 Artist: Tasha Koleso As a very young and sensitive child, I remember often asking my mother, “Can I ask them to be my friend?” What’s meaningful and scrumptious to one isn’t to another. Like how do we know when a friend is a friend? I suppose a lot depends on the connection. Gives and takes are very knowing. For instance:
Friendships end and that can really hurt; trust is breached and betrayal stings. Sometimes, we regret having given too many of our secrets away and we watch them drift away. Some friendship can never be repaired, no matter how hard we try it is severed and we see them no more but the ghost of them can linger with the whys? I believe there’s still unsolved sides of us and them still to be seen. Each bond, though – from an unwavering friendship to a brief encounter -- are our teachers. Some show us that our boundaries need to be stronger. Others assist us to speak out when our feelings are not seen, or an injustice is real – conflict isn’t wrong because differences are paramount to the multiplicity of just about any relationship. However, very few can let us be our true selves. Some friendships are wishful thinking when really there was no intention on the other end to pick up and connect; we can feel the static in between. Trusting that feeling is strengthening our intuition and asking us to act upon it sooner. Friendships are a need to relate with another being and appreciate that moment and to see if it will be an annual-like flower or a forest of evergreens. Will it be an ocean, or will we be an abandoned ship at sea?
Nevertheless, when opportunity to connect presents itself I have a feeling I will continue to explore and find inside the unseen earthenware being created as we speak and share and learn about the alchemy of our beings; it’s the continued revealing of the shadows of our unknown.
0 Comments
Please let me explain to you, how my life is filtered through a sieve and how quiet times are essential. I wear sleeves that hypnotize creativities heartbeats. Silence gives me the pause to assimilate multitudes: spiritually, supernaturally and what feels real. Such is why when a hummingbird flies, courageously close, I can hear the wings sing a lullaby and my tears speak for us both. When I watch a film and lean in it is as if I’m them and they are about to confide the love they lost most. I will cry. How the thickets aren’t only branches but arms that paint the skies and how clouds are sea worthy when the ocean is too far, but dreams take me there to follow the tide’s stars. Unfairness is a violent riptide and social justice steps into me. I will invariably side with the minority and hand them the speaker, and hold the mic and shake with, rather than against. I believe, I believe, I believe in the heavens of diversity. This is my democracy. I realize now it may seem unusual that I can hear an eye roll and buckle under a backhanded comment – it punches my soul. Posturing and sharp criticizing can crush my skull. I can feel when tired is bored and when tired needs rest. I understand when laughter covers a myriad of unrest. I can see eyes that blink an S-O-S and how flattering doesn’t impress. I don’t need to justify who I am when I cradle a sparrow who thought the window was air. How I offer a band aide to a child whose cut they can only see but they need to share. I’m fascinated as bubbles grow and how they know to be the circle they are meant to be. I walk close to words because they support me as much as sunlight blinds me to squint. I become the prisms inside of prisms; infinity lives in both. I often weep as I write because this is the essence of my hopes; to write from the rivers that sustain me in this convoluted, tepidly, brilliantly, fiercely, passionately, terrifyingly encapsulating quest of living – these are all the sides me that I’m aware of the most. Like you and me, we are different and that’s more than okay but please don’t condemn me for my sensitivities. I feel angels as much as demons. Spirits bend with the influx of Nature and are often close. I will lock the doors to my heart when I feel abuse. It baffles me too, when I can taste the color of a sunset and swim sea’s ancient grey blues; it captivates me too. Just like music or a whale’s song or empathy’s reach inside deeper hues. Nothing bothers me more than superficial. Fake tastes bitter. Love without trust is the rattling bones of fear. However, love with respect is a rose. Sensitivity doesn’t always follow a timeline. I know what shame is. It was when you didn’t see me, when I needed you the most. Coffee shops ground me. Traveling unhinges me when time zones leave me in several places simultaneously; all I need is a little time inside small spaces to bring me back to harmony. Chastising only confuses and harms me. I symbolically bleed emotional oceans and land can be sand, trees, or a steady hug to behold. You’ll see me frequently daydream; this isn’t idle or indulgent or unnecessary. Shallow talking abandons the intelligent fragrance of existing. Often while I’m driving, the lines become the staff of a musical, the cars are notes, trucks the bass and a siren is a cymbal that punctures me back to this space. Earth is difficult. I noticed nearly everything from conception to birth and my daily ‘deaths’ of solitude become the gingered cookies letting me find the breath to float. I’m profoundly touched by the simplest gestures of kindness – this brings me to the center of my real. One last paradox: I can be extroverted, but my natural tendency is an introverted pillow piled high with deep and thoughtful processing. I am highly sensitive. It is my everything.
 Relationships are much like sunlight flirting with shadows or like the scurry of bird’s feet speaking with the earth -- just before flight. Relationships evoke emotions that ride with waves that kiss the tempest inside of us; with learned trust we are rarely not too far from a lighthouse that will bring us closer to the sea caves of our awareness. This is a place of fierce love. That bold, shy, quiet, raging holiness where we see for the first time, again and again, that our mistakes are our gifts. Our heated complexities double-bind us until we stop running from our shadows and embrace them as one of us. Instead of exquisitely trying to deny and displace them. Such are the projections we narrate that ‘they’ could not be ‘us’ and yet ‘they’ are ‘us’ in the most extraordinary way. This isn’t easy. However, when we begin to see clearer, we can step into our shadows and befriend our personal eclipses. Our conflicts, distrusts, poignantly distressed relationships, as well as golden ones are almost certainly there to teach our soul the colors are within. And maybe, as we continue to walk along this bridge, we will understand that this love is real as it is whole and holy us.
 Artist & Photographer: TerryKenefic | Ragin'T “What went wrong with us?” It was more of an accusation than a question. She paused for as long as it took to let her imaginary tea steep in the mind of wildness. The question orbited into planets of blame and constellations of shame. Blue began to summon her with a normal same. Fortunately, a string of leafless trees lining the road shook her. Nothing went wrong. Instead it is ‘what went right.’ You stopped settling. The dark and faint dots of your being were fragmented and ached to became solidified. Boundaries of steel grew into a forest to cut off that diamond. The ‘we should be together’ isn’t always true. Old voices sometimes find their way to the current and shake the ground of the unknown. It is a pinging and a volley of slowing way down to hear the truest core of you. Sometimes we must push back and cut a small hole to slip a glass straw to the other side and wait for the storm to blow through. Where feelings are once again held, and thoughts are free to cultivate the essence of what isn’t wrong -- but what is just right for you.
 Artist: Yossi Kotler Racism is an evil injustice perpetuated by the banality of white superiority’s fear and hatred of diversity. Racism, much like sexism and other ‘isms’ purposefully decimates, demeans and diminishes a person’s emotions, intelligence, and opinions through a circular type of ‘logic’ leaving the marginalized group or person angered, stunned, afraid, confused, and oftentimes questioning their own sound intuition and judgement. There’s no ground left to stand on when every stone of self and community has been removed.
The iniquitousness is so palatable it sends shockwaves through one’s psyche leaving little reality, promoting self-doubt, stripping the marginalized group/person to their marrow. This to me is what racism has been doing for centuries. I ‘see’ it as a societal infection where the white blood cells overreact and attack an unknown entity (people of color, women, religions, LGQBTI). The inflammation is real, but the entire system is so corrupt it continues to attack out of an insidious habit to remain superior. As a white female, therapist, teacher, writer, sensitive creature, daughter & mother – I must and will continue to speak against racism and sexism’s infectious & systemic violence as part of my life’s calling and contributing antidote. With deepest respect & much love, Carolyn Carolyn Riker | Artist: Yossi Kotler
When those landmines are set-off, it hurts; even by the slightest infraction whether it’s an eye roll, obviously being ignored, or a yawn when we start to reveal something important to us, and/or being talked-down-to. A chain reaction may occur: this isn’t a safe person-place-or-thing. Pulling back from those situations is one brilliant built-in mechanism of protection and setting boundaries that we’ve learned from an earlier form of survival. Some might even develop a creative level of intelligent dissociation. But what’s next? How do we negotiate these landmines and practice new trust and relationship skills? It has been both my personal experience, and as a therapist to honor and follow the lead of my clients. Often that means taking it s-l-o-w-l-y. To build trust, one needs respect and to sincerely honor the person’s intelligence (when I say intelligence that goes way beyond school & degrees; it is the soul’s intelligence.) Together we see-feel and go into the shadows with a fresh set of eyes and perspective. We untangle the knots and spaces in between to hear, learn and understand that: trust – is as fierce as it is fragile. Trusting ourselves (inner intuitiveness) is part of the foundation and a stronger step stone to creating healthier relationships. About Carolyn RikerCarolyn (Riker) Avalani, M.A., LMHC is a licensed mental health counselor, teacher, writer and poet. Over the last five years she has written for numerous online journals and has been in five anthologies. Her first book of poetry and prose, Blue Clouds was published December 2016. This past September, 2017 she co-edited Hidden Lights: A Collection of Truths Not Often Told, which holds 54 writers and their stories, poetry, prose, photography and artwork. Between sips of coffee, navigating life with copious writing and daydreaming, Carolyn offers creative writing and private counseling. To find out more please visit her website.  There’s healthy relationships and mean-spirited ones. (Plus a dozen variations in-between.) The first inspires and even challenges. It feeds the soul and enhances creativity. There’s a mutual respect. It also has tones of an exquisite openness. We see each other’s dreams and encourage the enrichments. Conflicts occur and yet there’s an ability to dance the dance to find a common ground. However mean-spirited relationships aren’t always straightforward. They can be hostile and confusing and inflicted with mixed messages: a compliment with a knife twisting jab. Intentions are rarely clear and second guessing is prevalent. “Did they mean that or am I imagining it? Was that a compliment when they said? “I so wish I could dress in plain jeans and a tee, like you, and not worry about being stylish.” {{Ouch!!}} Feedback nestles into similar categories. Kind, direct and loving feedback can show or ferret out our deeper truths and insights. The flipside is the type of feedback that can paralyze. For example, “I know more than you!” There’s a superior, elitist and condescending dominance. It’s a viral infection growing in a petri dish. Self-doubt brews and critical voices ferment. It can often stop one from going forward. Furthermore, hurtful feedback can erode inner tectonic plates of self-confidence. Words and actions can destroy. Being an extra sensitive person means we have protect our self and take ownership of what works and what doesn’t. What we are doing is protecting and creating viable boundaries and that is probably the wisest thing we can do. It’s easy to tell someone, “Get over it! Toughen up! Don’t take it personally!” Those words may seem like great advice but there’s also a blaming quality. I might not be able to get over it or toughen up. I do taking things personally. It is a characteristic of being extra sensitive. I deeply feel how toxic a jealous spirit can be. By monitoring our processes, we take ownership and establish crucial interpersonal boundaries. Less is more. Less social media on days when the darts are flying fiercely. Learning to take breaks in nature or write, nap and listen/play music. Being self-loving and removing our self especially when our vulnerability is high, is showing self-respect. What we are doing is protecting and creating viable boundaries and that is probably the wisest thing we can do. About Carolyn RikerCarolyn (Riker) Avalani, M.A., LMHC is a licensed mental health counselor, teacher, writer and poet. Over the last five years she has written for numerous online journals and has been in five anthologies. Her first book of poetry and prose, Blue Clouds was published December 2016. This past September, 2017 she co-edited Hidden Lights: A Collection of Truths Not Often Told, which holds 54 writers and their stories, poetry, prose, photography and artwork. Between sips of coffee, navigating life with copious writing and daydreaming, Carolyn offers creative writing and private counseling. To find out more please visit her website. Insert image/Photographer: Wilma Hurskainen
|
AuthorCarolyn is a licensed mental health counselor who provides counseling services via Skype, Zoom or by phone. She is also an author of Blue Clouds and writes poetry, prose and essays. Archives
January 2019
Categories
All
|
RSS Feed