 If I say to you, “how wrong you are in everything you do” sadly you’ll start to believe it. If in turn, I repeat with sincerity you are creative, intelligent, beautiful, kind, diverse and real – my hope is you’ll start to believe it. And with this fuel of self-acceptance you’ll translate the former assaults into gardens of seeing other’s who need to hear,
“You are creative, intelligent, beautiful, kind, diverse and real.” My hope grows fuller for this to be repeated as vast as the sun and moon stretches over this very earth until we all believe it. Much love & respect, Carolyn
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 Artist: Max Gasparini I spoke to Tired this morning and she answered in the same language as when air feels heavy right before a deep slow rain. We spent some time there talking about what is this Tired? And she replied, “It is more than being sleep deprived. It is more than a nap will fix. It is the lack of deeper connections. It’s where the soul weeps. Tired is tired of the clichéd. The glossing over, the petty advice, the assumptions and intellectualizing. Tired is tired of the repetitive worldly abuses. Tired is a cross-funnel of empathy overload. Tired is sadness at the heavy demands.
She continued, “I don’t have the ‘right’ words for this moment but let me sing to you.” And so, she did. It was a love song for hearts to mend when ready, pain to be seen, unfairness to be heard, strife to be witnessed, the poor to be fed, history to teach, agedness respected, differences acknowledged, hate crimes ended. Her song is still going with my heart pressed against her hand. Carolyn Riker | Artist: Max Gasparini  Artist: Elicia Edijanto This is what I know…
Stay near to the twitch and tremors of nature’s voice as trees speak through the footpads of earth’s song. Stay close to the ancient ways of solitude. No one can take that from you. Trust your heart for she knows the path. Protect yourself from those who steal your kindness. Keep your inner circle small and safe. Let go of those who violate. Notice how the wind answers the leaves and watch how the parched land drinks her rain so freely. Find sustenance in spirit’s flexibility. Keep open and listen and pause deeply into the reservoir of your fullest passions. ‘Art’ yourself. ‘Write’ yourself. ‘Speak’ yourself. Become the dreams of your call. Feel into the medicine of your struggles: the anxiety of a thousand wild horses, a century of depression’s sinkholes of silence. Follow your addictions to where they may lead and ask what is lonely, bored, hungry, tired? What are these signals trying to feed? Above all, lovingly support the processes of your innermost needs and take heed to where they lead you and soar. Carolyn Riker | Artist: Elicia Edijanto  Photographer: Marta Orlowska Self-Care
Slipping off social media even for a day or two can be so therapeutic. There’s other energies that speak and it can be difficult to discern their truths. Self-care isn’t always immanent until that last straw pushes us to withdrawal from it all and we listen to those burning aches. We stop the self-inflictions that only collude to abuse. What if we replaced depreciation with a soothing salty soak, a soft walk with trees beaming and chamomilla tea to ease? What if we just slept and turned the clock to stop when we needed to? Why wait for the anvil of a headache to bring us home to quiet’s hues? Mmmmmm, I’m learning from my mistakes and giving her the tender love, she deserves. My deepest wish is you will too. When soul is tired rest, dream and rinse with love. {{repeat often}} Photographer: Marta Orlowska  Artist: Amanda Cass Creativity is almost always shifting, turning, and exposing new insights. Creativity is like a valve in that it needs to be full-on, shutdown or somewhere in the humming zone where our feet can hear our heart’s passions. Where we can go with the seriousness of difficulties perpetuating our world as well as skip with the buoyancy of let’s say a butterfly, bird and/or a buzzing bee.
The closest I’ve ever got to explaining creativity is the sensation of being awake and yet constantly dreaming. There’s an inexplicable amount of energy that joins us on the daily; it’s like wind currents or a river or some extraordinary flow that pulls, tugs, dips, soars, flattens, expands, claps, exalts, dies, cries, explains, shifts – minute to minute. As of late I’ve grown extra sensitive and contemplative so, I’ve needed to slip off a bit more than usual to explore my inner heart-listen. I believe we need to support ourselves in the study of our soul’s truest nature. These qualities are complimentary to Nature’s nature. We have seasons, storms, the sun rises and sets. We also have symbolic phases of our moon-speak as she gathers her strength coupled by the companionship of the cosmos. This is vast. AND to think we are all a part of this immense orchestra – it is truly mind-blowing. That’s it. That’s what I needed & wanted to share with you this morning because this community is a beautiful part of my dream. Much love, Carolyn Carolyn Riker | Artist: Amanda Cass  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  Photographer: Kawin Harasai, Source: Upsplash It’s been awhile since I’ve written specifically about counseling. What’s been on my mind though, is how to find a counselor or a therapist that’s best suited for your needs. There are many options and sometimes it can be overwhelming. Where do you start? |
 Outsideinartstudio/Etsy | I have a favor to ask of you: please listen to your own heart’s path. You are YOU, and you’ll do things the way your heart tells you. (I’m learning this too.) This is part of your giftedness. If we don’t listen to ourselves and do what feels right, others will zap us of our light; even in our darkest nights. I can’t be you and you can’t be me. Let’s celebrate on braided evergreens. |
Following our heart’s path takes so much courage.
Not everyone will love you, like you, or praise you. Often a life’s path is a solo road. Learn to trust those feeling inside your sphere -- the whole-speak of your essence will ring clear. That place where your eyes are wide but sometimes they also need to hide from the noise of, “Do more. Be more. Share more.” The extravagance of ‘always’ can diminish what is real.
The strive for more fame and fortune can deplete the wealth of your soul’s feels. There will be those who do well promoting, selling, shouting, sharing, petitioning, rallying and others will do well calling, voting, knitting, praying, caring, singing, and daydreaming. It’s not an either or but a freeing form of letting all of you and me – just be -- without the comparing and competing.
Sometimes we must let go of those who can never be a part of what we believe. That’s a bit hard to do and yet listening to our heart’s path is vital for me and you.
About Carolyn
Carolyn (Riker) Avalani, M.A., LMHC is a licensed mental health counselor, teacher, writer and poet. Over the last six 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.
Photographer: Debby Hudson Source: Upsplash Free Image
Now and again, it is necessary to seclude yourself among deep mountains and hidden valleys to restore your link to the source of life. Breathe in and let yourself soar to the ends of the universe; breathe out and bring the cosmos back inside. Next, breathe up all fecundity and vibrancy of the earth. Finally, blend the breath of heaven and the breath of earth with your own, becoming the Breath of Life itself. ~ Morihei Ueshiba.
As I dip inward to find answers, I navigate to the center of a large ocean of feelings.
I can easily become exhausted around the banter of noisy egos. I don’t enjoy superficial but flourish in meaningful. I’d rather have silence, a good book and some dark chocolate than attend a party.
I’m not “cool” or “hip.” I don’t dress flashy or in-style.
Fitting in, is difficult. I sort of blend but I don’t mix well. I can play the extrovert but prefer my introverted heart. The former leaves me exhausted.
I’m also extremely sensitive. I could hear a mouse fart in the next room. When hurt, my heart bleeds black and blue and I can feel your bruises too. I can hear emotions hiding in the shadow of false bravado. I can see when eyes truly twinkle or blink back a tear.
It’s exhausting to feel all of the time, so I am hanging out in low gear. It is a space above an imaginary watermark. It’s not an easy place to be. I tread the water in my soul. I hide under a lily pad, peeking out occasionally but mostly staying tucked in. The water is tepid and the weight of the lily pad is comforting.
I can easily become exhausted around the banter of noisy egos. I don’t enjoy superficial but flourish in meaningful. I’d rather have silence, a good book and some dark chocolate than attend a party.
I’m not “cool” or “hip.” I don’t dress flashy or in-style.
Fitting in, is difficult. I sort of blend but I don’t mix well. I can play the extrovert but prefer my introverted heart. The former leaves me exhausted.
I’m also extremely sensitive. I could hear a mouse fart in the next room. When hurt, my heart bleeds black and blue and I can feel your bruises too. I can hear emotions hiding in the shadow of false bravado. I can see when eyes truly twinkle or blink back a tear.
It’s exhausting to feel all of the time, so I am hanging out in low gear. It is a space above an imaginary watermark. It’s not an easy place to be. I tread the water in my soul. I hide under a lily pad, peeking out occasionally but mostly staying tucked in. The water is tepid and the weight of the lily pad is comforting.
So for now, I insert a straw into a cloud and sip. I sip the solitude like the crema of espresso and hold on tight to the weirdness of who I am and what I feel.
It’s okay to rest. I need to rest in this quietness and give myself permission to recalibrate my heart of emotions. It’s a sandstorm of chipping away debris and filling it with love. My inner camera lens seeks truth.
My overly sensitive radar leads to miscommunication. It happens. Words are spoken and I misinterpret it as harsher than it might be. Perhaps it was harsh but then I take it a step further, jump off a cliff and ruminate the meaning into an introspective hell.
He, she, it blamed me for, said to me, [Fill in the blank].
It doesn’t matter. Sometimes when this happens it’s not my stuff, it’s theirs. Accepting responsibility for my actions is enough to sort through.
Let it go and let it be. Let the muddy colors change to persimmon. Let the breeze caress the harsh words. Let the birds channel serotonin to my tired synapsis.
He, she, it blamed me for, said to me, [Fill in the blank].
It doesn’t matter. Sometimes when this happens it’s not my stuff, it’s theirs. Accepting responsibility for my actions is enough to sort through.
Let it go and let it be. Let the muddy colors change to persimmon. Let the breeze caress the harsh words. Let the birds channel serotonin to my tired synapsis.
I need to let myself know, I have the power to stop the thought process as well as the ability to fuel the pain.
I will listen to the wind. Write. Sit in a sunspot even on a cloudy day and recharge my heart.
It’s a dose of nature that often settles and heals me. I walk through my tiny garden and the flowers, mixed with weeds, often speak to me; poised and tranquil, they bend with the breeze but remain standing. The rain makes them heavy and the sun lifts their buds. It’s a walking meditation as I methodically watch the process unfold.
Retreat, restore, regroup, relish the silence and breathe.
I either fully trust or tiptoe along the edges and fear trust. I send and receive mixed messages especially to those who have the same issues. It’s not a coincidence we are given the same lesson. Instead, it is a wake-up call to step back and sit with the mixed feelings and learn.
I’m giving myself a chance to tap into where do I begin and end? I learn more each time and let go of those thorn-like expectations of how it should be. I reflect and see. Give and take what is needed.
It’s an infinite recycling of refinement.
I will listen to the wind. Write. Sit in a sunspot even on a cloudy day and recharge my heart.
It’s a dose of nature that often settles and heals me. I walk through my tiny garden and the flowers, mixed with weeds, often speak to me; poised and tranquil, they bend with the breeze but remain standing. The rain makes them heavy and the sun lifts their buds. It’s a walking meditation as I methodically watch the process unfold.
Retreat, restore, regroup, relish the silence and breathe.
I either fully trust or tiptoe along the edges and fear trust. I send and receive mixed messages especially to those who have the same issues. It’s not a coincidence we are given the same lesson. Instead, it is a wake-up call to step back and sit with the mixed feelings and learn.
I’m giving myself a chance to tap into where do I begin and end? I learn more each time and let go of those thorn-like expectations of how it should be. I reflect and see. Give and take what is needed.
It’s an infinite recycling of refinement.
I love to give and I cherish my friends. I’m protective and will defend like a lioness would her cubs. I need to do the same for myself and protect my tenderness; Step aside from the mainstream flow and trust my genuine self.
Most answers lie within our heart.
I can’t actually climb to a cave, meditate and eat berries. Instead I have to go through each day doing the norm. This is where I find who and what the real pillars are versus the illusions.
Actually it’s all a dream. Therefore to survive in this world, we must occasionally carve a small imaginary cave and retreat. It’s not a negative thing. It’s proactive and protective like letting a nasty gash heal, however slowly, it teaches me patience.
When I’m in a sacred moment, with my thoughts it brings a smile of inner compassion. The frankincense burns and protects the space. Earlier, today a goldfinch peered into the window. He seemed to be checking on me. Thunder rumbled in the distance: nature’s drums. The universe is always watching and I'm reminded we are not alone.
Solitude is different than loneliness as the rain washes my soul and the sun dries it. Outside there’s a stillness of being in between time as I lay down my heart in the folds of a sunset colored rose, aptly named, Peace.
Actually it’s all a dream. Therefore to survive in this world, we must occasionally carve a small imaginary cave and retreat. It’s not a negative thing. It’s proactive and protective like letting a nasty gash heal, however slowly, it teaches me patience.
When I’m in a sacred moment, with my thoughts it brings a smile of inner compassion. The frankincense burns and protects the space. Earlier, today a goldfinch peered into the window. He seemed to be checking on me. Thunder rumbled in the distance: nature’s drums. The universe is always watching and I'm reminded we are not alone.
Solitude is different than loneliness as the rain washes my soul and the sun dries it. Outside there’s a stillness of being in between time as I lay down my heart in the folds of a sunset colored rose, aptly named, Peace.
Originally published on elephant journal, Jun 17, 2013. Updated: Feb 8, 2018.
About Carolyn
Carolyn (Riker) Avalani, M.A., LMHC is a licensed mental health counselor, teacher, writer and poet. Over the last six 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.
 Photographer: zainab mlongo Source: Upsplash Free Images | It can be difficult to trust especially when we might have a backlog of antiquated experiences that tell us otherwise. Those thought-process and feels that have a history of inconsistency in interpersonal relationships such as those voices that are triggered by: The Criticizer. The Scolder. The Belittler. The Power Tripper -- that is being on the receiving end of a Know-it-All. |
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 Riker
Carolyn (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.
Author + Psychotherapist
Carolyn Riker is a Licensed Mental Health Counselor (LMHC) in private practice. She is also an author of three books. Her most recent book is "My Dear, Love Hasn't Forgotten You."
Carolyn has a blog on Medium. You can follow her for daily inspiration on her Facebook page: Carolyn M. Riker, MA, LMHC, or her Instagram page.
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