Bodies in Resistance is a reader supported publication and I’d for you to stay, support this space. Consider becoming a subscriber.
Human’ing
I lamented, “Being a person is hard.”
“Humaning is not for the weak.” She responded,
To be in this skin and contend with mortality
In a world gone mad, made from brutality
I survive a place, I cannot yet call home
Scrambling to reconnect, identify my body
Displaced mind, the madness is my own.
Contamination
“People will do anything, no matter how absurd, in order to avoid facing their own souls.” Carl Jung told us.
When our friends, partners, lovers, and children are dying, being tortured, arrested, held without justice, raped, killed and the evidence is on our 9×16 frames and we refuse to alter some —theology, politic, religion, etc., what have we become? Mm?
There is no belief you have which is not connected to your intimate wounds.
Every time you dig your heels into being right about some belief system, which elevates murder, harm, or genocide, you’re digging into your own wound and calling contaminated blood ‘safe.’
As you dehumanize another, you dehumanize yourself, and become something other than human.
Avoiding pain in order to be right festers the wound into infection.
It’s time to unveil the picture of Dorian Gray, so you can see god in drag, in the mirror, outside the window, and inside your 9×16 frame, where evidence is crying out for revolution,
~ what is televised and what is not.
Undercover.
Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published
That we are beyond this mortal spiral, Something alien here speeding around the sun unaware of our bodies, undercover. And all at once I was disconnected while trapped like animal in a cage facing my enemies as they piled at the door, Desperate to keep me locked inside, stripped me bare of my shell, My skin called humanity, I’d walked into a viper’s lair and thought I could tame the snake, I failed Subjected to the rage and screams of a monster while another mocked me with smile, and still another coiled around my arm, On the other-side, can this planet survive and is my mission here complete? That I am beyond this mortal spiral, Something alien here, speeding out of control, fully aware of my body, undercover
Note: if you’re not ready for the monthly set up, consider one-time tip-jar support and I’ll hook it up for you automatically for 90-days (3-months)
One-Time Support for the Writer
Ash is a poet, relational analyst and coach with a somatic and trauma-theory view of how world, making sense as we fight for justice, and pursue the stories of healing. To work with her, interview, connect here.
Musings
Between Us
·
May 4
Poetry returns to me now and then. And if it connects for you too, consider staying away while, and support this work,
No posts
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.