Moonday. Just after the new moon, the start of the year of the Tiger, Valentine's and V day.
I feel the pull to turn inward, retreat. After some powerful healing work this week with my Dancemeditation community, I'm standing very close to a young me. Fifteen. She is full of self-hatred worn like thick dragon-scaled armor. She loves Rilke and the Bronte's. She likes to sit on the jagged brown outcroppings and stare at the roiling river, especially because she's not supposed to be there. Her chest is sunken. Suicide seems romantic. There are bars in her eyes. Her voice sounds shrill and brittle in her head.
Books are rafts. Dogs are guardian angels. Nature is Mother. Those things haven't changed. This is a poem she loves. Today I send her my love, laughter, and I'm listening.
The night is darkening round me
The wild winds coldly blow
But a tyrant spell has bound me
And I cannot cannot go
The giant trees are bending
Their bare boughs weighed with snow
And the storm is fast descending
And yet I cannot go
Clouds beyond clouds above me
Wastes beyond wastes below
But nothing drear can move me
I will not cannot go
O mother I am not regretting
To leave this wretched world below
If there be nothing but forgetting
In that dark land to which I go
Yet though tis wretched now to languish
Deceived and tired and hopeless here
No heart can quite repress the anguish
Of leaving things that once were dear
(It goes on and on like that.)
If you have a poem, song lyrics, an image, or a thought that a younger self who could use a little TLC might enjoy, I'd love it if you'd share it in the comments, or any other Moonday artistry.