Tag Archives: ferns

These Two Worlds

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Afternoon, pouring rain,
blustery wind,
skies darkened
by immense thunderclouds,
and my body is tired
from a long morning hike
in the (almost) summer sunshine.
Memories dance through my mind–
forest shade and seas of ferns,
breezes so sweet
they were salvation
to my sun warmed skin.
How is it possible I can peer into
these two worlds at once:
the furious rain of reality
and the sweet heat of memory?
And sometimes reality is so sweet
and the memories pound in my mind
like an afternoon thunderstorm,
here in an instant,
gone in a flash.
Where am I, who am I
who knows these two worlds
yet belongs to neither?

NaPoWriMo Day 16: Almanac Question

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The trouble with beginning so late at night is the fact of my willpower being depleted during the day…and so I’m left with very little energy to be creative. Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt gave us an “almanac questionnaire” and asked us to write a poem based on or incorporating one or more elements from the questionnaire. I copied the questionnaire and then pasted it into a Pages document…filled it out in no time, and then looked at my eclectic mix of answers wondering where the poem was in all of that mess. Out of the whole questionnaire, what felt the best was writing about the flora…so maybe I should focus there.

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If you were to ask me
where I’d most like to be,
I’d say
In a forest surrounded by
ferns, moss, rocks, 
cedar, pine, oak and redwood,
wading into a lovely broad stream
flowing over smooth rocks.
The day is clear and bright,
cloudless blue skies, about 70 degrees,
and there is a delicious breeze
stirring the ferns, making them whisper.
Do you see why I could never be a city girl?

Mandala #2…and My Foray Into Antidepressants

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The all-seeing witness at the center of being, still in the midst of movement, silent in the midst of noise, peaceful in the midst of chaos.

The all-seeing witness at the center of being, still in the midst of movement, silent in the midst of noise, peaceful in the midst of chaos.

I drew this mandala when I found myself with a bit of time before a scheduled appointment.  I was in a quiet room, at a big table, and I had an hour and a half to kill–which is a very rare occurrence these days.  I got out my pens and the small journal that I often take with me just in case I have a moment to write, and I doodled.  It’s meditative drawing a mandala–I can become quite nicely absorbed in the present moment when my only question is, which color pen will I pick up next?

In other news, after years of encouragement from multiple people including my therapist, my husband, my mother-in-law, an ex-boyfriend and his mother–among others– I finally went to a doctor and got a prescription for an antidepressant medication.  I’m not telling my family.  They are staunchly opposed to medicines for regulating brain chemistry.  This is probably one of the reasons that they are all depressed.

I always thought yoga and meditation would save me from this.  I thought I was better than this.  Taking medication feels like I’m giving up.  But I can’t afford to wait any longer, not when I see myself raising my voice at my children, stomping and slamming around, unable to control my temper, feeling low, feeling worthless.

I have been telling myself for years that I’ll be happy when the conditions of my life change:

If I could only live in the mountains, surrounded by trees, ferns, rocks and moss…
If only I could have a supportive community around me, other parents of young children, people to meditate with,  friends who show up…
If only I had more time to write, to practice yoga, to rock climb, to dance in a forest cathedral, to listen to the whisper of river water gliding over stones…
If only, if only, if only
then I could be happy.

I had been waiting to create the perfect life, to move away from the city and be closer to nature. I had been waiting to find more balance, to have more time to myself.  I kept telling myself that my depression was linked to real conditions in my life that could be changed, and it was only a matter of time; I needed to be patient and allow the transformation to occur, find my peace with what is, not be too pushy.

Meanwhile I can’t seem to control my rage, and I lack the motivation to do many of the things that I know would bring me satisfaction.  No matter how hard I try, I end up being impatient with my kids, short-tempered, and then I feel guilty for erupting, being reactive.  I don’t want them to turn out like me, I don’t want them to be angry people.  I don’t want them to be traumatized; they’re so young, they deserve to feel happy and to know that they are safe at all times. They deserve to be around a mother who is happy, competent and peaceful.

My husband picked up my prescription from the pharmacy tonight, and I eyed the bottle sitting on the kitchen counter for a couple of hours before I worked up the courage to open it and examine its contents.  I took off the cap and saw a bunch of harmless looking,  round, pale lavender pills–but they might as well have been roaring monsters with sharp teeth for all of the anxiety I was feeling.  I plucked one out and held the small lavender disk in my hand for a few minutes, on the verge of tears, feeling so hopeless, defeated.

When I finally swallowed the thing, I was swallowing my sadness, my anger, my regret, my guilt.  There was a big lump in my throat that made swallowing nearly impossible, but I did it.  I took my first antidepressant pill–and then I burst into tears.

I’ve been told that life doesn’t have to feel like such a struggle.  I’m looking forward to experiencing that.