The Dawn

Posted on 31 January 2013 by MEY
Dawn from the Park Trades Center Kalamazoo, Michigan

A January dawn from the Park Trades Center, Kalamazoo, Michigan.

The solution to vanquishing trauma comes not through confronting it directly, but by working with its reflection…

~ Peter Levine, Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma

One week not so long ago, in a place near and dear…

Sunday

Driving home, I take deep breaths. Tears come steadily. I’m on the verge of toppling but do not want to fall apart. Seeing the panic for what it is, a sensation temporarily coursing through my body, I pray aloud my intention: to release this electric tension. And I envision a plan to calm down at the house. Within the hour, these efforts move me through the crisis…

Wednesday

Lying in bed is no good, I know. But I manage not to be completely useless, writing several emails and in my journal. Also there are children’s books to clip out images for the book-art project. I show up at meetings during the week, so I’m not too far gone. Nonetheless, returning to the bedroom with the dogs always brings relief…

Saturday

Done with the bedroom retreat, I wash away the week with a salt bath, reflecting on the day I drove home and did not fall apart. Until that occasion, I routinely braced myself for what seemed inevitable: a physical-emotional chain reaction.  The first stage is being stuck in the spot where I stand and the moment that sets off the relay, much like the stopped watch encased in the floorboard of my art studio. But for once I did not freeze in the face of crisis.

Today

The reflection about driving home unveils a baby step on my healing journey.  Falling apart is not inevitable, although I have lived with that anticipation for a long time. The occasion marks a shift from beliefs and habits that no longer serve me toward ones that do. What seemed impossible glows with hope, as does the dawn before the sun…

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Pieces unto a Whole

Posted on 26 January 2013 by MEY

Painting for book art in progress.This painting is one from a series for my current book-art project on healing trauma. The piece is inspired by a key experience from a shamanic journey described in “Along Came a Spider.”  I don’t strive to render a perfect expression, rather let each painting teach me how to shape a whole from an inkling of an image.

Yielding to the process as such fuels the partnership between creative and healing arts. The closing stanza of Clarissa Pinkola Estes’s “HOW TO KILL CREATIVE SPIRIT: BRINGING CREATIVE SPIRIT BACK TO LIFE” resonates my embracing art as an organic, holistic process:

What the hands and mind
of the farmer are after
is not that each kernel
be perfected,
but that the maize
be watered,
given sunlight,
be protected from storm
and that the maize
when plucked
in its first moments
of maturity…
that the maize
so well watered
and cared for,
taste sweet…
often sweeter than sweet.

The heart of the matter — or “crux” as it’s called at Crow’s Nest Center for Shamanic Studies — is to create, be committed to growth and harvest, treasure the work as a whole … as one does an ear of corn rather than the kernels.  And to trust the process means following intuitive leadings as I experiment with the visual arts.

For courage, I turn to self-taught artists like Frida Kahlo, who began her painting journey with a broken body after a nearly lethal bus accident.  Pain, loss, grief were the catalyst to a unique body of work that renders the inner life richly, tangibly, powerfully.

Having come into confidence as a poet following years of struggle, doubts arise here and there about these new visual ventures. A nagging voice piques “What are you doing?!”, and becomes quieter as I trust and witness the creative-healing process unfolding. It parallels my self-healing of trauma, which comes together in pieces.

The pieces of my story may or not come together for you as a whole. I often must hold such pieces until their fit becomes clear. Readers, thanks for joining in me in these experiments to witness what they bring together.

 

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Plain Language

Posted on 19 January 2013 by MEY

~ From *News!* for January 2013, a page with periodic updates for DotP.~

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I love the writing circle, a time and place for composing and exchanging its fruits. The circle is where I hear firsthand experiences of what I stitched together from my internal rattlings. Sometimes an idea or turn of phrase to which I am attached is put to the test. “Why is this in the poem? … I just don’t get it … Why so many metaphors?” My deepest thanks to current and past writing circles! Your consistent care of my words has been invaluable.

Writing often serves a dual purpose for me: an embodiment of inner life and a means of communication. The writing circle serves as a sounding board, testing out how others are reached — or not — by my words. The response is illuminating, sometimes surprising. When others’ perceptions are far from my intent, I weigh what may be altered in order to close the gap. Plain language often is not my favored choice for the written word, despite my unwavering favor for it in relationships.

Blogging on Dey of the Phoenix is another way I convey insights from the inner life. Launched in 2008, the site initially began as a public expression of my work as a writer and community organizer. My first experience blogging, though, began in 2004 on an anonymous site that I shared with very few people. The intimacy of the former blog was a treasure, a precious gift that I wish to keep sharing when possible.

Thanks to this week’s visit at The Writing Room, a bimonthly writing circle in Greater Lansing, I realized that my recent entries about healing trauma may be experienced like peeking into a storefront with tinted windows. Blogging about an internal process as it unfolds presents certain challenges, and I appreciate hearing your questions when they arise. Readers, you are most welcome to respond with comments, as you are so inclined. Thanks to those who also have corresponded with me personally on these and other posts.

Tomorrow, Sunday, January 20, 2:00pm, at the MICA Gallery, 1210 Turner St., Lansing, I am presenting at the Lansing Poetry Club. The working title for the session is “Poetry: More than Words on a Page”. I will be using some plain language about what poetry means to me and what I aspire to through writing. My focus will be on new words, while briefly visiting Circle…Home (2011). Accompanying me is a beautiful mixed-media work incorporating by my poem “we begin” and gifted to me by the talented Sandra L. Cade.

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Somewhere in Time

Posted on 12 January 2013 by MEY

somewhereintimescl

While exploring the group studio that I recently joined in Kalamazoo, Michigan, a surprise caught my eye. A gap in the floor board was smoothed over by a transparent filler encasing a watch.  The timepiece may be understood as memory frozen though present, and how distinguishing the past from the now can be a physical challenge.

This insight resonates with the material on trauma that I began in December, like Healing from Trauma: A Survivor’s Guide …. (Cori and Scaer).  The physical sensation of being frozen — or immobilized — is characteristic of traumatic response. Distancing past trauma from present patterns of interacting is a way to transform such reactions. Ultimately, the goal is to release a web of associations bound up in those reactions (see “Along came a spider…”), which takes residence in the body.

The transformation is no easy task, as straightforward as it may sound! (See recent posts for my experiences: “The Poseidon Adventure”, “falling apart”, and “Along came a spider…”.) But the creative arts are a way to keep balance amidst the bumps and, also, a means to map the road of recovery during the healing journey. An excerpt from a recent journal entry conveys how book art serves my journey (the ellipses as part of the original, rather than omitted, text):

The book art is a way to process the experience, as I take steps to change. In one sense, it is a document, but really it is more a map … maybe even an atlas, with multiple maps. I am exploring routes of healing, making “in-roads” into “unknown” territory … So maybe it is an explorer’s journal … notes on a journey … over the edge of the world. (Jan. 8, 2013)

“…over the edge of the world,” being the world as known for the moment, a knowing knit together by past traumas that I strive to release from my present-day body.  Yet another way to frame the process: engaging traumatic memory is like waking a tiger (Peter Levine, Waking the Tiger), and releasing the memory may be akin to taming it.

A word on mapping: I first encountered it as a technique for putting ideas into relationship as a composition student (see “Mind Map”), and put the approach to use as an educator. Mapping is engaged in another way at Crow’s Nest Center for Shamanic Studies, which I understand as exploring mythologies and archetypes to orient the healing process (see “Jungian Archetypes”).

Upon reflection, what modern folks call “mapping” I recognize in ancient cave paintings:  images placed in relationship as a way to make sense of human story.  My current project of book art is unfolding as such a story around the theme of healing trauma.  The maps and “timepieces” cross-talk, conveying individual and collective expressions.  Samples of work-in-progress will keep coming, Readers, so be sure to stick around!

For those in Greater Lansing — plus those who travel — please join my invited presentation for the Lansing Poetry Club, Sunday, January 20, 2:00pm, at the MICA (Michigan Institute for Contemporary Art) Gallery, 1210 Turner Street, Lansing, 48906. I am sharing new work and making a brief “visit” with my collection Circle…Home (2011).

~Aside: You may have caught the film reference Somewhere in Time (1975) in the blog title. The story follows a man whom through a series of  linked events/ moments/ associations — including a pocket watch gifted by a stranger — succeeds to travel to the distant past to meet the woman he loves.

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Along came a spider…

Posted on 3 January 2013 by MEY
2012-12-20_14-30-05_816

“Found” spider on an altered book in progress. ~MDH

While spiders are commonly found in houses, there are some rare sightings . . . like flipping through your altered book after it was weighted down overnight and discovering a living spider along the spine of its last page. Such a sight gives one pause, especially after having encountered Spider in a dream that morning and during a meditation the previous day!

Such encounters count for me as life convergences, as described in the post “falling apart”: “oh-so interesting sequences of events and relationships that oh-just keep appearing, so-called coincidences that may be more aptly called synchronicity.”  In my spiritual practice, noticing how animals like Spider keep showing up — and in such a tight time frame —  merits taking stock . . .

. . . Dog sitting in a big, old house about an hour from home, you are engaging old traumas (“The Poseidon Adventure”) in order to transform patterns of traumatic response (“falling apart”). It’s a supremely special occasion, because you are flying solo in a house! You who once kept the light on all night when alone, sometimes a kitchen knife by the bedside, checking behind all doors “just to be safe” . . .

. . . One afternoon during a meditation of sorts — called journeying in shamanic circles — you find yourself in a spider’s cocoon. Not keen on becoming a meal, you break free and join Spider on the web.  Your journey’s intention is to make sense of current patterns by traversing memory, past to present.  Strands lead the way to understand what has been woven . . .

. . . and lead the way back to Spider. She drops from the treetop, heading down the trunk, and you follow her along roots into the heart of the Earth. Spider stops very close to the magma — molten matter — and you sit beside her.  Despite Spider’s presence, the perceived heat and color evoke sensations of danger, flashes of angry people and violence. Unable to stay present, you return to the waking world . . .

. . . In the week that follows, this children’s rhyme imparts insight:

Little Miss Muffet
Sat on a tuffet,
Eating her curds and whey;
Along came a spider,
Who sat down beside her
And frightened Miss Muffet away . . .

. . . It simply was Miss Muffet’s perception that frightened her. She had the wrong idea about spiders and/or associated them with a bad experience from the past. In either case, being lost in panic up-ends one’s nourishment. The trick is to find one’s a way through the panic and sustain one’s peace. And what might that look like? A good question for a future blog post!

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falling apart

Posted on 27 December 2012 by MEY
Mixed media piece "falling apart" from book art in progress.

“falling apart” is a mixed-media piece from book art in progress.

As introduced last week, I continue my Poseidon adventure! This week’s glimpse is “falling apart”, a poem that was intent on melding into book art. And by doing so, invited intuition — that inner voice — to drive the resulting expression.  The meld mixes media: acrylic, oil pastel, and poster paint. Yes, indeed, poster paint, which the oracle of the World Wide Wed informs me gets short shrift as the stuff of “crafting” and “school projects” — pretty cool things on their own merit.  Honestly, I am grateful for becoming acquainted with tempera poster paints via workshops at Crow’s Nest Center USA and the encouraging comments of my co-participants — especially you Jon!

The poem came to text after painting the sensation (not yet posted) that I came to name falling apart. As a sensation — or feeling — this experience is more than a simple thought or emotion. Falling apart is the domino effect that “takes hold” of my body, mind, and emotions when I respond in a certain way to a convergence of life events. The framework of trauma is helping me make sense of this experience, as is the technique of focusing that I am learning at Crow’s Nest USA in a conversation between several modalities — shamanism, Jungian archetypes, and Sacred Breathwork (here is a PDF about SB at Crow’s Nest).

The makeup of this backdrop to my Poseidon adventure is sure to get more “air time” in future posts.  Key for the moment, though, is this quest to transform the ways I engage within and without. The first step in the journey: figure out how my patterns of traumatic response, which are rooted in old and recurring events, correspond to life convergences. For me, life convergences are oh-so interesting sequences of events and relationships that oh-just keep appearing, so-called coincidences that may be more aptly called synchronicity. I’m grateful for suggested resources, like Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma and I Can’t Get Over It: A Handbook for Trauma Survivors. Gratitude to those who offered ideas when they were needed — whether by Internet or arm chair!

Friends, this post is likely to be the last for 2012. As always, many thanks for your new or continued readership. Remember, you have the power to comment here at Dey of the Phoneix, and I would love to hear from you!  Wishing you a brilliant beginning to 2013!

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The Poseidon Adventure

Posted on 20 December 2012 by MEY

Page from book art in progress by MDH.
Mixed-media collage with found paper and acrylic paint.

Sometimes I can’t resist a convenient title when the fit is just right! For those wondering, The Poseidon Adventure was a 1970s film about the final voyage of a luxury ship flipped over by a tsunami, the result of an underwater earthquake. The small group trying to survive this “Hell, Upside Down” – as an old poster reads – is akin to mythological or archetypal journeys, with a stated allusion to the Greek sea god Poseidon.

This mythological figure — stereotypically known as a force of chaos — has found a place in my current work: I am embarking on an inner journey with the healing arts, which takes expression through the creative arts. Simply said, my “adventure” is to engage old traumas that I find get in the way of present life and to see how “art” surfaces in the process.

The line from the page pictured above is taken from I Can’t Get Over It: A Handbook for Trauma Survivors by Aphrodite Matsakis, and here is a longer, continuous quote for context:

For awhile, and perhaps for quite some time, the emotional upheavals caused by the healing process might seem to carry you further away from, rather than closer to, serenity and peace of mind. Eventually, however, your psychological earthquakes and floods will subside and you can build yourself anew.

Poseidon was the god not only of turmoil, but of infinite possibilities. When he crossed the sea in his chariot, drawn by gold-maned horses symbolizing beauty and power, the sea became smooth and calm before him.

I am struck by the alignment of various factors making my current “adventure” possible. A mix-mash from a very young age of talk therapy, spiritual inquiry, and artistic exploration, has prepared the way for this stage. Herein I attune to archetypes and mythology illuminating my traumas; fellowship among spiritual communities; partnerships with healing practitioners; and intuition-led art creations.

The unfolding process of combining art with healing is both tender and tumultuous, deserving of time and space to immerse when necessary. As deep waters present daunting insights, support of loved ones and practitioners are essential. Taking breaks is very important — shifting gears to lighten the heart, to breathe from the belly, to walk on the ground and give those “sea legs” a rest!

In contrast to recent years, my life is much quieter “outside” since taking a break from continuous projects, event planning, and deadlines. This change was necessary for what now is taking place, though I do not see this turn as a clean brake, nor need it be. As with everything new, there is a continuation of the old, tapping the infinite cycle of death and life as offered by our cultural stories or mythologies.

A prismatic image expresses this cycle: a fire embracing wood to fuel the flame, wind spreading ashes across the earth, the fine gray particles and rain nourishing roots and shoots, trees reaching to the sun, again the wood greeting the flame, and so it goes. On this day and those to come in the new year, may your fire burn bright and your soul take flight!

~ This post is from December’s *News!* Page. For Nov. 2012 news, visit “A Portal to the Creative and Healing Arts.”

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Proximity

Posted on 13 December 2012 by MEY

Margaret Elizabeth Wilson (mrd. Kowalk),
my maternal grandmother

The esker touches where
Mom’s mom lost touch
mistook a stranger

for a childhood cousin
and took her last supper
with four generations

Blue ruled her felt jacket
at Assisted Living
nearby the Baptist church

where blue ruled my kindergarten
after Dad’s brother preached
and Mom knelt at the altar

and the principal refused me
entrance in snow pants
covering my blue uniform dress

Outside Mom knelt
to remove one pant leg
at a time

like aides undressing Grandma
as she slipped
into her past

~ Originally published in my collection “Circle…Home” (2011). Shared today in honor of my grandmother’s birthday.  Also see in her memory the poem “Not Quite the Fortnight Before Christmas” (2010).

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an almost winter morn’

Posted on 5 December 2012 by MEY

Greetings from Dowagiac! I am on my first leg of December travels with quality time in Southwest Michigan and its “borderlands.” Thanks so much to those who are making the sojourns possible! This photograph is taken at the fireside of Crow’s Nest Center USA. Gratitude to C. Mikkal Smith for sharing the beautiful land.

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Remembering Dad…

Posted on 28 November 2012 by MEY

Millard Ernest Hasbrook, Sr.
Cascade Mountains.
June 1997.

 

The Last Time I Saw My Father
was November 28, 1999
in the afternoon Pacific Time.
He slipped from one shell into the sea
until another shell came his way.
On my dresser, he stands on a boulder
lodged in a river with rapids.
He smiles, teeth bared
like the grizzly bear on his shirt.
Bear was one of his totems,
as was Eagle with out-stretched talons.
And Dad still speaks to me
through Elvis songs on the radio.

 

father

MEH, 1972.

some say to remember
you changed for the better
ten years since you died
yet you still come between your offspring
and i wonder how you can rest
after denying your eldest

so why do i still chase you

i take buses and trains
through your soul because
longing alone cannot tell
stories of ancestors

 

~ Originally published online in Hope at the Center (2010). Republished in my poetry collection Circle…Home (2011).

 

 

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