creative non-fiction – Page 9

Silence and Shame

I tell my sister that she should tell her story, write it out and then post it on her Facebook wall and yet I’m terrified to tell mine.

I don’t want to tell anyone. I want to keep it quiet, close to my heart. I want to pretend that I don’t make mistakes, that I always acknowledge my privilege, that I’m perfect. I want silence.

I ran a workshop for a group of LGBTQ newcomers a couple of weeks ago on criminal law. I was the organizer, the facilitator and the panel moderator. I recruited the volunteers, set the agenda, chose the scenarios we would use.

And then after the workshop I got some feedback that one of my volunteers felt oppressed, that I didn’t do my job as the panel moderator in balancing which voices were heard and that several components of the workshop were disempowering for participants instead of being empowering.

And I said I was fine after I read it but part of me went into a spiral. I can’t do my job, I’m not good at my job, I’m actually just perpetuating the cycles of oppression that I thought I was trying to stop, I’m a bad person, I don’t deserve the good that I have in my life. And these voices felt like they were strangling me.

black. sticky. strangling.

But I told myself I was fine and that I didn’t need to tell anyone, that I had come so far that I was beyond needing to tell others, or that they wouldn’t understand anyways. Any and every story to convince me to keep silent.

But I’m not above shame. And just because I lived at an ashram for two years doesn’t mean that now I’ve worked everything out and that I can fight all my battles on my own. I still need help, I still need people to listen to my story, I still need empathy.

I am not invincible and I’m far from perfect. I am trying so hard to create experiences that are empowering for participants and sometimes I fail. This time – I made multiple mistakes. But that doesn’t mean that I give up and stop trying at all.

And so I am scared that I will fail again, but I am trying to learn from my mistakes and create something better. I am trying to be brave and not listen to these voices that tell me to crawl into a hole and never to come out again. And I am trying to move out of silence and through the shame.

Healing

Two weeks ago I chipped my heal bone doing a front flip and for the first week it was improving substantially each day but then last weekend I went a little bit overboard with activity (walking, dancing) and this week the healing seems to have plateaued.

So I began to ask myself – what is healing? How does it work? And how does the body heal?

It seemed like a fitting time to read the Yoga of Healing by Swami Radha again and as I begin to read a message rings out to me loud and clear. Do not ask for a miracle, if you’re not willing to do your part. Don’t ask for spiritual healing if you’re not willing to rest your foot, get enough sleep, eat well.

Bone healing takes calcium, rest. And so this week I work from home to save the travel, take Friday off completely, use a cane, drink more smoothies.

Radha then goes onto describe the practices taught at Yasodhara Ashram as tools to aide healing. Meditation, relaxation, pranayama, yoga.

And I remember that I know these tools, I have these tools.

And as I reflect on my injury, I can see it as a reminder to do what I already know is healthy for me. To eat well, get enough sleep, rest, and make time for meditation and relaxation in my daily life.

And I wake up, again, to what I know.

Can you fall in love with someone in the comments section on Youtube?

I was reading the comments on one of Sufjan Stevens’ newly released songs. Someone (dragonman) said something insightful about the meaning of the song and someone else replied ‘Dragonman, I think I’m in love with you.’

And I thought – wow – can you fall in love in the comments section? But then again, as a newly converted online dater, the comments section suddenly doesn’t seem too far off.

We live in a digital era, where every aspect of life has a digital platform. From personal (FB), to work (LinkedIn), to political (twitter) to dating (OKC) I am online. Each with it’s carefully tailored profile – the perfect picture, tone, diction for the specific platform. And as I start to date strangers, I suddenly realize that giving out my cell phone number is far less personal than giving out my last name.

And so it’s scary and there’s a vulnerability in painting my thoughts, opinions and photos online. But there’s also the freedom that comes with being vulnerable. This is me, these are my thoughts. Take what you will.

And so I give out my last name and cell phone number and say take what you will.

This is me.

The Spaciousness of Being Single

It’s the first warm weekend in the city so I bike to the park
I find a big tree to lean my bike and my back against
Dappled light
And I am alone

Everyone is out – families, couples, gangles of cyclists – playing frisbee, having picnics, drinking beer and I suddenly hope desperately that I’ll run into someone I know – an old friend, a new friend, an acquaintance, anyone – so I can join into this togetherness of being with loved ones in the sunlight.

But then I notice two small girls each holding the leash of one small dog,
running down the steps,
laughing.
And a skinny Indian boy standing up on his bicycle riding fast,
And two small boys run up to me and ask if they can hide behind the tree with me.
“Who are you hiding from?”
“My dad!”
They run away giggling to the next tree ahead.

And I finally notice the first flush of leaves, lime green, bordering the sky,
and the sweetness of a young couple sitting on a bench beneath the trees
and I realize everything is as it should be.

And I remember there is beautifulness
to being alone,
and there spaciousness
in being single.

And I can still love him…

Even as I step away from the possibility of romance
Turning away from the manipulations

Step out

Drawing my strength forward
Step out

And I can still feel desperate
Still need
Still cling

And I can cling to hope
for a simpler life
And consider falling in love with the man with the British accent on the subway
And cling to hope
to someday date a grown up who is inspired by the beauty of simple living

And choose not to date the tennis photographer
who reminds me of Pierre

And I can still cling
to hope.

Try, try again?

try bike
doesn’t fit
try bike
doesn’t fit
try bike
sleep

try bike
fits
and i ride away free

but the screws aren’t fitting either
they haven’t fit for years
and I wonder why I try at all
why I continue to go to the hardware store
continue to have hope
that some day, I’ll find them

I ask a question
the world opens up

I ask a question
the iron gate comes down
closing all possibilities
of further conversation

“but can we talk??”
“I don’t think I can talk about it right now,
actually – I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to talk about it.”

try bike
doesn’t fit
try bike
doesn’t fit
try bike
fits
and I ride away free.

Enraged

I want to hurl this cup against the wall
Ceramic explosion
Warm milky liquid flying through the air
Finally expressing what is trapped within me

I know who I am
And I deserve better
They deserve better
We deserve better

And I want to hurl myself off a cliff
Dive into the ocean
Just to feel the saltiness

To be floated and held
forever.

Transition

I saw an old friend last week and she said – I didn’t know if we would still be friends. We were out on a walk, bundled in jackets and toques in the cold rain, stopping occasionally to let the dogs go pee. She didn’t know if we would still be friends, and yet somehow we are. And this particular friendship seems to constantly surprise me. Superficially we seem to grow apart but at the same time our lives always parallel enough that we can still understand each others secrets of the heart.

I am in the process of moving back to Ontario after spending the last couple of years in British Columbia. And as I step back into old places and relationships from which I’ve been gone a long time, I am finding that I don’t remember all the street names. But I still remember what’s important. I remember the secrets of these places and of these hearts.

And now as I sit in bed, as the tail end of a cold sweeps through me, surrounded by bags half packed, I’m mentally preparing to move to a new city. Trying it out. Playing it by ear. Improvising to create the life that I want.

I can’t know what it will be and I’m okay with the unknowing. Today I lay in bed sleeping off the sickness. Tomorrow will be a new day.

Prasad

for two years
I have lived
in the mountains

growing food
growing hearts
growing dignity

people started as strangers and grew into friends
an eclectic family
brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles

they understand
some matter of my heart

and we’ve worked and argued and come to agreement
we’ve been through our fair share of trials
emerging stronger, clearer, brighter

and as my departure draws nearer
a sweetness is emerging
of learning, living, loving
this people
this place

learning, living, loving
learning, living, loving
learning, living, loving

thank you.

To learn more about my 108 Poetry Challenge or to donate click here.

In the Name of Hair

He winks at me and I cut it all off
brusquely
I am not who you think I am
I am not some submissive human
who will cook you the perfect breakfast
and then walk with you arm and arm in the park
I am not your trophy

I cut it all off and swear off
men like him

I meet another
who likes my short hair
but I cut it all off anyways
he is wrong
he is not perfect
he is

and I am dropped
plummeting
land
bruised
black and blue

i get up and keep running
and I couldn’t see the bruises then
I can now

and there is a heaviness in my heart
why so hard?
and so unseeing?
why so?

now I pause
as I lie on the ground
and breathe into the pain

I am hurt

I get up
holding my bruised heart
and carefully
step forward.
To learn more about my 108 Poetry Challenge or to donate click here.