a poem

there is a pIMG_0008lace you must go when you find yourself in no place.
this place doesn’t exist for those who already have a place.
no. this place is special.
it’s where alchemy is born. where dark is light and light dark.
where nonsense is sensical.
where whispers are songs and walks dances.
it’s the place between places.
where clothes come off and all is exposed. where the wounds of the
heart receive tender attention. where the sheep in wolf’s clothing can
reveal it’s sadness for having to pretend to be another. where fear
becomes a friend and love your biggest ally.
this place between places is where you’re stripped clean of all you
knew to protect. armorless, you begin to realize your own words
have been your strongest weapons, most likely trapped behind your
shield and forced back upon you.
whether willing or forced, finding yourself in this place between places
is your greatest gift. to get out, you must work. work can be slow or fast,
arduous or simple. but work you must.
because to be in this place forever is never the plan. just as day turns to dusk
turns to night turns to dawn turns to day again, so too will you transition
in and out of this place.
the world needs you to report back that all is not lost when the lights go out.
that it’s actually in the dark one develops night vision.
that the dark is only as dark as the light bright.
that sometimes the life wanting to be lived lies in the shadow.

the place between places

this weekend here in Michigan was a cold one. one witIMG_0858h frost warnings and some sightings of snow flakes. yes, winter is approaching. we’re letting go of warmer, longer days. shedding our summer tans, cocooning ourselves in more clothes.

i had a moment yesterday when i felt so cold. my whole body chilled, i decided to take a hot shower to warm up. when it came time to leave my warm haven, i didn’t want to go. i didn’t want to put myself in the place between places. i didn’t want to feel the cool air. i didn’t want to stand, naked and cold and vulnerable. i just wanted to stay warm. and yet i couldn’t stay in the water forever, nor could i jump out and get right into my clothes. no. i had to be in between these two places. i had to turn the water off, dry off, before i could get warm again.

and then i got to thinking what a perfect metaphor this is for when we’re going through any process of change. there always comes a time when we have to choose to leave what’s comfortable in order to get to the next stage of growth. in order for me to get on with the rest of my day, i had no other option but to turn the water off and get out of the shower. i had no other choice than to feel the air around me. even for a brief moment, i stood there in the place between places. yes, i resisted it. yes, i drew out the shower until staying comfortable and warm was no longer serving me because there were other things i wanted to be doing. this is exactly what we do when we’re going through any kind of change: resist what’s uncomfortable.

for a while now i’ve thought that embarking on any internal process of change is terrifying simply because we’re not quite sure where we’ll end up. we’re not sure what kind of person we’ll be, how the process will change our outer lives. we formulate ideas (i.e., “if i go through this i’ll end up leaving my partner,” “i’ll realize everything i’ve done in my life is wrong and i’ll have to change it all and start over”) to fill in the blanks to help us satiate our need for certainty. these thoughts, though, are usually so scary that it keeps us from leaving what we’ve known. these thoughts keep us in the shower long after it’s time to get out. these thoughts are Resistance at it’s finest.

after this shower experience and thinking about my resistance to getting out of the shower, it’s even more clear to me that the focus needs to be on the place between places. the place where we’re stripped of what’s kept us “warm”: the beliefs, thought patterns, ways of being that are no longer really working to bring us joy and happiness. the place where the cool air wraps itself around our naked bodies and souls. where we’re so uncomfortable, alone and cold. the place where we’re most vulnerable.

it’s difficult, yes, to remove these layers and stand without what the ego thinks is protection. it’s in this space, though, that we can connect to the raw beauty of who we truly are. when we’ve taken off what’s only outer protection as we prepare to put on something new. it’s a necessary, crucial part of the process, this intentional soul exposure. it’s getting in contact with who we are at our core. the cold won’t last forever. we can always count on being warm again, but it won’t be until we can visit the place between places.

soul questions

what are the songs you
long to sing?
the ones whose tunes effortlesslyIMG_0018
drip off your tongue.
whose notes tumble over your
vocal chords like the water of
a babbling brook, or the
low rumble of afternoon
thunder.

what are the stories you
wish to tell?
the ones full of sweet whispers
of truth, beckoning the nods
of strangers and lighting
souls up like lanterns.
the stories for which there are
no words.

what are the dances you wish
to dance?
the ones that move through you,
taking your body along for the
ride. the ones that are slow and
fast and asymmetrical. the ones
that summon the tides of emotion
and sweep away the cobwebs of
yesterday.

what are the dreams you wish
to dream?
the pictures of yearning and
meaning and truth.
the ones whose images infuse
the silence with psyche’s
personal language, the one only
she can speak and comprehend.
the dreams that require no words
and yet reach out to the dreamer with
grasping arms and pleas to be
understood.

from what cages to you wish to
break free?
the ones that mute the song and
stifle the story.
the ones that cripple the dance and
pinch the dreamer by walls
too tight.
the ones without doors or windows
or locks, that are fashioned out of
self-created struggle.

wring yourself out of the cage’s
pores. you needn’t be trapped
any longer.