Gratitude and Humility

This blog is dedicated to all of the incredible people, inspiration, guidance, adornments, rituals, journey's, sacred poetry and love that has shaped my life and shown me a better way of living. Be you, because no one else will. 

Life is full of little and BIG miracles, if you would have asked me 3 years ago if I would be writing about this time in my life the answer would have been a huge Hell no. But Alas, here we are today. Once we have allowed time and space to heal our own wounds we can share and allow our pain to help heal others. 

This poem is a excerpt from an article I wrote for the Nabalo Lifestyle Magazine. The article takes a look at repressed childhood traumatic events and how to begin again.  You can view the full article by downloading it here. This beautiful magazine offers recipes, rituals, stories and all things related to self/soul care. Perhaps those of you who have gone through some life altering moments can relate. It is with gratitude and humility that I share this piece of my heart in a time when I didn't know how I would recover. 

Hollow

A Poem for those who have Suffered 

Deep reverence in the chest of my existence.

Only that which is searched for can be found.

Somewhere dry, desolate.

A room that houses no souls.

 

I didn’t know you then but I do now.

All I want is for you to go back into hiding

But I know this cannot happen.

It was meant to be this way.

I would be incomplete without you.

 

It is here where I begin again.

I trust that time and space will provide

Necessary tools to enrich my soul.

I attempt to explain in straight language,

That which my body wants to communicate.

Time and fear have hidden that particular thought.

 

My emptiness hurts but I do not make excuses for it.

Instead I hold my broken heart until

I have the strength to open.

I do not take another step half hearted.

For the bone collectors will come looking

For payment of a life unfulfilled.

 

Truth is different for everyone but the same for no one.

The mind makes feeble attempts to correct this.

Only the spirit knows where x marks the spot.

I wish to find this treasure map.

 

Home is in our words,

our descriptors,

and our dialect.

The perfection of this is entangled by our thoughts

And our half-truths.

 

If there is one thing to say, say nothing.

The foreclosure of innocence is yours to perceive.

 

Like the winds, the breeze carries thoughts

To new homes in the back of your mind,

Where they are safe for as long as they are held.

They are placed there with loving hands.

 

The winter months house all that is

White and pure within one, within the whole.

That of which I am comes to me here.

In these times of quiet reflection.

I am able to see.

I can breathe again.

 

There has never been a right way to do this,

Plopped out of the sky like an alien who longs for home.

Who can be the seeker but the knower,

If that knower is you,

Then who is observing?

 

Thoughts, freely flowing

Without suggestion,

Suggest heartache.

Remaining within them

Is unsupported by everything

That wants to be known,

Within that is truth.

My truth.

 

Layers upon layers of decay

Bring flowers life

And also, trees air.

Breathe it in as they do

Since it is all the same.

We can bend and move and sway.

 

Within these walls

A beam sheds light

Wherever it goes.

Shine on me

Let me know you are still there

For I grow tired and weary.

Lisa Piluschak