TheGift

What is the gift

the gift of my life

growing up each thing I did well was enlisted as a gift that would bring in money

My gift is not spelling. There are so many elegant words that I want to use but can’t cuz, like my mom said, I’m too lazy to look it up in a dictionary

My gift is children

feeling their wounded broken down heart

and the thing that sparks their joy

but I hate teaching

I hate being in a position that forces you to know all the answers or asking for help means guess you ain’t so smart; which many teachers aren’t

My gift isn’t holding my tougue after stubborn mule gets poked

and that a Taurus Mars makes impossible to let off steam before explosion…..and systems don’t lend to a positive outcome

My gift is poetry, performing and forming ideas into something that gives a bit of personal and a slice of universal with edge and healing.

My gift isn’t organizing my time to get money or overcome the trauma flashbacks that thought I would be better had I been given the love

unconditional

but

my gift is in letting the self know that growth is all there is

and feeling is the fertilizer…

Primal Boundaries

A year spent digging into the cave of treasures that lay hidden beneath misunderstanding, I found the primal boundaries I forgot to collect along the way.

A disinterested and dismissive dad bread dismissive and disinterested partners. An overbearing and ragefull mom cultivated a ragefull and overbearing attitude. Abusive and mocking siblings sent all of us to different corners of the world.

An object in motion stays in motion until acted upon by a force. A force so strong that it sends shockwaves into the nervous system and comes out sideways. Radical self awareness the only cure and pain it’s natural side effect.

No shame in saying goodbye to loyalty that ancestry set in motion and collective culture puts pressure on those tablets from the mountain. Up on high with expectations that burn faster than the bush.

The deep ocean is the starting place to find a wisdom beyond what he thinks or she says about my character. Swimming with the fish that take in oxygen where no light exists and micro organisms not seen by the naked eye flourish.

Primal boundaries; the kind that knows how to laugh at the nonsense coming from the trained responses handed down to us from the grandparent’s-grandparent and put into a fallout shelter just in case you fall out of line.

A boundary deeper than, walk away, or talk to the hand. One that speaks louder than defenses and engagement. One that can ride the wave of silence or shout out with the same conviction to discern and not convict.

Primal boundaries can’t be taught and must be felt. They sing the tune of respect and fairness, forgiveness and honesty but most importantly the terrifying journey of sacred vulnerability that can only be felt under the surface of this so called life.