS…
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Helpful sharing from Child of Cynicism
Whether you live alongside mental illness during day-to-day life, or assist someone who does: it can be an uphill battle. A fight that it feels as though it can never be won; relentless and soul destroying.
If I didn’t understand, or didn’t suffer from mental illness personally, perhaps I would too be telling you to “snap out of it”, or that “you’re being ungrateful for the good that you’ve been blessed with”. But the truth is, I do live alongside psychiatric disorders, and have done for most of my life. Within that relatively short span, I have learnt one of the simplest, yet almost universally unaccepted, facts of life: you feel what you feel, and sometimes, nearly all the time, that’s okay. It is not disrespectful to the less fortunate to be unhappy. It is what it is, and there’s no blame in that.
However, maintaining a sustainable-perhaps even enjoyable-level…
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The Past
My Self, anchored in the past at three, inhales the earth’s nectar following the rain. Pure air, receptive soil, the world a vast cocoon of promise.
Unnoticed, earth
Worms float belly up below
Better not to know.
DEAR ANCESTOR
Your tombstone stands among the rest;
Neglected and alone.
The name and dates are chiseled out
On polished, marbled stone.
It reached out to all who care
It is too late to mourn,
You did not know that I exist
You died ere I was born.
Yet each of us are cells of you
In flesh, in blood, in bone.
Our blood contracts and beats a pulse
Entirely not our own.
Dear Ancestor, the place you filled
One hundred years ago
Spreads out among the ones you left
Who would have loved you so.
I wonder if you lived and loved,
I wonder if you knew
That someday I would find this spot,
And come to visit you.
Appears to mesh with Jung’s “Shadow Self.” I’m reblogging to my page on Our Shadow Selves: By kristalhunter
At some level, we spend our energy trying to hide our unresolved issues. We think that if we can keep those negative issues at bay they aren’t apart of who we really are. However, all of our experienced emotions negative and positive are very much apart of us. The feelings that we wish we didn’t have impact us until we face them and move beyond them. When we spend energy trying to ignore feelings we don’t want, we actually end up feeling worse and perhaps without even knowing why.
In stillness, we can recognize our negative feelings without being attached to them. In stillness, we face those issues and they soon cease to have power over us. By clearing out our negative fears we create space and we open a new channel of energy; energy of light and possibility. Finding stillness through meditation will do two things; bring us to a state…
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Loving and lovely.
If I could turn back the clock and revisit the years
The worry and fears would feature less in our lives
I would hold your hand tightly and cherish the tears
I would be kinder, argue less, smile more and realise
That the memories and moments and having you near
Are worth more than ever as ever-swiftly time flies.
©Alison Jean Hankinson
This is my contribution to the birthday open link night at d’Verse. I am a November birthday. This is about my children, especially my firstborn twin, who is a long way from home and is bravely making her way in the world with no family at her side. When I look back at all the moments I wish there had been more time not less.
WHO?
Our grandparents live
only in our memories. When we go,
they go.
When you go, I go.
Why care if we’re forgot?
As if we never were?
I speak of myself, now.
Why do I care if I am forgot?
As if I never was, never
strove to overcome my limitations,
only partly successsful,
yearning yet afraid.
If truth be told, my heart is shriveled
from underuse.
My children and grandchildren
know this. Perhaps
being forgot is not
so bad after all.
(About 2009)
There once was an owl who howled
“Who’s there? Who’s there?”
“It’s your mother, you feather head!” came the reply.
“Catch us if you can,” came others, “we’re your supper,”
and everyone ran off in different directions at once,
for this was an owl who needed glasses, and whose
mother was still feeding him.
Photo by Bethanyk, obtained during my re-blog of her Wise Being of the Night
Cogito Ergo Sum
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