It Circles Round
Vague coursing
Snaking inwardly
Back and over and under
Up and around
Then back down again—
Unknowingly knowingly unknown
Shifting, sifting, lifting
A restless, rootless
Wildness…
Refusing continuance
Bound and chained
To a life not my own.
(C) 11 October 1994, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.
Showing posts with label healing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label healing. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Issues. Everybody’s Got Issues.
Issues. Everybody’s Got Issues.
Identity crisis would be just fine
Had someone not just smashed mine.
“I found myself.” “I lost myself.”
Everywhere: self, self, self.
Hello and how do I do?
I’m very sorry, have I met you?
Yes, I met me the day I’s born;
Then I left me all forlorn.
Oh, you poor and silly me.
How could you possibly not know me?
All my life I’ve felt so dizzy.
Gosh, finding me has kept me busy!
(C) 22 October 1992, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.
Identity crisis would be just fine
Had someone not just smashed mine.
“I found myself.” “I lost myself.”
Everywhere: self, self, self.
Hello and how do I do?
I’m very sorry, have I met you?
Yes, I met me the day I’s born;
Then I left me all forlorn.
Oh, you poor and silly me.
How could you possibly not know me?
All my life I’ve felt so dizzy.
Gosh, finding me has kept me busy!
(C) 22 October 1992, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.
P.T.S.D. Begins
P.T.S.D. Begins
Pinch me. Am I alive?
Yes, but I do not feel it.
Isn’t it strange to be alive yet feel dead,
Such deep wounds and never reveal it?
Nobody knows. Nobody sees.
Nobody knows except me?
Everyone knows. Everyone sees.
Everyone knows except me?
Constant turmoil. Constant calm.
Brightest clouds. Darkest sun.
Scorching rain. Pouring heat.
Standing still on the run.
Hiding in the open field;
Cowering in the hidden den;
Am I really so innocent
Drowning in the deepest sin?
(C) 22 October 1992, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.
Pinch me. Am I alive?
Yes, but I do not feel it.
Isn’t it strange to be alive yet feel dead,
Such deep wounds and never reveal it?
Nobody knows. Nobody sees.
Nobody knows except me?
Everyone knows. Everyone sees.
Everyone knows except me?
Constant turmoil. Constant calm.
Brightest clouds. Darkest sun.
Scorching rain. Pouring heat.
Standing still on the run.
Hiding in the open field;
Cowering in the hidden den;
Am I really so innocent
Drowning in the deepest sin?
(C) 22 October 1992, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.
A Wound for a Heart
A Wound for a Heart
Bubbling, boiling, heatedly churning,
Frothing and foaming, emotions are burning
Into my heart, my stomach, my head,
Violently reeling alone on my bed.
I cannot stop thinking. The memories come…
Upheavals, eruptions, but just feeling numb.
My stomach is knotted; memories play in my mind.
Tormenting and mocking, my life in a bind.
Furiously hating, bitter rancor,
Anger, hurt, fear: my grudging anchor
Holds me in place, frozen in time—
Will I ever be free from their despicable crime?
Sapping my energy, draining my life,
The past cuts right through me like a well-sharpened knife.
Will I ever be freed from my past?
Will I ever find peace in my heart that will last?
The chains are too heavy, too tight and too much,
Tangled, intertwined with my soul in the clutch
Of their cold, evil fingers, tearing me apart—
Big, gaping wounds in the place of my heart.
(C) 17 January 1993, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.
Bubbling, boiling, heatedly churning,
Frothing and foaming, emotions are burning
Into my heart, my stomach, my head,
Violently reeling alone on my bed.
I cannot stop thinking. The memories come…
Upheavals, eruptions, but just feeling numb.
My stomach is knotted; memories play in my mind.
Tormenting and mocking, my life in a bind.
Furiously hating, bitter rancor,
Anger, hurt, fear: my grudging anchor
Holds me in place, frozen in time—
Will I ever be free from their despicable crime?
Sapping my energy, draining my life,
The past cuts right through me like a well-sharpened knife.
Will I ever be freed from my past?
Will I ever find peace in my heart that will last?
The chains are too heavy, too tight and too much,
Tangled, intertwined with my soul in the clutch
Of their cold, evil fingers, tearing me apart—
Big, gaping wounds in the place of my heart.
(C) 17 January 1993, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.
That Old Nameless, Faceless Fear Again
That Old Nameless, Faceless Fear Again
I have known the terror
Of never being sure
Just when the next trauma
Would engulf my little world,
Of living out a nightmare
Yet appearing very good…
For whom?
I have known the terror
Of never feeling safe,
Of being ever vigilant,
Of pretending to be sedate…
How docile and passive—
Like an electric barbed wire!
But who cared?
I have known the terror
Of sleepless nights and sleep-filled days,
Of feeling lost and wandering
Through a mine-filled maze,
Of always looking back and forth,
Of never being sure…
Of whom?
(C) 23 October 1992, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.
I have known the terror
Of never being sure
Just when the next trauma
Would engulf my little world,
Of living out a nightmare
Yet appearing very good…
For whom?
I have known the terror
Of never feeling safe,
Of being ever vigilant,
Of pretending to be sedate…
How docile and passive—
Like an electric barbed wire!
But who cared?
I have known the terror
Of sleepless nights and sleep-filled days,
Of feeling lost and wandering
Through a mine-filled maze,
Of always looking back and forth,
Of never being sure…
Of whom?
(C) 23 October 1992, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.
My Eyes Have Told My Story All Along
My Eyes Have Told My Story All Along
I looked at some pictures the other day,
And, boy, what a big surprise!
I wasn’t as ugly as I was led to believe,
Regardless of my age or my size.
It was a stranger looking at me,
Yet I recognized my big sad eyes.
My story told a story amazingly clear.
They saw through a life of lies.
Fixed eyes and focused, sad and alone,
Waiting for the unseen…
Eyes filled with a purpose yet gentle and kind,
Fiery and strikingly keen.
Sweet eyes yet haunting,
Knowing yet stilled,
Ready to pounce,
Yet sealed.
Scares eyes and timid,
Searching for love,
Questioning without answers…
Hawk with eyes of dove.
Mysterious yet open,
Guarded but real,
Penetrating,
Much to reveal,
My eyes told my story
There all along,
But no one saw it before?
Clearly something’s wrong.
Yet my eyes covered it up,
Hiding inside,
Remaining undetected—
My life relied.
Yes, I looked at some pictures the other day,
And, boy, what a big surprise!
Seeing myself for the very first time
In my quietly beckoning eyes.
(C) 30 October 1992, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.
I looked at some pictures the other day,
And, boy, what a big surprise!
I wasn’t as ugly as I was led to believe,
Regardless of my age or my size.
It was a stranger looking at me,
Yet I recognized my big sad eyes.
My story told a story amazingly clear.
They saw through a life of lies.
Fixed eyes and focused, sad and alone,
Waiting for the unseen…
Eyes filled with a purpose yet gentle and kind,
Fiery and strikingly keen.
Sweet eyes yet haunting,
Knowing yet stilled,
Ready to pounce,
Yet sealed.
Scares eyes and timid,
Searching for love,
Questioning without answers…
Hawk with eyes of dove.
Mysterious yet open,
Guarded but real,
Penetrating,
Much to reveal,
My eyes told my story
There all along,
But no one saw it before?
Clearly something’s wrong.
Yet my eyes covered it up,
Hiding inside,
Remaining undetected—
My life relied.
Yes, I looked at some pictures the other day,
And, boy, what a big surprise!
Seeing myself for the very first time
In my quietly beckoning eyes.
(C) 30 October 1992, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.
Who Are You? Me!!
Who Are You? Me!!
Dark, deep swirling in the river of my soul,
Sucking whirlpool and crashing wave.
How I’ve longed to trace you and
The devilish pain you gave,
But I never could quite discover
Even who you were, you knave.
Struggle, strive, stretch, searching,
Desperate to find relief,
In every nook and cranny,
Turning over each stone and leaf;
I hounded you to dispatch you—
To rest finally was my belief.
Who are you, my constant companion,
Who I fear, hate, yet long to see?
You outwit me, and you mock me,
Yet you fit me to a tee.
I hate you now I love you.
How dare you be me!
(C) 5 January 1991, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.
Dark, deep swirling in the river of my soul,
Sucking whirlpool and crashing wave.
How I’ve longed to trace you and
The devilish pain you gave,
But I never could quite discover
Even who you were, you knave.
Struggle, strive, stretch, searching,
Desperate to find relief,
In every nook and cranny,
Turning over each stone and leaf;
I hounded you to dispatch you—
To rest finally was my belief.
Who are you, my constant companion,
Who I fear, hate, yet long to see?
You outwit me, and you mock me,
Yet you fit me to a tee.
I hate you now I love you.
How dare you be me!
(C) 5 January 1991, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.
Personally Balanced
Personally Balanced
If I were sweeter water still
And not some brackish brine,
If I were only whippoorwill
And not a herd of swine,
If I were only oak and ash
And never knotty pine,
If I were only lakes and trees
And not a deep coal mine,
Then I would lack the bass-er notes
That swell the symphony,
And I would even lack the pain
And tears of sympathy;
My life would only be so flat—
No room for empathy,
And I would—perfectly dull—
Not have much company!
(C) 5 January 1991, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.
If I were sweeter water still
And not some brackish brine,
If I were only whippoorwill
And not a herd of swine,
If I were only oak and ash
And never knotty pine,
If I were only lakes and trees
And not a deep coal mine,
Then I would lack the bass-er notes
That swell the symphony,
And I would even lack the pain
And tears of sympathy;
My life would only be so flat—
No room for empathy,
And I would—perfectly dull—
Not have much company!
(C) 5 January 1991, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.
Self-Observation & Self-Discovery
Self-Observation & Self-Discovery
Focusing on sensations puts us more directly in touch with what's motivating us, while at the same time helping to free us from the story lines which tend to obscure our feelings. In this way, greater awareness to our sensations increases our emotional sensitivity. ~Marshall GlickmanOne of the more healing concepts for me was being made aware that I could get to know me and could discover more about me by seeing my body's reactions to whatever I was choosing to focus on at the time (for example, trying to discern why I cared about something said or done,) by allowing myself to feel whatever it was I was feeling, and by watching to see what arose in and from those feelings, which was not always easy to discern. Observation, listening intently, and just sitting as a sacred witness to me was revolutionary in concept alone. All I was requiring myself to do was just to observe myself quietly, receptively without judgment or rush to do something about whatever I was feeling.
Even with my continuing attempts through the years to practice this observational skill to get to know me, there are still many times I baffle myself, and that is fine. It means I need to spend more time getting to know me. Sometimes I care about something that has very tangled, deep roots that curl around poisonous substances within my memories or psyche that are still too traumatic for me to handle well yet. That, too, is fine. I give myself permission to be as complicated as I am with respect and acceptance. I try to be gentle and kind with myself with whatever I observe. Of course, I am still learning this as I am not prone to being gentle with myself and also tend to hurt myself deeply often. I have a long way to go in learning to accept, respect, and love who I am.
But before I can really love, accept, and respect me, I must know me. This is why I learned this practice in the first place. I also discovered that before I can truly love, accept, and respect someone else, I must be able to be offer these same kindnesses to me.
22 March 2011, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw
My Quotes Dealing with Abuse Issues
17/06/11
Why take the drugs when you can live here & have a bad trip anytime you like? The only side effects are insanity with a bad attitude. No boredom, but it comes with a big price tag - you'll never know what is reality ever was... if there even IS a reality, one that seems never to go away. Welcome to the nightmare time. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw
15/09/10
Do we ever in this life know why things turn out as they do? Some of what we think of as our worst flaws saves us much grief while some of our best strengths don't help when we think they should. Still, all works together for us in ways we don't always see. Nothing is as it appears. So, I say relax more, enjoy, & work with whatever happens. Might as well smile, too. It's free. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw
21/01/11
Brave smiles to hide the tears ripping a living heart asunder. Such sad eyes. Why can I not reach you with my hands? You are so far. But, I can reach you with my heart. Can I move mountains to love you? Will it be enough? So many mountains need a very big heart. I can & I must try. Love & Life demand it. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw
22/01/11
Decades later she still heard the terrified screams, smelt the blood. The words "she talked" burned, locked her in an extreme-still silence. No visible sign of emotion was safe. Ultra-sweet compliance was her defiance & survival. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw, Baby Tears
25/01/11
Moment by moment I am training myself to respect all of me as a whole & worthwhile person. I am learning to turn scared into sacred. I am learning that I really am who I am, & who I am is exactly who I was meant to be. I am learning this is the same for all my relations in creation. AND, it is a joy. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw
Down the Cavern of Memory Turned
Down the Cavern of Memory Turned
Sorrow like flooding overflowing the banks
Of the river of heart swamped full;
Grief in the bones of despairing flanks
The mind's darkest desolation to pull.
Only half-remembered times of goodness went
To chase the agonies of all gone wrong;
Without the joys of the heart well spent,
Sadness drowned such happiness as song.
But deeper still than the darkest pain,
The loving heart may remain
Calm.
Even deeper again than all that's sane,
A knowing of peace 'came
Psalm.
(C) Copyright, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw, 6 May 2010. All rights reserved.
Sorrow like flooding overflowing the banks
Of the river of heart swamped full;
Grief in the bones of despairing flanks
The mind's darkest desolation to pull.
Only half-remembered times of goodness went
To chase the agonies of all gone wrong;
Without the joys of the heart well spent,
Sadness drowned such happiness as song.
But deeper still than the darkest pain,
The loving heart may remain
Calm.
Even deeper again than all that's sane,
A knowing of peace 'came
Psalm.
(C) Copyright, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw, 6 May 2010. All rights reserved.
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