i. soul spill

In honor,
the New Moon,
i entitle this “soul spill”.
i’ll post,
but i won’t share.

What is a soul spill?
c/o of studio/sanctuary/school The Rad Life
it is the pure ripping of your soul into words.
sometimes if you are foolish enough,
brave enough,
you dare to share your soul spill to those outside safety.
tonight, i am brave enough. foolish enough.

Friday.
i felt it, it that i cannot explain.
it was unsettling.
i felt pricklings of pure saddness in my throat,
“stop it girl, you are at work.”
the feelings would pass.
until the final hour of a shift in leadership,
emotion seeped into me in ways that havent hit
since the anxiety attacks of 2014-2016.
my eyes burned raw, they knew, i still tried to hide.
composure. when relief came, i ran so fast.
i let the emotion pure when i left the grounds,
pure it all out,
fucking bullshit.
i let all the tears out because its the only way to heal.

Text,
from my mom.
My Grandma on my Dad’s side went into coma.
my Dad’s Mom may pass at any moment.
emotion began to soften as my logical mind took over,
“perhaps this is why i had the rushing emotion?”
“fucking nonsense,” i reply to myself,
“you’re too smart to believe that bullshit.” 
fuck does the rational mind soothe irrational emotion,
cruel, like strangling a lost puppy to death.

Family,
is my destruction.
i do this thing,
infact, i do it so well,
you’d think i created the art-
i isolate.
i isolate away from the humans.
i was like that as a child.
animals were my protection, comfort.
humans, i’ve always distrusted.
even after being mauled by the farm dog,
on the lands of my maternal Grandparents land,
near death, 27 stitches, almost losing eyesight,
i instinctively felt compassion for the dog,
when the adults tried to create fear and protection,
i did not want to live with
as a child, without any knowing of the world,
i was grateful my Grandparents did not put him down.
humans can be so ugly.
i was four years old.
children see truth before life can corrupt.

So hum,
i am that,
that which i am.
universal integrity with needs and desires to expand,
trauma is bullseye between my eyebrows,
trauma that has been wedged into subconscious dissociation,
presents itself in my days from waking from sleep,
“this can’t be it.”
– i refuse to believe this to be true.
truth, light, goodness – i surround with those i can trust,
trusting of their character,
but i am not there yet to let the walls down.
my inner walls are down though.
trauma has decayed the vertebra of my spine.
grief has decomposed my heart centre.
i see it every time when guided into meditation.
it makes me sick that even in relaxation and subtle suggestion,
i cannot visualize a wholeness.
i had 12 years with him, 19 without.
yet i cannot imagine this life without.
do you know what is the cure to trauma?
community is the cure.

Hari Om.
Remover of obstacles.
To release,
Is to relinquish control.

All is well,
really.
here i am.
alive.
imperfect.
so fucking imperfect.
but alive.

“those illogical campy flaky ridiculous dreamers.
what do they see what i don’t?”
the others ridicule.

Everything.
They see everything.

I find safety among the brave,
inspired by the bold + fearless,
gently healed by the broken who retell,

All is well.
Really.

I got what I asked for.
I got what I fell down on to my knees and prayed for.
Have you ever seen a desperate agnostic pray?
Prayers can be received.
Even the prayers of the nonbelievers.

My prayers have been answered.

They just didn’t say it would be easy.

|i of xxi|
soul spill.

stay foolish and brave friends.
so fucking foolish.

-kp

 

 

rookie photo credit: davey h productions
“city of lush, the temples await”
“the road to india”

lodhi gardens, delhi, india

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