Pocket Medicine

                                                           






















The Peace Of Wild Things 
        by Wendell Berry


When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be, 
I go and lie down where the wood drake 
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. 
I come into the peace of wild things 
who do not tax their lives with forethought 
of grief. I come into the presence of still water. 
And I feel above me the day-blind stars 
waiting with their light. For a time 
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free. 

[Happy Poem in Your Pocket Day! (To read the poem I chose last year, click here). For me, poetry IS medicine, and so placing a hand copied poem next to my insulin pump becomes a symbolic gesture of healing. I love the idea that the message Mr. Berry conveys here is working synergistically with my insulin to bring me to a place of peace and well-being. What poem did/would you choose for your pocket today?]

Divine Gathering

Mountain Queens
Fire Dancers
Ocean Mamas
Priestesses of Trees


Let us 
Listen to that wildness running through the river of ourselves
Let us 
Listen to that memory not recorded anywhere 
Except the Dreamtime
Except in our wombs


Channel the poems, the paintings, the
Visions unveiled for us there
Let us
Shapeshift into our power
Willing to grow wings, hooves, fur-


My Magic Sisters,
Let us 
Share our moonblood stories
Risk letting loose breath, howl, roar
Let us 
Risk it all to conjure Truth


Mountain Queens
Fire Dancers
Ocean Mamas
Priestesses of Trees


Let us 
Listen to that wildness in each other
So that we may
Remember
          remember 
                        remember
Every sacred thing.

World Poetry Day

                                                                    The Wolf at The Door 
                                                                  by Alma Luz Villanueva

1.

The wolf slipped into the supermarket-

someone muttered, "Goddamn dog, 

people should take care of their goddamned 

dogs." The wolf's paws

scratched the shiny floors, her

nose twitched nervously and the 

lights blinded her. There were no

smells, no wind, no sun; there

were people looking hungrily

from side to side. The wolf

climbed up on a shelf and got videoed

by a camera. All she smelled was

boredom and fear. She was no longer

curious, not even a mouse. The wolf

stuck her muzzle up and howled. Then, 

she disappeared.

2.

The wolf, upon seeing a collar on

the dog, refused to enter the dog's

house and be fed, so, supposedly, 

she starved: you know, I don't

believe this. I mean, maybe she

was shot and skinned and made 

into a fur coat: but I know 

a wolf can always hunt.

3.

You see the woman with the wild

hair smelling apples just to see

if they're real, the way she squeezes

the hamburger and shakes the milk

around, just to see if they're real.

You see, the woman is a wolf

with the power to open doors.

She scowls at the camera's eye.

4.

She will go home and make tacos,

pick up a photo magazine and read

about a German camp survivor

who supervised 2,000 children

made to carry small stones, who

were fed soup with bits of potatoes

and human flesh. This is when 

the woman puts her muzzle skyward

and howls like a wolf. This is when

there's no camera, no witness, and she

is thankful she's part animal, so the

terrible burden of her humanness

will not crush her soul.

This is when she lets 

the wolf in: the wolf who

waits at the door.

Call of the Wild, 2010 by Pixie Campbell

 *Today is World Poetry Day, an initiative of the United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural

Organization(UNESCO). On the official webpage it states, "This internationally celebrated day allows us to pay tribute to all those men and women who strive to build a better world using words as their only tool." Alma Luz Villanueva's poem (from her collection Desire) embodies what it means to be a poet struggling to come to terms with the harsh realities of our world. Ms. Villanueva holds a cherished place on my shelf and in my spirit for the healing power of her words. In the spirit of World Poetry Day, I honor her.

 *The print pictured here by Pixie Campbell is one of many she is offering right now in her Buy One, Get One sale. As most of you know, she also has come to hold a wild place in my heart for she knows what it means to howl when nothing else seems capable of expressing the soul's struggle. Registration for the Spring Session of her SouLodge course is open until March 26th. It would be most lovely to meet you in the circle!! 

Wildest Blessings-

Solstice Blessing

May you know peace, joy, love
May you experience wonder and magic even in the simplest things
May you delight in your life and all its intricacies
May laughter be the balm that heals all wounds

May that which is shadowed- your pain and deep sorrows-
Be honored
And brought into the Light
May you experience an alchemy of the Spirit
May you ever be open to the Sacred, to the Divine, to the Mystery-

May there be poetry and song
May you share YOUR story around the table, the hall, the holy fire
For this is your greatest Gift-
Your own humanity

Love and Light,
Angela

[As part of my own Solstice celebration, I, along with hundreds of other women around the world, will be participating in Pixie Campbell's Mother of All Releasing Ceremonies. This is a simple ritual of releasing, to make room for that which you wish to cultivate in the coming year. Go HERE for the full, beautiful details! May we meet in the circle.]

Unearthed

The sun streams

bright

and you hope 

the mystery of who 

YOU ARE

will be illuminated, understood                

dark

corners 

lifted to light

Secrets softened, truths

unearthed like treasures

old photographs

familiar 

haunting

necessary to the mystery:

who you are

why you are here

daughter of the goddess Herself

holy child 

Inspired by my experiences in the SouLodge and Brene Brown's amazing TedxHouston talk:

Memory and Medicine

There is something about Autumn that conjures memories. The wind brings them in I suppose, blowing like the richly colored leaves. I enjoy this kind of remembering as it helps me to link the past to my present, to see patterns and the arc of my own personal narrative. I am in a mind to share with you my very first memory. To do so means we travel back to when I was two years old. My parents were renting a house outside the small town of Plattsmouth, NE. Though they had to commute to the larger city of Omaha, they wanted to "live in the country." These things I do not remember, but often when my sisters and I were older, my parents would drive us past that house, tell us stories from the early years of their marriage. In a photo (now lost) from that time 40 years ago, I am sitting in the grass with a kitten on either side of me. The three of us intent on whatever game we are playing. My mother has told me when I was outdoors she had to keep an eye on me because I loved to wander off into the woods.

So it is here near the mouth of the Platte river that I trace my first memory. I am standing outside on a small porch. There is a screen door behind me. It is dusk, neither light nor dark. A coyote is howling. I stand there listening to this repeated howl. Mesmerized and a tiny bit frightened. I listen for awhile, then in a quick bustle of motion, I open the screen door and go inside. That is all that I remember, but that howl went deep because I have held onto that moment, that call from the countryside, for forty years.

In many tribal traditions, coyote symbolizes a powerful storyteller, a trickster of sorts. Magic and humor are often involved. S/he teaches that things aren't always as they seem. And that sometimes to really learn something, we must be tricked into doing so. Coyote is also a shining example of adapting to survive. While many wild animals have struggled to make it in our modern world, this canine has found ways around our invasive human presence and even extended its range.

from Daughters of the Moon Tarot by Ffiona Morgan

Though there are many aspects of my life where I find Coyote's energy at play, I am especially able to link her archetypal presence to diabetes. To thrive despite this illness, I must adapt. I must listen to my body in the moment and determine the best course of action. Some days, weeks, even years are more difficult. Survival is not always graceful or pretty. Sometimes it requires scrounging, high risk, and many failed attempts. Often it is lonely. And then you remember you can howl. You can call in another who's been there. Someone who has wisdom to share.

Several years ago, I began working on a series of poems about Coyote's presence in my life. This is one I wrote, inspired by this memory:
  
How It Begins

Coyote called me
Into being
Her howl
Cut across the Plains 
Sharing air with winged things, drifting
Down at dusk
Her howl 
Startled me from some other slumber
Rippled my spine, my skin  
Goosebumped
Two years old, I 
Inhaled my first memory
Like a birth breath
Coyote called me
Into being
I know because
Her howl 
I have spent my whole life
Answering

Coyote Woman Waits by Susan Seddon Boulet

[And it seem so very magical and fitting, that I am learning a great deal these days from a beautiful and wise Coyote Woman. The Autumn session of Pixie Campbell's SouLodge course begins on October 31st. She has created an inspired place to connect with your wisest soul self, other women, and the sacred Earth. Registration is open through Monday the 24th, and it would be lovely if you could join us!]

How to Pose a Question

I love how poet Mary Oliver is able to sustain a question within a poem, weaving intricate details into the rhythm. Layering the ordinary, the beautiful, the awe, the despair. The whole time maintaining a certain pitch, tone, and pace that doesn't allow you to forget it's a question she's posing. An answer she's invoking within you. She leads you to the edge of the cliff, to the line drawn in the sand, and when that final question rolls from her pen, you are sent reeling. Wondering. Your heart pinned until an answer surfaces from your own history. And, then you know the magic of a poem. The power of the poet. . .

The Sun (by Mary Oliver)

Have you ever seen
anything
in your life
more wonderful

than the way the sun,
every evening,
relaxed and easy,
floats toward the horizon

and into the clouds or the hills,
or the rumpled sea,
and is gone-
and how it slides again

out of the blackness,
every morning,
on the other side of the world,
like a red flower

streaming upward on its heavenly oils,
say, on a morning in early summer,
at its perfect imperial distance-
and have you ever felt for anything

such wild love-
do you think there is anywhere, in any language,
a word billowing enough
for the pleasure

that fills you,
as the sun
reaches out,
as it warms you
 
as you stand there,
empty-handed-
or have you too
turned from this world-

or have you too 
gone crazy
for power,
for things?

Merging with the Light (My Diabetes Anniversary)

 August is an intense month for me, as it marks the anniversary of my diabetes diagnosis. I often find that when it rolls around, I want to withdraw from the world. This used to bother me. I found it unsettling and stressful.

 But now, after twenty-nine years with diabetes, I believe this withdrawal is part of a natural cycle. To examine where I am at in relation to illness, to healing, to my path in this world. It is a time to remember.

Last week in the Emerge course, we were prompted to explore what it means to "stand in your own light." To do this through mindfulness meditation and self -portraiture.

I found that holding myself in light -my diabetic, poetry-loving, wild woman self- meant that like the Japanese Goddess Amaterasu catching a glimpse of Her own brightness in the mirror, I could find my way out of the cave of withdrawal. After twenty-nine years of diabetes, and nearly forty-two trips around the sun, I could see myself as beautiful and whole. Not broken or unfixable, not even incurable.

Dream of the sun dreaming its worlds,
sing till the song throws out root, trunk,
branches, birds, stars. Sing until the dream
engenders the spring at which you may drink
and recognize yourself and recover. (Ocatvio Paz)

Still Wandering

[This poem (obviously removed a bit from Euripides' tragedy) caught me by surprise. It arrived seemingly out of nowhere, and stared back at me like some kind of magic mirror. I've been looking at my reflection in it all day. Joy Warriors take special note.]

                                                        The Bacchae Chorus (excerpt)  
                                                                  by Euripides

When shall I dance once more
with bare feet the all-night dances,
tossing my head for joy
in the damp air, in the dew,
as a running fawn might frisk
for the green joy of the wide fields,
free from fear of the hunt,
free from the circling beaters
and the nets of woven mesh
and the hunters hallooing on
their yelping packs? And then, hard pressed,
she sprints with the quickness of wind,
bounding over the marsh, leaping
to frisk, leaping for joy,
gay with the green of the leaves,
to dance for joy in the forest,
to dance where the darkness is deepest, where no
   man is.

 

Three is a Magic Number!

Happy May Day! Hope that all of you are connecting in some way with the magic of spring outside your window- flowers blooming, butterflies floating by, so much vibrant green. It seems a perfect day for announcing the winner of the first giveaway here at bloodsugarwitch. Don't you think so? Poetry and flowers go very well together! First of all, a huge thank you to Susan Wooldridge, the author of poemcrazy, for kindly commenting on my post. It made my day! (Be sure to check it out here)! 

Originally, I said I would have a random drawing to decide the lucky recipient of the book poemcrazy: freeing your life with words, BUT I changed my mind! Instead, since this is my first attempt at a giveaway post, and because the women who left comments are so creatively inspiring to me, I am announcing THREE WINNERS- Tracy, Lis, and Mel! Thank you for your lovely words and support. (Please email your address to angela@bloodsugarwitch.com. Or if you would prefer the kindle version of poemcrazy that can be arranged. Just let me know in your email). Yeah poetry! 

        Poetry takes us places we might never have imagined we could go -Susan Wooldridge 

A Poemcrazy Giveaway

I can't believe it's already the last week of April! Which means, sadly, the last week of National Poetry Month. I thought it would be fun to spend some of the week exploring how to write your own poems. Though I'm not sure there is such a thing as "how to" when it comes to poetry. (If you've seen Dead Poets Society, you know what I'm talking about- "Be gone,  Mr. Pritchard!"). Anyway, if there is one book that I would recommend for setting aside inhibition when it comes to writing poetry, it is poemcrazy by Susan Goldsmith Wooldridge.   

I love this book because it is NOT a heavy dose of academia. The short chapters are chock full of Ms. Wooldridge's own experience with the power of poetry- as writer and teacher. There are exercises, anecdotes, famous poems, as well as, those of her students(who range in age from elementary students to adults). Often, I simply open it to a random chapter, and let the Muse that inhabits those pages carry me. I have found that following her suggestions, playing with words, toying with who I am in poem form, does in fact set me free from a long day of crappy blood sugars or a bout of depression. Sometimes, it's not even troubled emotions that draw poemcrazy into my hands. Sometimes, it is about the moment, about laughter and wanting to find a beautiful way to translate joy into words.
One of my favorite chapters is "Our Real Names." Here, Ms. Wooldridge invites us to play with the idea that our real names aren't necessarily the ones on our birth certificate, rather they are made up of our passions, our fears, our wildest dreams. She says: Poetry can be about naming ourselves. And creating a name can be like writing a poem. As part of the prompt for discovering our real name, she also incorporates the idea that it can change over time. Here's a (slightly embarrassing) example of my own name searching.

Yesterday, when you asked
 I offered only sugardrenched and hopeless
Today my name is horsedaughter wild as wind
Just try and catch me-
Tomorrow my name
Begins with
Belly
Swaying-hip poet
Hopedancer

Poemcrazy has inspired me to connect the dots of my life with images and words. It has helped me uncover magical places I didn't know were hidden away and acknowledge the darker corners, illuminating them with a bit of starlight.
Because this book is so wonderful, I would LOVE to give away a copy! To enter yourself in a random drawing, simply leave a comment below and sign it with one of your "real names." Be sure to post your comment by midnight(CDT) this Friday, April 29th. I will announce the winner on Sunday, May 1st!

 

Is that an Insulin Pump, I Mean, a Poem in Your Pocket?

 

                                                                        Remember

                                                                       by Joy Harjo

Remember the sky that you were born under, 

know each of the star's stories.

Remember the moon, know who she is. I met her 

in a bar once in Iowa City. 

Remember the sun's birth at dawn, that is the 

strongest point of time. Remember sundown

and the giving away to night. 

Remember your birth, how your mother struggled 

to give you form and breath. You are evidence of 

her life, and her mother's, and hers.

Remember your father, his hands cradling 

your mother's flesh, and maybe her heart, too

and maybe not.

He is your life also.

Remember the earth whose skin you are.

Red earth yellow earth white earth brown earth

black earth we are earth.

Remember the plants, trees, animal life who all have their

tribes, their families, their histories, too. Talk to them,

listen to them. They are alive poems.

Remember the wind. Remember her voice. She knows the

origin of this universe. I heard her singing Kiowa war 

dance songs at the corner of Fourth and Central once.

Remember that you are all people and that all people

are you.

Remember that you are this universe and that this 

universe is you.

Remember that all is in motion, is growing, is you.

Remember that language comes from this.

Remember the dance that language is, that life is.

Remember 

to remember.

[Happy Poem in Your Pocket Day! Joy Harjo is one of my favorite poets. (Last year, my husband drove me 3 1/2 hours so I could hear her speak)! And "Remember" is truly one of those poems I have carried with me since the first time I read it almost 20 years ago. It is what I call a spirit poem. I hope some of the lines resonate with you. And, can I just say, I LOVE the idea of carrying a poem next to my insulin pump?! This may become a habit! What poem do you have tucked in your pocket today?]

"Wild Geese" and Diabetes

After a long day (or week or month) of struggling to bring blood sugars into balance, when I am exhausted from playing pancreas and feeling inadequate to the task, when I cannot face the judgment of the numbers on my glucose monitor- I have found Mary Oliver's "Wild Geese" brings me back to a gentler awareness of my relationship to my body. Her simple and subtle brilliance asks me to remember my connection to the larger world, and, thus, move away from my own suffering. I experience a rare physical peace from reading this poem.

                                                            Wild Geese

                                                           by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

    love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting-

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

April is National Poetry Month!

Happy April everyone! Not only is it one of my favorite months because spring is showing up almost everyday, but also because April is designated as National Poetry Month! When I was 8 years old, I searched out hefty volumes of poetry at the library. I would then sit at my desk copying poems into a notebook of multi-colored paper. I loved the way the words looked on the page. How they sounded to my ear. I knew the authors were speaking of birth and death. Of life and laughter. Long before I could articulate their meaning, I knew poems were important.

I maintained this practice of writing favorite poems into my notebooks and journals. By my teens, I was obsessed with Wallace Stevens and Edna St. Vincent Millay. Dylan Thomas and Emily Dickinson. In my early twenties, I began seeking out more women poets: Joy Harjo, Linda Hogan, Alma Luz Villanueva, Alice Walker. Friends handed me Mary Oliver. Pablo Neruda entered my life. Rumi danced into the room.

Alongside these incredible voices, I began writing my own poems. These writers taught me that the most ordinary details of my life contained beauty and mystery. That sometimes the only way I could make sense of a moment was to create a poem from the tiniest pieces. Even my broken pancreas contained the possibility of healing when viewed with a poet's eye.

 And, since I am so head over heels in love with poetry, I've decided to devote my blog this month to sharing with you some of my favorite medicine. Look for poems, poets, book reviews, movie suggestions, and even some giveaways!

This Whole Time

you've been with me

since my feet first birth

my days of fast running, horse riding

since that day in burning hot August when the doctors

told me you had changed shape

diabetic

since the moonblood began

first kiss,caress

since the first time I let a man inside my walls

since I marked you with goddess images

since I let rain wash over and purposefully

called the elements into gentle contact

 

you've been with me

since the first circle of women

since heartbreak and sacrifice

since true love appeared

since I stood in the Ocean

since the Winged One wrestled us to the ground 

and Innana arranged a trip beneath the surface 

you spoke LOUD then with nerve pain

I re-emerged and again you

changed shape but did not leave

 

Since you are and have been always

She Who Is  

She of Ten Thousand Names

This whole time

My own body

.