They’ve been playing that gorilla video as often as they did the 9-11 attack.  I must have been about one–my long term memory wasn’t too good–but I’ve been told that my parents held me up to see the gorilla at the Washington, D.C.  zoo , whereupon he grabbed my hand and pulled. Fortunately it was my glove that came off and not my hand.  Folks seem ready to guilt-trip the boy’s parents. I hope they don’t turn around and guilt-trip their son.  Can you imagine being three years old, scared out of your wits, and shamed for the loss of the park’s gorilla because you didn’t mind your parents??  One or two words could do the trick of carrying that load for the rest of his life. When I was seven our pet canary died and I was guilt-tripped about that. I don’t remember ever having been given the responsibility for feeding him..

Janof-Bulman and Frieze (1983) have studied the effects of victimization on those considered traumatized.  When I compare it with my small trauma in 1971, I can really relate. It helps me make sense out of my psychological  reaction.

They observe that much of the psychological toll derives from the shattering of  very basic assumptions that victims have held about themselves and their world. The authors cite three types of assumptions, shared by most people, that are especially affected.  “The three assumptions are: 1)the belief in personal invulnerablity 2)the perception of the world as meaningful and comprehensible; 3) the view of ourselves in a positive  light.”

Most folks believe that we are protected from misfortune by being good, worthy people–that we get what we deserve and deserve what we get.  The victim will have to reestablish a world that is meaningful.  The victim will also have to regain a sense of self-worth, strength and autonomy.

My small “trauma” consisted of giving birth to a Down’s Syndrome daughter. I had already had 3 other “perfect” babies and in no way anticipated that this delivery would be different.  I can remember being in a therapy group in which I spoke of the world suddenly being unpredictable; that maybe bad things were begining to happen to me. Seven days after giving birth to my baby I took her with me to attend a psychological marathon with other graduate psychology students. I recall saying that it felt like the only real things in the world were death and mongolism. A fellow student said that the milk and comforting I gave her were also real.

One of the things I did in trying to make sense of it included going to a psychic who told me good-feeling make-believe things like that my baby and I had known each  other in a former life and she decided to be born to me in order to teach me, as a gift. –All of which of course I gobbled up, because  I was so  needy for meaningfulness.  That temporarily made sense of “why me?” but did not really address why did this happen to my baby?  Well, I thought and thought and finally figured out a rationale that I could live with. Since Down’s Syndrome occurs at the point of initial splitting of the first seed, my daughter never, ever had a chance of being a different person. It was all or nothing. She would either exist as herself or not be. At that point I decided that if her life was overall a happy one, that it would be okay she had been born a Downs. This helped me tremendously with my guilt feelings, which were not mentioned by the authors except maybe viewing ourselves in a positive light..

As an aside, when my father–who molested me as a child–died a couple of years later, I returned to the psychic, who was also a minister, and asked him to do a religious burial service which included some explanation from my father’s past life experience which prompted his molestation.  The pastor was shocked and refused me. Apparently the psychic business didn’t mix with his brand of religion.

The article referred to was in Journal of Social Issues, 1983, 39, 2, 1-18.

After I had to put my blind deaf cat down, I decided I’d better get a rug cleaner in, especially since my sensitive-nosed family were coming to attend the Nelsonville Music Festival next week.  So I had to go through stuff and get other things off the carpet. In doing so, I came across a letter written for me from a co-member of a writing group at the French Art Colony in Gallipolis on August 8, 1982.  Wherever Jena Harper is, I hope she won’t mind my sharing it with you. (I’m stating copyright claims for her).

“It is fitting that my 49th year should begin at a hotel bar in a dingy river town on a hot August midnight. Outside, barges push through Ohio waves, their Cyclops eyes staring straight through up-river mist. The full moon is a pearl wrapped in gauze. A car with its rear end hiked up on oversized tires struts slowly down the street, full of pride and baby faces. Parking meters stand with closed red eyes, not seeing who parks at midnight, not keeping time.

“It is cool at the bar and a sad song slides toward me through the water rings. A revolving Michelob sign glows green on the faces of the musicians, giving them a mystique never seen in sunshine. The drum rims exchange silver glances with the ice in my glass. Steel guitar strings wave in and out of my mood and fringes on a silk shirt, rising and falling with the lyrics, mesmerize me. I am drinking Coke, but I am drunk on memories, staggering over whys and wherefores. Past years lean over my shoulder and whisper obscenities in my ear. Beyond the neon signs in the window, years-to-come beckon and when I leave here, they will be lurking around the corner, staring at me with alley-cat eyes as I disguise myself as a  shadow, slipping from lamppost to lamppost, hoping to pass undetected. But they will overtake me. There is no turning back. The dead-end is out there. Somewhere, just ahead.”

NOTE FROM NAN: I heard that she subsequently got married.

For Dverse Open Link

THE WORLD IS FLAT AFTER ALL

Dubbed Democracy, it used to be
top of the line, the lead ship, at sea,
and on the land it served us well,
until the strains of its death knell
fell,

baring an underbelly swole
with all the pilfered things they stole
in broad daylight, and on t.v.!
Gone is the half-belief in he
who’ll take us safely to the shore
while staying steadfast to the core.

The compass nestles in the deep
while those on board remain asleep.
They used to say the earth was round,
that right makes might, but I found
that all I knew I now know not,
nor how to tell the truth from rot,
and not so sure that we’ll endure.

Goodbye before we’ve met.

How fair is that?   I’ll miss not

knowing you, and yet

suspect that further down the bar

a surprise awaits us both.

WILL ANYONE WRITE ABOUT BLOGGING?

Is it too tense, driven, competitive or anxiety-producing to qualify as a past- time that soothes, refreshes and relaxes  and can I lull you gently with it,  sit in nature and rest with you?  I’m not so grandiose to think that Hayes Spencer will even notice. It’s just that I have an ornery streak and when asked to relax that’s when I really get going!

I’ll give it “invigorating” and “challenging” and it often puts me to sleep right at my computer. Does that count? Then too, one of my blogs is “Relief–Refreshing,” which does calm and refresh. Now I’d better get over to it quick before I get stressed thinking about breaking the rules!  (Or whether I’m going to goof up again trying to post to Dverse,)

my own cubby nest

chirping out birdsong’s delight

being free at last

Green. It makes me think of grin and grind.

And grime. Color me green and I

look like a corpse.  But listen up!

Green foliage exudes a healing,

taken not by spoon; it bathes the eye.

Without psychosynthesis we would — will–

expire.

For Dverse 5-16-16

1.Tournesol dans un Jardin   cheryllynnroberts.wordpress.com—  A little bit about moi:I am a Family Life Educator/life skills facilitator and counsellor on a help line for youths. I have been working in the helping profession for 25+ years and volunteered in various capacities. I’m a mother of 2 adult children, a nana, a sister,  and proud owner of a Siberian-mix cat, Bette, I refer to as my BFF (best feline friend). This blog was once called Cher Shares where I started writing prose,flash fiction and various forms of poetry. Then I fell in love with Haiku, so I changed this to Tournesol dans un Jardin and my nom de plume for Haiku and other Japanese forms in poetry is Tournesol (sunflower). I try to follow daily prompts at Carpe Diem Haiku Kai where our host Chèvrefeuille is dedicated to this form, is a published poet as well and encourages his followers in crafting this beautiful form of writing. I am still learning…so much to learn but this form is like painting a picture of a moment in time…in words in the classical form which would 17 syllables in three lines, 5-7-5 although if your thought is expressed in less, that`s okay too.

2. Traces of the Soul  (Oliana) Whispering Insights of this and that, then and here.  Hello and Welcome to Traces of the Soul where I try to Whisper Insights.  I’m a woman, a person, a mom, a nana, a youth counsellor, a sister, a lover sometimes,  a loyal friend, compassionate volunteer and lifelong student of life. I am a lover of poetry and the written word.  As I explore the written word in various forms, I am enjoying myself as well as discovering traces of my soul as I continue on my spiritual journey. I may write poetry, a personal journal or attempt several flash fiction prompts out there.  The place I explore my inner soul the most are with Dear Emma and prompts at The Seekers Dungeon.    I use a pseudonym here so I can freely write whatever crosses my mind but this name is still personal. Olirepresents my son, Ana my daughter and Kim is what I used to call my sister when I was little.  I have another blog where I write solely Japanese form poetry under the pseudonym, Tournesol and another where I advocate for mental health and social justice.  However, here at Traces of the Soul, I can be just me…uncensored. I am from Montreal where we have long winters and I love snow up to December 26th ONLY thank you very much.  It is pretty if you do not have to get to work and are sitting in a cottage up in the mountains and like to snow shoe or ski…I do neither.  I lived here all my life except for a 10 year leap to Toronto which certainly changed my life…there IS life outside of Quebec.  If you are not a Québécois, you may not understand that…we tend to stay close to home a lot. tracesofthesoul.wordpress.com/…/dear- emma  tracesofthesoul.wordpress.com/…/dear- emma-  This blog is about my thoughts, reflections and memories. Sometimes they will be personal and my way of processing certain life situations. I know, I am not unique in many of my thoughts but somehow, writing this into a blog…having readers as witnesses…sometimes gives me comfort. So thank you for dropping by. I feel honoured that you may read a blog or two as while I am Whispering Insights. View all posts by Oliana

3. kanzen sakkanzensakura.wordpress.comura    South meets East: Poetry and Musings – words of the seasons  Welcome to my website – it’s South Meets East: Fried chicken and Sushi, magnolias and cherry blossoms, cut off shorts and kimonos. Haiku, recipes, Samurai, romance – oh my!  I’ve been writing since I was 6 and cooking since I was knee high to my papa and had to stand on a chair to watch him cooking.  I am a trained chef but escaped that scene to cook food I love for those I love.  I became interested in Japan –  history, food, culture when I was 11.  On a field trip to the Smithsonian for school, I escaped the gaggle of screaming kids and wandered. In the wanderings I discovered the Freer gallery and happy day! discovered Hokusai’s Great Wave on guest exhibit.  I stood enthralled in front of that small woodprint and was instantly captured by the detail and life.  Japan nestled in my heart from that day forward. I am a Southern woman and was born into an old and eccentric Southern family; not like those dark and tortured families by Faulkner but more like the Addams Family if they spoke with a drawl, complete with odd relatives and odder friends.  I am known for my fried chicken, tater salad, Japanese Cotton Cheesecake, sunomono, and nanner pudd’n.  I write classic haiku, “free range” poetry, some fiction, some musings, and about cooking and family.  But sometimes, a bit twisted.  After all, Addams Family, y’all. I am also a woman of the world having traveled extensively, several times to Japan and Europe and across the US and Canada. I make my own udon and sushi. I am a woman of the universe being a true geek and follower of Star Wars, Star Trek and have a couple of Next Gen style uniforms in my closet (engineering services).  String theory and origami make me equally happy and sometimes my humor is not quite…..normal.  My poetry isn’t that good but I keep trying.  Please comment and let me know!  I wrote my first haiku when I was six and there is a story about that. Some Interests are Cell Phone Photography , cooking, and food history. In my past I have done food photography and styling – freelance, bartended, autopsy photographer, ballroom dancing instructor, chef, and most recently, retired infrastructure engineer. Because I am only 4’10”, a katana is too long for me; therefore I wield a wakizashi: her name is Minimakaze (South Wind).   I go back to school in May for Pharmacy! (When Life throws you Lemons post.) I am married to a wonderful man who is every bit as odd as I.  I hope you will visit often and will follow my blog; it’s an odd mixture but that’s okay. Be welcome, be blessed and leave behind some of the happiness you bring

4. https://lonelyblueboy.wordpress.com/  I’m just a writer with clinical depression and social anxiety. I write poems, short stories, and I’m currently working on a mental illness romantic novel. I’m a musician too. I sing and play the drums when life sucks. Music is so nostalgic for me because I used to be excellent in it. And I promised myself to learn the guitar, piano, and violin before I die. That’s another quote down there, and for the same reason, I’m not good at endings. “The more powerful and original a mind, the more it will incline towards the religion of solitude” —Aldous Huxley

5.   https://lillianthehomepoet.com/  As a young mom, many many years ago, I used to tell my children when they were in their tremendous twos and they would let go with a high pitched scream when they were unhappy, “Use your words, please.” Now as an Emeritus Dean of MBA programs, I am of the age…but instead of “retirement” ( I am not tired) I choose to call this stage of life rejuvenatement! So when I rejuvenated, I took a poetry course, and another and another.
And there I was, telling myself to “Use your words, please.” And so I did, and I do. And always for fun! And if other folks enjoy my words, well that’s all the more fun. I started this blog March 1, 2015. Who says you can’t teach an old dame new tricks???I’ve met so many amazing people and find myself chatting with folks from all over the globe, while I’m sitting here with my morning cup of coffee. I’ve had the fortune to publish my poem  Cape Cod Muse in Provincetown Magazine, the October 1, 2015 issue. So exciting!  In March 2016, I was honored to read some of my poetry at Bermuda’s celebration of UNESCO World Poetry Day…and my suggested prompt was used for Day 10 NaPoWriMo 2016.  April 12, 2016 I was thrilled to be a guest host at dVerse Pub for Poets. This is a wonderful online community of creative folks – meander over and take a peek!  Yep – I’m lovin’ rejuvenatement! a comment:  I had a hard time adjusting to the fact that I was the only one left in my immediate family. My brother, 9 years older than me, died at 51; my dad, before we moved to Boston; and my mom, 18 months after we moved to Boston. All uncles and aunts are also gone. So all who knew me at my birth — but yes — the beauty are the artifacts left behind be they art, music, poetry, photos, etc.

It’s not necessary for you, the supporter, to know what is going on in order to lend support. Sometimes, the fact that you’re willing to sit there in silence, comfortable with not knowing, is enough to get someone to open up.  Visit the Source: Supporting a Loved One Through PTSD or Panic Attacks ffor much, much more.