I will tell you something about stories
[he said]
They aren’t just entertainment.
Don’t be fooled.
They are all we have you see,
all we have to fight off illness and death
You don’t have anything
if you don’t have stories.
He rubbed his belly.
I keep them here
[he said]
Here, put your hand on it
See, it is moving
There is life here
for the people.
And in the belly of this story
the rituals and ceremony are still growing.
(Fragments of the Poem; “Ceremony” by Leslie Marmon Silko )
In my room
filled with color and symbols
light through the window tops
filled with color and symbols
light through the window tops
A life narrative
kept closed in a drawer
unfolds
kept closed in a drawer
unfolds
The story now old
is still alive in the belly.
Still gnaws
is still alive in the belly.
Still gnaws
Still surprises.
I set
as it settles
in the air between us
as it settles
in the air between us
in the creases of our skin
in the staccato
rhythm of our breath. this is not a mere telling
this is not a mere listening
this is not a mere listening
there is nothing mere…. here
this is.
Seja Rachael 18/23/11
Beautiful poem, Seja. Really captures what is without overly describing it…. Hope to read more.
Thanks you Jennifer. You are the first brave person who has commented on the blog itself. Psychotherapy for me is such a rich mixture of the real and the ephemeral. (Real caring, real understanding real confusion, but also something else cellular, magic, a co- creation. )