I wanted to write you a think piece
A cogent reflection on an issue of Great social import-- What it’s like to be raised in the Culture of conspiracy Yet my brain is still a bit too scrambled To weave coherent sentences together Probably because phrases like “Deep state” and “high cabal” Were a regular part of my childhood diet Long before YouTube was even a thing But just as toxic voices coming Through the radio flooded my tender heart Sometime before my brain broke Beyond repair I wanted to write you a think piece But my brain can no longer think straight Not like anything about me was Built to be straight- Perhaps it’s that I am so damn tired My mind is exhausted The heart hurts like my heart has the virus And my soul can only muster the strength To plop down on my couch and cry The last four years wearied my soul On top of the forty years I’ve spent running from ghosts Slaying monsters, dancing with demons Or figuring out a way to live with them Most days it all feels the same I wanted to write you a think piece Something that might catch the attention of Rachel Maddow or NPR A queer daughter shares her lived experience Of surviving a conservative existence Q-Anon pings on our modern radar, yet A-thru-P were quite the torture too The father who exposed me had such a Questionable relationship with the truth, With consistency, with decency, and yes Even with the Mighty God he claimed to serve Yet when you’re a spirited little girl You believe in him And that his goodness will prevail Not his delusions I wanted to write you a think piece Full of big words to help you understand And yet I only have big feelings That still make an accomplished person Unsure of who she can really trust Uncertain of what is fantasy and what is real Unclear if the avoidant lovers who are a Staple in her life truly mean what they say About my love, my body, my light Or if they are just like him Afraid of my light Too afraid to let it work Her transformative powers My light works that magic for so many So why do I still feel so cold in my own bed? I wanted to write you a think piece About how the fire in my belly Led me to the Capitol to make sure That the King of my father’s own image Was indeed knocked off his throne I got to tell one of his disciples That he sounded like an abuser And that I could no longer communicate With such a person for whom the Truth Clearly means something so different Their vision of a great America is no America in which I want to live So how am I supposed to live with them? How can our demons ever possibly dance Together on the same floor? I wanted to write you a think piece Full of solutions for unity Based on my knowledge and life’s work Yet this puzzle is not one that Thinking will ever solve And our feelings may burn down Each other's houses I am curled up, crying on my couch With the young women that still Live inside Just wanting their father to love them As they are, as she is A very blue soul Who loves America and everything in it With a fiercely bleeding heart
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Do you spit or do you swallow?
What! How dare you ask me that! The question is relevant Do you spit or do you swallow… The shame. Some women seem to have a natural gift To spit it out, to reject it Or they simply refused to be dicked around In the first place I am in awe of these women because for years I swallowed and Swallowed and Swallowed “Taking it like a woman” to Keep the connection To secure the attachment To be a good girl For the men I wanted to love me To praise me To adore me To let me play on their field Even though I was more talented More resilient More flexible and A hell of a lot stronger By swallowing the shame Internalizing the misogyny Being the version of a lady They wanted me to be And even treating other women Poorly in reaction Denying them their rights, Their process I swallowed Believing it would keep the man happy When he could care less what I did As long as he got off first How would he react now if I spit it Right back in his face? Would that make me an unlady? Will they take my good girl card away? Better yet, what if I don’t show up for the game? Make him take care of himself Hell has no fury like a privileged man Losing his power While compassion has long been our power I must no longer let the man use that against me I almost died in both body and spirit Caring too much When we step back into the power we deserve The world comes back into balance Yes, the fight ahead is a long one They will come after us Violently Or worse yet They may even deny us the Connection and love we desire May the fire burning in our bellies Lit from the kindling of that Good Girl card they revoked Light the way Surround yourself with the good men, women, and people Who will never make you be anything than who you are Who will celebrate your spirit to the fullest Who will never ask you—spit or swallow? “The heart is an organ of fire.” ~Michael Ondaatje, The English Patient The limbic brain, the seat of our emotions and learning as human beings, can be destroyed by unhealed trauma. Ancient Christian mystics, often called the desert fathers and desert mothers, referred to this brain as the heart brain. Our emotional world, governed by the limbic brain, can feel like a fire that is raging out of control. Some trauma survivors are affected oppositely—they become shut off to feeling altogether. Often we shut ourselves off from emotion by choice, afraid of what feeling them might do to us. Our emotional world and other matters of the heart are much like a fireplace that keeps a cabin warm. If the fire rages, it can burn the cabin down. If the fire dies, the cabin goes cold. Recovery teaches us how to keep the fire in balance—properly tended to create for us a beautiful warmth. Invitation: Interlace your hands together and place them over your heart. If directly touching your body feels too activating, you may hover this cross-fingered gesture a few inches away from your heart. Spend 3-5 minutes in this position and listen to what messages your heart—and the emotional world it represents—may be giving you today. Prayer or Intention: May the emotional fire of my heart create warmth—not destruction—today and on the path ahead. Excerpt from the forthcoming, Trauma and the 12 Steps Daily Meditation Reader, releasing on September 30, 2020 from Creative Mindfulness Media Photograph & Meme by Dr. Jamie Marich May the reason I practice yoga be
To lead others to realizing the true nature of the Self Yet in doing that empowering others Especially my fellow sisters to advocate for themselves To not let men walk all over us In the name of spiritual practices or enlightenment For us to claim our voice As the creative energy that makes it all happen Refusing to be treated as anything less We are not just servants of the masculine We are the whirl that creates The motion and maintains the balance People have tried to keep the waves From rising to their fullest majesty not anymore, and never again Did I Just Write a Song?: Expressive Arts and My Recovery Journey by Dr. Jamie (Pragya) Marich8/20/2019 Originally published on InTheRooms, May 2019
During my first attempt at recovery, I learned to play the guitar. At the time, I worked for a Catholic Parish and aid organization in post-war Bosnia-Hercegovina. There was a kind Irish priest (and former rock n’ roller) also in residence who knew that I liked to sing. However, the only instrument I played, the violin, didn’t lend itself well to accompaniment. So he very patiently taught me the art of making chords and strumming. I found that when I was bored in those early days of figuring out what to do with myself, practicing the chords and the necessary movements to move between them more fluidly kept me busy. Then one day, the chord progression I was working on provided me a back drop to create a tune. Led by that tune, I started singing the angst of my heart and calling out to my Higher Power, desperate for a deeper spiritual awakening. Did I just write a song? Playing music and writing music was a lifeline for me in my first few years of sobriety. I ended up taking my last drink less than a year after I stumbled upon what it meant to compose music that is deeply meaningful to my personal journey. Always a lover of reading and writing poetry, the thought of composing a song always felt impossibly complicated. Yet through my trial-and-error, coupled with some experimentation, I discovered just how accessible writing songs was for me as a form of expression. In the field of expressive arts therapy, we call this being in process. In other words, not having a fixed or forced outcome in mind. Rather, we set an intention to express and to explore, learning from our mistakes along the way. Being in process like this teaches us lessons we may have never dreamed possible. In the field of expressive arts therapy, we encourage clients and people in the community to keep an open mind to exploring all forms of creativity and expression—music, dance/movement, writing, visual art, dramatics, you name it! We embrace an all-of-the-above approach. So while the creative form that may feel most accessible to you can be a great place to start (for me it was music and writing), the practices that feel outside your comfort zone may have the most to teach you. For me, I long believed that the visual arts were my “weak link,” because I was never any good at art in school. Yet when I began deepening my commitment to practicing all of the expressive arts for my own healing and recovering journey, I actually discovered that visual art had the most to teach me. Because I wasn’t focused on it being “good,” I was just able to have fun, be in my body, and learn to not beat myself up for making mistakes. As result, playing with the visual arts in the later years of recovery had just as much to teach me about myself and the healing journey as playing music did in those early days. This all describes the magic that we call process in the world of expressive arts. You may have noticed that the title of my latest book Process Not Perfection: Expressive Arts Solutions in Trauma Recovery takes a twist on the recovery slogan “progress not perfection.” For me, both the power of process in expressive arts therapy and this wisdom at this slogan are trying to teach us the same thing—don’t force outcome. Learn from the process and the journey. In early 2017 as I begin stirring with ideas for bringing this book into existence, this poem came out of me that ended up revealing the title: In Process Works of art in gestation Are often called Works in progress The slogans and inspirational Clichés call for Progress not perfection We judge students and employees With the metric of a Progress report What if we were to change Every use of the work "progress" With the word "process"? What if works of art in Gestation are called Works in process? What if we encouraged People to focus on Process not perfection? What if our metrics of Evaluation took on the tone of Process report? What if we were to live our lives in process? All life could transform Into a journey of art making, Fueled by the expressive spirit We could refrain from Judging ourselves so harshly And instead savor the unknown From the unknown and yes, Even from our mistakes We can discover a new way of being From what we once labeled failures We may unearth a new solution, A new way to solve a problem By creating in the moment and Not forcing the big picture May we encounter the essence of meaning. If you are looking for meaningful ways to bring expressive practices into your recovery journey, please consider checking out Process Not Perfection. It is written for the general public in a voice that I hope allows you to feel safe enough to take this journey with me. I also have several opportunities where you can connect with a growing community of folks in recovery who also practice the expressive arts, specifically the Dancing Mindfulness and Expressive Arts Community Forum on Facebook. You are also welcome to visit my complimentary resources website at www.traumamadesimple.com for a wide selection of meditation, yoga, and other skill videos linked from my YouTube channel. And if you explore that YouTube channel (Jamie Marich) long enough (and go back far enough), you can also find some footage of me playing music! Attune me to today
Let my words Be your words And may I respond To life's challenged From the fusion of My humanity and My divinity For years I was scared to buy paint. One of my college roommates was an art major, and it captivated me to watch her paint. She had the capacity to create such beautiful, museum-quality pieces with her amazing talent. I loved to watch her work her magic! To this day I am proud to have several of her pieces and prints in my home, as I’m reminded of those beautiful memories of watching her in-the-zone.
Like many people I’ve worked with through the years, my barrier to painting and to most visual art came from a sense of “I can’t do it,” or “I’m not good enough.” I never seemed to have this issue with music, dance, theater, or writing where there was at least some evidence of my competence, usually in the form of compliments or accolades received. I never had a problem calling myself a writer, for instance, winning many awards throughout middle school and high school. And then came the books… But to call myself a visual artist? To call myself a painter? Hell no! After watching my roommate work, I still felt you had to have a special artist license to even buy paint… There is one visual form I felt reasonably comfortably approaching: collage. Born out of my love for making travel scrapbooks, collaging spoke to me because there didn’t seem to be competence involved. And I very much enjoyed the process of taking scraps and allowing them to develop into something meaningful when put together. As I began working with my own expressive arts mentor Christine Valters Paintner, I began to get braver about working with visual arts. Sure, I’d long kept some basic drawing materials in the office for my clients and out at Dancing Mindfulness retreats. Yet when I began working with Christine and realizing just how much Dancing Mindfulness as a program connected with the all-of-the-above nature of the expressive arts, I got braver about exploring my edge as an expressive artist. I continued with collage and ventured into working with pastels and markers. I quickly found that visual arts had even more to teach me because I didn’t approach them with any kind of expectation about the quality of the product. There’s something to be said about being the worst kid in art class who was never chosen for any shows. Because competence was never my focus in visual art, I was naturally more open to just enjoying it, to being in process, and learning from what making just for fun revealed. I credit crossing the paint threshold to my ex-husband after he saw how much I liked coloring and pastels. When I was going through an especially rough patch in the Fall of 2016, he bought me a paint-by-numbers kit. Although initially skeptical, I soon found that I enjoyed it even more than coloring books. There was something soothing and containing about having lines in which to work, yet my hand responded to the sensation of moving paint along a canvas. I loved everything about it; the colors, the smells, and yes, even the feeling of accomplishment when I saw the final product. There was some leftover paint and while at my local craft store on a run for some other supplies, I bought a small canvas and decided to use the leftover pain to express something original. I painted a mandala and it spoke to me very much. I continued with this process for the next few months—finishing paint-by-numbers kits and then using the leftover paint to create something original. After a couple rounds of this process, I got brave enough to order some of my own paint off of Amazon and continue with my explorations. I approached it as something fun to do, something that let me play with color and texture and sensation and not be bound by the shackles of outcome. A few months into this journey is where the painting that graces the cover of my latest book Process Not Perfection: Expressive Arts Solutions for Trauma Recovery revealed itself to me. And in this revelation came what is perhaps the greatest lesson that I ever received about the power of process: be open to where the unexpected, even the failures, may guide you. A pleasant surprise may blossom when you shed these expectations. I laid down a foundation in gauche, the first time I ever experimented with this unique form closely related to watercolor. I also played around with using some shimmery paints that you can apply with a spray bottle. I liked the mystical ocean of color that was coming into existence! Then the idea came to me—paint a Hand of Fatima! This blue magic would certainly be an ideal backdrop for this symbol I’d come to adore. I printed out a copy of the hand online to follow. This unique pattern, sometimes referred to as a Hand of Hamhsa, seemed relatively easy to copy or trace, even for someone as unskilled as I. When I looked at the lopsided result of my attempt to paint the hand in white acrylic with a fine brush, I was disheartened. “See, I ruined my cool blue background,” I huffed in frustration. In the spirit of process, I rolled with that frustration, angrily ripping away a paper towel and I just started rubbing. I hoped that enough of it would come off so that I might be able to salvage some of the base. What emerged was the cool, rather mystical white outline of a flower that you now see on the cover of the book. “Wow, the hand now looks like a cloud, or a flower,” I said. I noticed that my raging by paper towel maneuver also made some very interesting patterns on the canvas that I just began filling in with gold… and then with green. And then as I noticed the flower take shape, I finished off the core image with some of the pinkish-magenta that now composes the flower itself. I stood back in amazement, declaring, “I did that! It’s beautiful!” And it was totally an accident, the fruit of staying in process and not being fixated on outcome. From the moment I began writing Process Not Perfection, I knew that this image would be my book’s cover. For being in the process that birthed this painting is when I truly fell in love with the magic of expressive arts. I adore how the practices of expressive arts therapy invite me into a focus on process rather than perfection, and I am so grateful to be surrounded by a community of other expressive artists who inspire me to carry this lesson into all areas of my life. To the process, my friends! And to the inevitable magic that will unfold from living a life in process… I’m tired and
I just want to go home I am hungry all the time and I constantly yearn to be touched Not just by anyone-- By the one I adore more than I should I crave the things I cannot have and I resent having to wear this meat suit My soul is already home My body longs to catch up My body is exhausted My body still wanders My body constantly feels teased My body is hungry all the time and My body yearns to be touched Can’t she just get with the program? I know I am not my body My soul is who I truly am When I recognize this truth, I am at peace And it’s so fucking hard to stay there When I live in this human shell I am not my limbic brain and yet I have a limbic brain, a brain that is tired And just wants to go home Dear Jamie-
I am nearing the end of my journey And I've been with you through much of yours I was there when wanting to off yourself Was still in your thoughts every night And I'm glad that you stayed around to take care of me And that you stayed around to let me take care of you Remember, dear Jamie, you named me Joy for a reason I am the only animal in your life you got to name And you named me Joy You needed more Joy in your life And I was happy to give it I still am I hope that now, as I near the end of my time You are closer to learning that Joy is within you Love is within you Light is within you Like your beloved Dorothy, everything you need is Already within you Including Joy I still have some time left, so I'll hang around Until I know that you've gotten it for sure At least I know that You will never let anyone Lock me up in a cold basement again |
Dr. Jamie MarichCurator of the Dancing Mindfulness expressive arts blog: a celebration of mindfully-inspired, multi-modal creativity Archives
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