Stunned and Beaming
Remember that night the sky cracked open
and the light tried to push through that jagged seam?
It sealed in a flash.
you stopped wearing your wedding ring, you said you forgot.
I awoke in the dryer tumbling like a tennis shoe,
wondering when the spinning would stop.
One morning, for no apparent reason, I woke up from my dream.
I put my hand on the doorsill and the world arrived in Technicolor,
every leaf turned it’s face toward my light, so happy that I’d come home.
Later that day on the phone. You were yelling yet again,
you were shouting at someone who used to be me.
I wondered who you were talking to,
and if I had the wrong number.
I stood in silence, stunned and beaming.
Natalie Breaux
8/18/2009
...and here is the other side of processing the divorce. You are no longer defined by the day to day contact with your former partner, parts of you arrive out of blue that you did not know were there. You start evolving into this new creature whom your former partner hasn't met. He calls one day wanting to reconnect in that old emotionally charged way and instead of being Ginger Rodgers to his Fred Astair, you are sitting in the theater watching the movie from your crushed velvet seat munching on hot buttered popcorn.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Seeing the splinter in my eye
Atonement
I saw how much you couldn’t help yourself
And you saw that in me
I was unkind about it
I demanded change
I put a burden on you
one, that I would not shoulder myself
You knew best
and you said “no.”
Little storm passing through
Please don’t take the house down as you go
Natalie Breaux
7/5/7
When I did The Work on my relationship with my former husband, I came to see my part in things. This poem is about that realization, and the wish to come through the divorce intact. Doing TW really rent a big hole in my story that I was the jilted one. I could no longer blame my former husband for leaving me for another woman, because I came to see all the ways I had left him when we married.
This was the deconstruction of my story of my role in things and it happened in a rather sweet way. A man named Dale became my "Work" partner. We did TW for a year almost everyday. One day Dale couldn't take it anymore (doing TW on my ex husband and all of my beleifs about being a victim in the marriage). After he finished facilitating me, he asked me to facilitate him on the one liner, "Natalie should stop blaming him for everything!"
I saw how much you couldn’t help yourself
And you saw that in me
I was unkind about it
I demanded change
I put a burden on you
one, that I would not shoulder myself
You knew best
and you said “no.”
Little storm passing through
Please don’t take the house down as you go
Natalie Breaux
7/5/7
When I did The Work on my relationship with my former husband, I came to see my part in things. This poem is about that realization, and the wish to come through the divorce intact. Doing TW really rent a big hole in my story that I was the jilted one. I could no longer blame my former husband for leaving me for another woman, because I came to see all the ways I had left him when we married.
This was the deconstruction of my story of my role in things and it happened in a rather sweet way. A man named Dale became my "Work" partner. We did TW for a year almost everyday. One day Dale couldn't take it anymore (doing TW on my ex husband and all of my beleifs about being a victim in the marriage). After he finished facilitating me, he asked me to facilitate him on the one liner, "Natalie should stop blaming him for everything!"
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Life is A Wild Thing
Life Is a Wild Thing
Life is a wild thing
running too and fro
Here and there
And I
chasing it, hunting it down, setting traps
Coercing and pleading with it
To do
Want I want
My way
Rebellious struggle
I end up hurt
Life goes on
7/5/7
Grappling with my expectations of life and the reality of it, I begin to see that I feel bad when I impose my expectations on life.
Life is a wild thing
running too and fro
Here and there
And I
chasing it, hunting it down, setting traps
Coercing and pleading with it
To do
Want I want
My way
Rebellious struggle
I end up hurt
Life goes on
7/5/7
Grappling with my expectations of life and the reality of it, I begin to see that I feel bad when I impose my expectations on life.
Friday, August 7, 2009
The Habit of Anger
The Guest House by Rumi
This being human is a guest house
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
Some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of it's furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
And invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
At the center of anger: moonstones by Natalie Breaux
round and round she paced
the flame of anger
shooting from spine to face.
wanting to run
or strike
words caught in the throat
throb and choke
"anger do not come today!"
Rumi is your gracious host,
his guest house your true destination
she stands defiant
forgetting your last visit
where probing gingerly through your fiery facade
she found at your center: moonstones
9/8/8
In the throes of unwinding 18 years of marriage, a lot of emotions come up. I so wanted to be the person embodied in Rumi's poem, and sometimes that happened. A lot of times it didn't. I wrote this poem about what it's like to want to be that person but not quite pulling it off. When I was able to be present with anger or other intense emotions, it was an amazing experience, but my past conditioning was pretty strong.
This being human is a guest house
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
Some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of it's furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
And invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
At the center of anger: moonstones by Natalie Breaux
round and round she paced
the flame of anger
shooting from spine to face.
wanting to run
or strike
words caught in the throat
throb and choke
"anger do not come today!"
Rumi is your gracious host,
his guest house your true destination
she stands defiant
forgetting your last visit
where probing gingerly through your fiery facade
she found at your center: moonstones
9/8/8
In the throes of unwinding 18 years of marriage, a lot of emotions come up. I so wanted to be the person embodied in Rumi's poem, and sometimes that happened. A lot of times it didn't. I wrote this poem about what it's like to want to be that person but not quite pulling it off. When I was able to be present with anger or other intense emotions, it was an amazing experience, but my past conditioning was pretty strong.
Skidding into Reality
Skidding
No more mental post mortems
No more going over the past with a fine tooth comb
and looking for evidence that you are bad
You said the wrong thing
You moved when you should have been still
Were silent when you should have spoken
It all went down the way it was supposed to
And you are still here with your breath and your great heart
With the chain stitch running zig zag across it
You are still here with ground beneath your feet
You are still here after the sloppy sentence that made every one look up from there soup.
You are still here with that unrequited love and longing, knowing that if you rounded the corner and saw him, your knees would buckle, your heart would tumble into your shoes, and you mouth would try to form words that would never come.
There are no perfect words there is no perfect timing, there is just you skidding across the ice like Bambi, laughing with Thumper.
You don’t know how to skate.
How could you?
You are so innocent.
And who is to say that skating is the goal?
The secret is -- that skidding is…
Dedicated to Katie
Susan Garrard
6/19/7
This poem actually came before Vampire Girl, but VG sticks out in my mind as the beginning of writing poems again. During my divorce I went through this period of second guessing myself and looking over my past with a fine tooth comb. I thought I could find the place where I should have turned left instead of right. The place where I missed something that led to the demise of the marriage. I started doing a self inquiry process called "The Work." I started doing it in December of 2005, and have done it everyday since. I was in so much pain it was the only thing that helped me find a place of peace in my life. This surprised me because I had been a consistant meditator for four years. I couldn't sit any more, my mind was too agitated. This poem is about finding peace in that time of suffering. "The Work" opened up my world. I dedicated it to Byron Katie, who goes by Katie. She discovered "The Work." You can check it out on thework.com.
No more mental post mortems
No more going over the past with a fine tooth comb
and looking for evidence that you are bad
You said the wrong thing
You moved when you should have been still
Were silent when you should have spoken
It all went down the way it was supposed to
And you are still here with your breath and your great heart
With the chain stitch running zig zag across it
You are still here with ground beneath your feet
You are still here after the sloppy sentence that made every one look up from there soup.
You are still here with that unrequited love and longing, knowing that if you rounded the corner and saw him, your knees would buckle, your heart would tumble into your shoes, and you mouth would try to form words that would never come.
There are no perfect words there is no perfect timing, there is just you skidding across the ice like Bambi, laughing with Thumper.
You don’t know how to skate.
How could you?
You are so innocent.
And who is to say that skating is the goal?
The secret is -- that skidding is…
Dedicated to Katie
Susan Garrard
6/19/7
This poem actually came before Vampire Girl, but VG sticks out in my mind as the beginning of writing poems again. During my divorce I went through this period of second guessing myself and looking over my past with a fine tooth comb. I thought I could find the place where I should have turned left instead of right. The place where I missed something that led to the demise of the marriage. I started doing a self inquiry process called "The Work." I started doing it in December of 2005, and have done it everyday since. I was in so much pain it was the only thing that helped me find a place of peace in my life. This surprised me because I had been a consistant meditator for four years. I couldn't sit any more, my mind was too agitated. This poem is about finding peace in that time of suffering. "The Work" opened up my world. I dedicated it to Byron Katie, who goes by Katie. She discovered "The Work." You can check it out on thework.com.
How it all started: Vampire Girl
Vampire Girl
Vampire girl wants sex now
Without guilt or risk
Without a broken heart,
Disease or shame
Vampire girl wants cookies
And cakes without sugar jitters,
Or fat in the wrong places.
Vampire girl wants art
That saturates the eye
and breaks the heart wide open
Without turpentine
And courting the elusive muse
Vampire girl wants epiphanies
Profound and grand
Without the meditation cushion
or pouring over ancient text
Vampire girl wants peace
From desire and craving.
Pure knowing, complete awareness.
Without realizing
that it is all here
right now.
7/07
I was walking to the art museum when this poem just fell into my mind. I stole away in a couryard and scrmabled to write it down on an envelope that I found in my purse. It's about becoming aware of that wanting part inside of me that craves peace and instant gratification. It's about becoming aware of it in a playful way rather than a judging way. I hadn't written anything in at least 18 years, all during my marriage. Then I get divorced and the muse comes for a visit, bearing gifts .
Vampire girl wants sex now
Without guilt or risk
Without a broken heart,
Disease or shame
Vampire girl wants cookies
And cakes without sugar jitters,
Or fat in the wrong places.
Vampire girl wants art
That saturates the eye
and breaks the heart wide open
Without turpentine
And courting the elusive muse
Vampire girl wants epiphanies
Profound and grand
Without the meditation cushion
or pouring over ancient text
Vampire girl wants peace
From desire and craving.
Pure knowing, complete awareness.
Without realizing
that it is all here
right now.
7/07
I was walking to the art museum when this poem just fell into my mind. I stole away in a couryard and scrmabled to write it down on an envelope that I found in my purse. It's about becoming aware of that wanting part inside of me that craves peace and instant gratification. It's about becoming aware of it in a playful way rather than a judging way. I hadn't written anything in at least 18 years, all during my marriage. Then I get divorced and the muse comes for a visit, bearing gifts .
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