Lately I’ve been talking in my sleep Luckily the cat my secrets keep Alone the pillow see me break-down, weep Lately I’ve been talking in my sleep
Luckily the cat my secrets keep If the neighbors knew they think I’d be a creep Lately I’ve been talking in my sleep Long dark nights I only sorrow reap
If the neighbors knew they think I’d be a creep I’d be hounded out by mobbing broom sweep Long dark nights I only sorrow reap All my troubles stacking in a mighty heap
I’d be hounded out by mobbing broom sweep Lately I’ve been talking in my sleep All my troubles stacking in a mighty heap Alone the pillow see me break-down, weep
Another Mello poem. This time I took the chance to practice pantoum, a poetic form derived from the pantun, a Malay verse form: specifically from the pantun berkait, a series of interwoven quatrains.
I have broken the scheme by having the first and forth line the same. But my mused refused to change… :-)
We are built to strive With meager materials thrive At unorthodox solutions arrive Our choice now is clear We must change gear Greener epoch could be near
Sit, waiting, longing, only you My skin long for, your lips, your kiss I know, my dream, you fill, so true Sit, waiting, longing, only you We lay, together, close, we two Fulfilling need, love trading bliss Sit, waiting, longing, only you My skin long for, your lips, your kiss
This is my first ever try at a Triolet, and iambic tetrameter. I have so far stayed away from meters, because I find that infinetly harder in Enlish than Swedish. So I wouldn’t be surprised if by now I’m blinded to any faults. But I had a fun time trying.
So, what is a triolet? It has about the same number of words as a quadrille, but the word-count is not what matters. Looking at Wikipedia, a triolet’s characteristics are the following.
The poem has 8 lines. The rhyme scheme is abaaabab. The meter is iambic tetrameter, that is, each line has four accented syllables with each accented syllable preceded by an unaccented syllable. The first, fourth and seventh lines repeat. The second and eighth lines repeat.
Midwinter, new years, without winter, the dark felt endless. Winter solstice, seasonal introspection, renewed will, intent to change. Birch Moon, lights return, energies thaw, chance to learn, to grow. Realisation dawns, emotions poured out on page, stay there, take hold, are felt by others. Lonely, yet cared for. Nearly friendless, yet surrounded by love and empathy.
February. Coldest month of year – warmest ever. If the snow hasn’t fallen now – spare us a late March one. Quickening Moon, first glimpses of spring to come. Know beating depression requires change. Self-faith. No reading have ever gotten me there. Can a compassionate conscious breath be the answer?
Writing now a habit, daily practice, to pour onto paper. Turn life, love, thoughts, ideas, to poetry, or lately, maybe even fictionalized scenes here or there. And all you who read this, have help a seed germinate. Slowly belief – I have a special way with words – are taking root.
The group this week didn’t lead anywhere new, except a clear understanding that most people can find a safe space with a little guidance, just as many people in their core know themselves worthy of love. Both things that’s foreign to me, the first I know I’ll find again. But the second I now know, where never taught to me att all. Both also seems to confound the the groups leders, a psychologist and a specialized nursed. Something I’m used to by now, it happens frequently with Swedish mental health care professionals. They just don’t know what to do with me…
My own work – meditation wise – have on the other hand lead to insights, new knowledge, an ah-moment or two. Once I even laughed out loud, because of the ways I have treated myself.
I’ve kept meditating at least 3 times a day. And challenged myself to find any little spot. On the commute, while walking somewhere, while waiting. This I found, also made me practice self-compassion on a very low, easily attainable level. Even I, can’t berate myself for losing concentration when the tube gets filled with loud kids, babies crying, barking dogs, etc.
While I do push myself, I try to do so compassionately. Meaning I accept “bad sessions”, try to not assign value, tell myself building a new habit and getting well is the goal, not achieving anything special.
I’ve also learned a some important things, and found a few false believes I held about meditating – taught to me by someone who didn’t know better I guess.
Meditation is a process you can learn and train yourself in.
Highly beneficial, and generally leading to a “happier” life, dosen’t mean it’s easy, comfortable, fun or a quick fix. It requires work! Meaning you’ll learn to accept, respect and love yourself, thereby attaining bliss – after you have worked, thought and felt trough everything within yourself.
Meditation starts with conscious breaths.
The mind won’t be quiet, it will trow up thoughts and feelings constantly. That dosen’t mean you’re doing it wrong, it just means you have to learn to catch yourself and take yourself back to just focusing on your breath. This is one of the misconceptions I had, that since my mind didn’t quiet I where doing something wrong.
For many journaling goes hand in hand with meditation and mindfulness practices.
Meditation leads to and train you in mindfulness, but they are separate things.
In one podcast I heard a claim that scientists have found that they can measure positive effects in the brain after 12 minutes of meditation. I don’t have a source, but after two weeks I can feel a definite difference between doing it for five minutes compared to fifteen, so it wouldn’t surprise me.
This week I’ve tried safe-space meditations again, to no avail. I still can’t get there. But I have started to being able to feel comfortable within the meditative mindset, trough guided self-love and self-worth meditations, added before the last relaxing sleep meditation.
And two nights ago I had a breakthrough. First I really felt a shift in consciousness. Then a mantra of;
I love you – I accept you – I respect you – I love you
Shattered me into every little piece that didn’t get the love she needed, then slowly melded with my breath and intention until I actually felt myself both meaning what I said and receiving it, feeling that the voice meant all of me.
As I slowly came back, I brought with me a feeling of contentment. Of resting safe with myself for the first time in ages. Without needing another human to help me get there. I also knew, I had to tell someone, who gives only positivity, the reason I’m so uncommunicative, is my fear of getting rejected and loosing another friend. So I wrote something to get a conversation started.
After falling asleep, for the first time, since I saw you Without a profoundly deep, black hole of loneliness I am ready to confess How much your encouragement matter to me That in fact, it’s nearly the only outer positivity my life contain So I’m terrified to lose it if I confess my need Afraid to talk to you, should you notice
So I’ve spent a week perhaps more mindful then ever before, I’ve learned and experienced new things. I dared to open up to someone, I wished it been in person, but my few friends are far flung. It’s not necessarily been easy, or without strong emotion, and I wish I had a teacher. I’m confident this could be good for me, maybe even change my life completely. But I won’t know that for a few years at least.
Published by New York’s Maecenas Press-Random House in 1969 and distributed as their book of the month, this illustrated version of Alice in Wonderland contains 12 heliogravures — one for each chapter of the book and an original signed etching in four colors as the frontispiece.
Read a raving review of a new play. Intrigued I bought a ticket.
The lights go down. The susurration of the audience fades to silence. Next, I wonder if somehow I walked through a looking-glass. On stage, personified by the actors, my whole life enfolds. Every hurt, betrayal, trauma, pain, sorrow. Stunned, tears streaming. In the dark, I hear how people react. Sharp intakes of breath. “That’s horrible!” Tears of empathy. “Could anyone survive that? Without loosing their minds?”
Standing ovation lasts an eternity, then people file out. I’m frozen. Realization dawning. My story have to be shared with others!
I’ve had this piece, or some form of it in my head for a couple of weeks. It’s inspired by some blogs I read, who sometimes feels like they are about me and should be written by me.
Showing that all parts of one’s story is shared by another, somewhere, sometime…
Posted to Friday Fictioneers where we write 100 words stories (beginning-middle-end) inspired by the photo prompt.Click on the frog to read more stories.
Mankind invented time So we could measure and explore Dissect the world until understanding Except we couldn’t comprehend Our home a finely tuned Planet-wide interconnected chaos system Didn’t want to know Nature isn’t ruled by us She moves and react after her laws Not the ones stipulated By on of her youngest offspring Still ignorant of our place in creation
Now time is collapsing in on itself Deep time All the billion years since Big Bang The five billion years of Earth The thousand of years since the last Ice age Which effects are still visible in my Nordic landscape Still makes our shores rise a few millimeters each year The planet still regaining a more rounded shape
We who haven’t been around For more than a blink of Earth’s eyes Are changing the planet In scales that affect geological, deep time Even if the layer we will leave in the earth’s strata Will be minuscule in size The change after that strata of human existence Might show a planet gone wild due to our tinkering A planet destroyed beyond The narrow climate band that can sustain human life
What will we leave behind? Will the planet still be blue-green harbour of myriad lifeforms? Will the human race survive to evolve?
The world according to RedCat 
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