The following article was recently published in Psychologica Magazine’s special edition on Trauma. I’ve included a link to the full magazine, lots of great articles on trauma treatments, both from a clinical perspective as well as personal. Hope you might find something that resonates.
Tag Archives: spirituality
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spirit and matter…
a blue painted feather.
“…think of the bird as a teacher. Approach it with curiosity and patience, as if it were the most important thing right now. you do not have to worry about getting it to do something. The bird invents itself and is not dependent on our conscious egos. We must give it our time and space, though, if we wish to learn from it. Allow it to move and change as it desires. You may have the wish to ask it questions, as that is our usual method of finding out about things. Sometimes images do talk, but not always. The important thing is to realize though that it already is what it can convey. The image is a complete statement in and of itself”.
Mary Watkins, Waking Dreams, pg. 109
Diamond sun rising
small black pyramids.
4 birds or 5?
And on this first day of a New Year, wishing all of you a year fulfilled
with hopes, dreams, curiosity and questions…
and leaving you with a few more….
What is this mind?
Who is hearing these sounds?
Do not mistake any state for
Self-realization, but continue
To ask yourself even more intensely,
What is it that hears?
Either you will
go through this door
or you will not go through.
If you go through
there is always the risk
of remembering your name.
Things look at you doubly
and you must look back
and let them happen.
If you do not go through
it is possible
to live worthily
to maintain your attitudes
to hold your position
to die bravely
but much will blind you,
much will evade you,
at what cost who knows?
The door itself makes no promises.
by Adrienne Rich, from
“Prospective Immigrants, Please Note”
Last night my house was burning. Could not find
one precious thing to grab and find comfort in.
And when the torrential rain hammered out the
flames, I was angry with its self-righteous
My house is still burning. And where it is
whole, I have not found all the rooms,
closets and old garbage.
There is no longer
a complacent order.
Havoc has its own
integrity. Charred walls accept young vines
and holes in roof allow the fragrant spring
to freely visit.
My house is not my castle. It is not the
precious final coagulated fulfillment of
ironed-out dreams. It is a plant, a tree
swaying in the evening wind.
Joseph C. Zinker, 2001
from: Sketches: An Anthology of Essays, Art, and Poetry, Gestalt Press
What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
“Leisure” by Welsh poet W. H. Davies, from Songs Of Joy and Others
published in 1911 by A. C. Fifield