Temperance

there is nothing special here. just an ordinary day
the crunch and clink of a cat eating his food,
incessant checking and re-checking of Facebook,
catching my breath from a day of moving. will I
ever breathe the same way again?

I brew tea with herbs that are meant to put me to sleep,
after bathing with lavender and the chaos before the settling down

and yet, as I sit here, getting used to words and quiet
once again, I am thinking about blessings
and the tempering of a person
where the mixing of black and white turns to light

 

Temperance

 

how to temper? I think I always wanted to be perfect
and now I am heavy with the weight of trying, and tired
of hating the ugliness. why don’t I growl and close
my eyes to the spirit of movement anymore?

I never was good at screaming on cue. and yet,
my throat has turned dry by so much sound
un-allowed. quiet rage with the volume turned up.


I wrote this piece (mostly untouched from the original) while I was recovering from a pulmonary embolism over a year ago. Breathing was difficult at the time and any activity tended to make me tired for days.

I was interested in exploring the firey and watery aspects of difficult emotions and what it means to integrate shadow aspects of the self.

It was also part of my work with Brigid and the tarot card Temperance.

This poem came out of a daily mindful writing practice. I always began with the felt experience of the present moment.