I have a love/hate relationship with self-help/personal-growth books… On the one hand it is helpful and gratifying to know that it is possible to make it through the darkness and thrive on the other side of it all… on the other none of them really give you the view from the pit. It’s ugly here and no-one wants to look at it. Many of them give the briefest of descriptions of the ‘dark days’ and then focus on their steps/ideas/practices that got them out of the mess they were in. I want to see the pit… did life feel as despairing & hopeless to them as it does to me most days? Were they breathing in and out through lungs filled with un-heard screams? Was the pit every bit as deep and dark and ugly as it feels to me today? I would like to know the view from the pit… Then I can feel better about my chances of making it out alive.
Tag Archive: free-verse poetry
I’ve tossed and turned for hours and I’m about ready to give up on sleep. Night sweats and hot flashes are not conducive to good rest and I feel so wound up and disoriented from this desperate need to rest that I don’t know that I am really capable of coherent thought at the moment. My thoughts race on some Silent-Hill-esque distorted merry-go-round on which the horses are darkly demonic with red eyes and flaming nostrils… rotting flesh and exposed bone… where the calliope is just off-key and so discordant and loud it sets your teeth on edge. This dark carnival of my mind… this sea of faces… I don’t know what to do with it all… here a leering clown, terrifying and somehow familiar under the painted face… there a carnival barker pedaling wares in a voice that triggers unwanted memories and me racing down the freeway trying to escape all of it…. I don’t want these thoughts, memories, fears, doubts and emotions washing over me like a flood tide. I fear I may drown in this. Please, God, don’t let me drown…
I’ve been thinking a lot about Dante’s Divine Comedy…specifically his Inferno and I have decide I have 7 levels of my not-okay-ness…I know this is not grammatically correct 🙂 But it’s the best way I can explain it… Here’s how it goes… In this scenario I knock my contact solution off the sink edge due to my infinite clumsiness…
Level One: I have no reaction… I just pick it up and put it back.
Level Two: I take a deep breath, sigh, then put it back.
Level Three: I take a deep breath, huff, blow, slam it back down.
Level Four: I growl at the contact solution, pick it up, slam it down, huff, mumble and clench my fists…then take a deep breath…
Level Five: I growl, glare at the contact solution, leave it there, huff, sigh, take a moment to calm myself down and take a deep breath.
Level Six: I yell at the contact solution, I glare at it, I kick it across the room, yell at it some more and pick it up and slam it down.
Level Seven: I yell at the contact solution, sink, mirror and any inanimate object around, I pick up the contact solution and throw it against the mirror, I cry, I pick it up and throw it again.
Does anyone else have days like this filled with irrational emotional craziness? I hate this rage…this overly emotional out of control feeling….I certainly don’t want to go through life feeling like this… How do I get a handle on it?
The rustling trees draw me in… I can hear my Dark Goddess calling me.
Walking barefoot down a familiar moonlit path… feeling the damp rotting leaves
under my feet… a mist gives way before me and I find her waiting for me-
beautiful, naked in a clearing her milky skin aglow with moonlight.
She bids me welcome to her temple and I kneel in worship; bowing
to the damp earth. So ancient is this place…so deep and so dark –
only moonlight is welcome here… moonlight which flashes against
the blade of her dagger – flashes to me, a willing sacrifice.
Willingly I give up my life to her and in death I dance – finally free.
I gave one sharp cry when I died. You didn’t even notice. You were so busy basking in your glory that I sank below notice even a you drove the knife home. When you cleaved my soul in two I wanted to scream. I wanted my cry to pierce you to your heart and shatter your blessed reality. How nice it would have been to see the horror of your deed marked plainly on your face for all to se as I writhed beneath you in my throes of death. You in your stupor probably mistook my cry for one of pleasure. Filthy creature that you are, so drunk on the exhiliration of conquring me, you never noticed the look of pity. I pity you. Even in my death, even in my agony I pittied you. To the very marrow of my bone I felt sorry for you. What could have driven you to these extreme troughs of misery? You sank into the abyss of mankind and you shall never again rise to the surface. I am sorry for you because even in your act of conquer, Thanatos found you. He found you and instead of taking your life, he took your family, he took your job, he took your respect, he took your calling and left you naked and begging for his skeletal embrace. He will not take your soul. It is a neat little hell you have created for your-self, is it not? You will die in hell as you have lived…
I gave one sharp cry when I died. That cry will echo through your soul forever.






