Feeling

Many moons ago I attended a course, one of the learning outcomes of which was to ‘identify, own and feel ones feelings‘. I really didn’t know what to make of this. Surely this was too easy? What was the catch? …. I turned out to be the catch.

Anyway, while somewhat of a slow learner stuck in seemingly perpetual numbness, I did manage to achieve the said learning outcome. And it has turned out to be possibly the most important of my whole life.

In a recent writing workshop hosted by StoryCentre, I was given a writing prompt and this is what happened. It’s a short poem that depicts how I honor my felt experience and I offer this to others endeavoring to do the same for themselves.

Feeling

There is no explosive burst
or theatrical awe inspiring event
of Mother Nature revealing her power
to overcome man made resistance.

Rather the damn is slowly, quietly,
consistently quenched.
And drip by drip
the hard stone within is
worn away.

In silent breathing.
In tending the earth.
In quiet contemplation.
In solitude and in kinship
comes conscious connection.

And the valve is opened
to release the drip.
The drip, the trickle, the stream,
the unstoppable river.
Enough for now.
The valve closes.
The hand is mine.

As the stone wears
the space behind is revealed.
And the light comes through.

Beyond the damn
the river goes on.
As she does.
And carries me home.

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