Elegant Existentialist: Thoughts from a Therapist

Thirty-Five You would be Thirty-five I’m wishing  you were still alive Celebrating  that we have arrived A seat at the table and we survived Generations of Oppression and Genocide Taught it’s safest to stay quiet and hide  Never have too much pride keep everything inside But we could taste the poison of unspoken truths Truth is, you showed me how to speak Out to a crowd and against the man All the while, staying hand in hand Overcoming all obstacles Stronger together, we continued to stand.  You would be Thirty five Now I stand alone but our souls have grown Friends for so long, life’s needle has sewn our beings together I know I’m never on my own I can still feel your hand Holding me high Guiding my way As I reach to the sky No longer afraid Because you taught me to fly Now flying with me Invisible  Cloud like wings  You would be Thirty-Five 

Roots of Genocide Roots of genocide can no longer hide in the depths of our democracy The evil is being revealed We’re on reality tv waving “Hi mom!” as our children  are getting killed. Ratings are up While we’re getting beat down shot while the cameras are rolling for all to comment on facebook. Taking our rights even to kneel,  so they can steal our future. Robbing us blind of the crumbs they’ve left behind for us.  A trail of tears they want to keep hidden under the rug of stars and stripes  forever. Kidnapping our kids, to feed them to the wolves or worse. The worst of mankind right in front of our eyes representing us but I recognize  his roots. The Roots of Genocide

Yosemite By Raquel Morris The mountains have been calling to my spirit, to relieve my soul of the daily stressors of being mother  and social worker and boss and healer. A lot of heavy hats for one woman to hold.   As we drove towards the snow covered mountains. I could feel the moment being cemented in our minds held with love for all of time. It all felt so timeless like it had always been a dream, a memory, simultaneously. A magical place bow before her majesty, the Mountains.  Surrounded by shimmering snow, golden rivers that flow, her emerald green forests,  where towering giants grow. It holds the wisdom of the earth. As we walked the forest paths I thought of the stories of all the people who have walked on that exact ground  in the past. Who has touched this sacred Earth? 

http://www.dailygood.org/story/2187/12-truths-i-learned-from-life-and-writing-unknown-yet/#disqus_thread

Wawona By Raquel Morris The ancient forests call to me Mother earth sings, “Let me heal your soul.”  Find solace from mankind with all his noise and foolery His power always fleeting Just a flurry of madness Don’t get caught in his storm Stand tall with stillness like the trees. Take each step with presence and ease. Listen for the gentle breeze providing guidance that sees what’s to come. Even fires  can’t kill the forest’s power it spawns regrowth and serves as a reminder that this land is sacred. The black trees juxtaposed on the snow-white earth showing us  the death in our ways to be blinded by greed to ignore the cries of our Mother Earth We’re marching to our death As the trees stand tall. 

Winter Solstice By Raquel Morris The darkness arrives early Allowing us to see that which doesn’t reveal itself during the day that which doesn’t shine but burrows into our body and soul known but unbeknownst until we close our eyes to look within. Then we feel it tugging at us like a small, lost child afraid to speak amidst all the commotion but we found it.  Curled in a ball under the blankets a heavy heart sinking instead of beating filling with grief and pain friends who have passed, only the diminishing past exists. My heart holds the weight of the world,  client stories of trauma,  hearing cries of children be hurt, billions of animals  being burned this world can be so cruel. There’s a pillage  of the Earth. To go on everyday it takes calcification to continue on despite it all  but it hardens turning the softest  flesh  to rock. On this day of...